Isobelle was clearly feeling the effects of the beverage, too. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled, and her voice spilled out in laughing, burbling quips. Gwen tried to keep her eyes on each of the girls in equal measure, but it was hard not to watch the queen of this court, presiding over her ladies with the perfect mix of tipsy whimsy and graceful composure.

The next question from Jane, Hast thou ever been from France?, made Gwen choke and take the tiniest sip she could manage from her cup.

“Please, I beg of you,” she pleaded, laughing. “Any more and I will lose the ability to speech. Speech.” She paused, then tried one more time. “Speak.”

Isobelle snorted, the sound rather startling Gwen—she usually kept herself in better check than that. Gwen wasn’t the only one who’d had too much of the uisce.

Hilde let out a long, lusty sigh. “Hast thou ever kissed a boy?” she asked, though no one had nominated her to ask the next question.

Jane slumped down into a supine position, moaned something about being personally victimized by this game, then downed the rest of her cup in one swig. Gwen watched Isobelle out of the corner of her eye, her own heartbeat sounding very loud in her ears. The queen bee of the group reached for the handle of her cup—but only to turn it on its saucer, adjusting its position.

“At least when I do,” Isobelle said cheerfully, “I’ll be ready for it.”

“There is that,” agreed Hilde with a giggle. “Practice makes perfect.”

Gwen was missing something, she felt sure—but before her fuzzy brain could quite grasp what it was, Sylvie was leaning forward, gazing at her with interest. “Hast thou ever kissed anyone?” she asked pointedly.

Everyone—except Gwen—drank.

Gwen watched Isobelle’s cup rise to her lips and lower again, her mind churning as it tried to understand, through her haze, the significance of that.

Hilde noticed Gwen’s cup still on its saucer and lurched upward. “Ach, but, Céline, how will you be ready? Surely you have had friends to practice with, back in Toussaint? Come now, we will teach you. Maybe not Jane, unless you wish to lie down on the floor.” She took Jane’s cup from her, receiving a mild protest—or possibly a thank-you—from the supine girl.

Gwen’s heartbeat was surely loud enough now to be heard. This time she very carefully did not look at Isobelle. The pleasant warmth in which the uisce had wrapped her suddenly felt heavy and cloying, an anxious knot twisting inside her. “Um . . . you all kiss each other? To practice for men?”

“It is a skill to be perfected to attract a rich husband, like any other.” Sylvie’s smile was wide and languid.

“And it’s fun,” Jane supplied from the floor.