“In light of her situation, we should be counting our blessings,” Alessandra added. Captain Marshall bobbed his head, eyebrows arched in obsequious agreement. “A fine group of young men from respectable houses have agreed to court Selah. After what happened tonight, what are her chances of finding a husband at home, even should she wish to?” She waved an elegant hand, the other still pressed protectively to her stomach.

My father stared at the table, not speaking. The room seemed to hold its breath. Or perhaps it was just me.

I counted the seconds as they passed. Everything in me strained across the table toward my father. I wanted to shake him, to make him meet my eyes. To make him make Alessandra explain herself.

When Daddy lifted his head, looking resigned, I knew I was lost.

“I want to personally approve her team,” he said. “I remember what it was like to choose Violet, and you, too, for that matter. Whole committees scrutinized you both, helped me deliberate.”

The day my stepmother arrived, golden-skinned and dark-haired, mysterious and beautiful, everyone had been as delighted with her as they had been with our newfound ties to New York, a kingdom home to more shipbuilding magnates than any other on the East Coast. Alessandra was second cousin to the wife of a prince, born of a wealthy family.

I wasn’t sure if we had reaped anything from the connection. As a child, I hadn’t cared. I’d only felt the formal angles in her embrace and known she wasn’t my mother.

My pale skin, green eyes, and freckles told everyone we weren’t blood. Her coldness told them we weren’t family.

“Of course, darling. You can approve them right now.” Alessandra rested one manicured hand on Daddy’s arm and swept the other at the three strangers, still noiseless to one side of the table. The soft-looking one tipped his chin agreeably, but the iron-haired man and the tanned, long-lashed one didn’t budge.

I stiffened. I hadn’t expected the pieces of her plan to be right here in the Roots, ready and waiting across the table from me.

My thoughts slowed, growing sluggish. I felt sick.

“Have you assembled your crew, Captain Lang?” asked Alessandra.

I was startled when the youngest of them spoke, pushing one tanned fist into the opposing palm. Both hands were smudged with ink, or pencil. “Gentlemen of the Council, Seneschal and Esteemed Consort, Seneschal-elect: I’m Captain Andrew Lang. This is our ship’s navigator, Homer Maionides.” He tipped his head first at the rugged man to his right.

“You may already know Sir Perrault, my appointed protocol officer,” Alessandra added. She waved a hand at the man with the face like a portrait. “I’ve known Sir Perrault since we were young. He grew up at court in New York, as well.”