MISTRESS ROANA ASSIGNED HER only a single task for the remainder of the evening, accompanied by the ugliest face she was capable of making. Whatever Arable had done to offend her, she did not know, but she doubted it would be a mystery for long. The task was to tend to a stateroom in the southwest corner of the Great Hall, one of the respectable bedrooms kept for the type of lesser dignitaries that rarely ever visited. The fact that it was her only task meant the room must be in serious disrepair, but several hours working alone seemed like a blessing.

The door opened to a room that needed no tidying. The rushes were clean and the bed linens already changed, a fire warmed the brazier, and Arable froze to think she had been misinformed. But curiosity stayed her, and a second sweep of the room revealed an obviously placed note pinned beneath a single candleholder, paired with an apple blossom.

She crossed the room timidly, almost certain this was some cruel trap, but recognized William’s indelicate penmanship on the outside of the note.

The stable loft. I’ll be there. I promise.

She stared at the parchment in shock. She was alone in a massive crowd, only to suddenly find someone looking directly at her. It took her breath away, she trembled in fear. She wanted to believe it, she wanted to fall into those words and float away, but the world had trained her otherwise. It had to be a trick. It would vanish later, she knew, but for one perfect moment she watched the ink blot as the parchment soaked up her tears, as her feet left the stones.

ONCE UPON A TIME, Arable was a young girl in Derbyshire and there was little in her life to call wretched. The Burels and the Wendenals were close families with neighboring estates, and Arable met William by accidentally throwing a rock at his head as he bathed in the river. They met frequently as children, but never spent any real time together until that golden age when all they could think of was to disappear and explore each other’s bodies. And so they invented reasons to visit, slinking off to dark rooms or the river on a summer night, enraptured. He invented names for every single mother’s mark on her arms. She’d bite at his shoulder as they lay beside each other, and he always pretended it didn’t hurt. They made promises, they spoke of love, they wondered at the stars and gave them ridiculous stories that she somehow still remembered. They thought their relationship was unique and precious, like a million people before them. Looking back she could recognize how silly it was. Still, their ending had been a bit more dramatic than most.