“It’s okay,” I’d reassured him, and he’d nodded. And the moment had listed precariously toward awkward silence.

He was sensitive, to think about his words, about my feelings. I’d been desperate to salvage the moment.

I’d chewed my lip, impulsively looked around. “Can I tell you a secret?” I’d suddenly asked.

Peter’s brow had furrowed, earnest. “Is it a good secret?”

I’d bobbed my head. “Alessandra’s having a baby.”

“The consort is—really?” He’d paused, long fingers rubbing his jaw. “I’m not supposed to know this, am I?”

“No one is. I just had to tell somebody. That’s why I’m here, actually,” I’d said, nodding at the candles. “To say a prayer for her, and the baby.”

Daddy had told me that morning. I’d been so full of the secret I thought I’d burst. I’d needed to tell someone.

But mostly, in that moment, I’d wanted to tell him. To share something just with Peter.

“That’s really exciting, Selah.” Peter had put a hand on my shoulder, and the warmth in his voice and in his palm had made me dizzy. “You’re going to be a great big sister. Careful, though—you’ll cast quite a shadow,” he’d added warningly, and I’d blushed.

When he’d bent for his basket and made to leave, I’d caught the bright, citrusy scent he always carried, and my nerves had stood on end. “Peter—”

“Yes?” He’d moved back toward me, closer than I thought he’d intended. My mouth had been nearly at his ear.

If I’d moved at all, I would have been touching his shoulder or his cheek—though I would have never. I couldn’t even have imagined.

“Don’t tell,” I’d whispered, the words two little breaths.

Peter’s mouth had quirked, flashing the gap between his teeth I loved so much. “I won’t. Promise.”

He’d left me burning brighter than the candles.

Now I just felt burned.

I gave a wan smile and cleared my throat. “Anyway, now the Council says if I don’t— Well, let me start over. Apparently, no one on this continent will do.”

Godmother Althea shook her head. “I already know, sweet girl.”

I blinked at her. “How do you know? And—and why?” I demanded. “I know I’m not what she wants me to be. I know she thinks I’m country trash. But why is she doing this? Why do I have to go so far?”

My godmother bowed her head a long moment before answering. “My best guess is that she hopes you won’t come back,” she finally said. She paused, her broad face sober. “It’s a long trip you’re taking.”

My breath came out in a huff. “She’s expecting something to happen to me?” My voice cracked.