“You need to begin a personal care regimen. Practice with cosmetics. Skin treatments. Diet management. Exercises—in your room, of course; it would be inappropriate for you to be seen exerting yourself in public. I can’t believe what your stepmother’s permitted in the past, all this field-hand-sheepherding nonsense.” He rattled all this off airily, oblivious to the raised brows and stalled conversation at the other end of the table.

I flushed but kept my voice neutral. “We don’t keep sheep.”

“Sheep, yaks, pigs, cows—it matters not to me. Stay to the point, please,” Perrault said lightly.

My jaw tightened. “So I need to be thinner and prettier by the time we reach England?” I managed to ask levelly. Basile choked on his drink, the mug nearly slipping from his broad, golden-brown hand.

“Exactly!” Perrault nodded, pleased I’d cottoned on so quickly. “Putting your best foot forward, as they say.”

I stared at the table and said nothing. Andersen, Yasumaro, and Basile quietly slipped from the room.

Daddy had always told me I was beautiful, with no qualifiers.

I missed unconditional approval. I missed him.

“You will remain two weeks with each of your suitors,” Perrault said, scanning his notes. “Once you have completed your first four appointments, you may choose one of the four, if you wish. Should you not find any of them suitable, we will proceed to your secondary visits, at which—”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “Are you saying I can’t choose any of those four suitors until I’ve met all of them?”

“Why would you make a decision without all the relevant information at your disposal?” Perrault looked puzzled.

“Because I don’t want to waste time.” I opened my hands, baffled. “Because if I approve of my first option, and he approves of me, why would I proceed with a two-month charade instead of responding definitively to a proposal?”

I thought of the tick mark I’d put in Momma’s book this morning—a second mark, next to the first.

Two little marks. Two little marks, and so many left, and a thousand miles still to go. And Perrault wanted to make the journey longer even than it had to be.

I hissed out a sigh. “That’s ignoring the fact, of course, that this entire thing is a charade.”

“It is not a charade,” Perrault answered in clipped tones. “And you will not abandon your tour prematurely, because to choose one suitor without even considering the rest would be a public slight with massive political implications, particularly with regard to Potomac’s relationship with the Imperiya.”

The Imperiya. My stomach dropped.

“The other boys wouldn’t care!” I shook my head, my hands suddenly trembling. “Or—they’d understand.”