Nina stared. “That’s powerful tailoring, Hanne.”

“I’ve been practicing.” She drew a small scissors from a drawer and snipped away the curl. “But I like it the way it is.”

“Then leave it.” Nina took the scissors from her hand, brushed her thumb over Hanne’s knuckles. “In trousers. In gowns. With your hair shorn or in braids or down your back. You have never not been beautiful.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do.”

“I’ve never seen your real face,” Hanne said, eyes scanning Nina’s features. “Do you miss it?”

Nina wasn’t sure how to answer. For a long while she’d startled every time she glimpsed herself in the mirror, when she caught sight of the pale blue eyes, the silky fall of straight blond hair. But the longer she played Mila, the easier it became, and sometimes that scared her. Who will I be when I return to Ravka? Who am I now?

“I’m beginning to forget what I looked like,” she said. “But trust me, I was gorgeous.”

Hanne took her hand. “You still are.”

The door flew open and Ylva bustled in, trailed by maids, their arms full of dresses.

Hanne and Nina leapt up from the bench, watching the maids heap piles of silk and tulle onto the bed.

“Oh, Mila, you’ve worked wonders!” Ylva said when she saw Hanne’s gilded cheeks. “She looks like a princess.”

Hanne smiled, but Nina saw the way her fists clenched. What have we gotten ourselves into? Heartwood might give them everything they wanted—access to Vadik Demidov, a chance to locate Queen Tatiana’s love letters. But what had seemed like a straight path felt more like a maze. Nina picked up the amber curl Hanne had dropped onto the dressing table and slipped it into her pocket. Whatever happens, I’ll find a way out, she vowed. For both of us.