Mara holds it out so I can step into it, then she shimmies it up over my waist and lifts the billowing sleeves over my shoulders.

“Deep breath,” she says, and I comply. “Now let it all out.”

I push the air from my lungs, making my torso as small as possible so Mara can quickly lace the back.

“There!” she says, standing aside.

The corset is snug, but comfortable enough. I’ve always been slight, and tying everything too tight might make me appear smaller, weaker. “What do you think?” I prod.

Mara’s lips twitch. “You look like a vanilla scone with sugar icing.”

“So . . . perfect?”

“Exactly the look we’re going for. Definitely younger.”

Which is good, because Empress Elisa, my soon-to-be-mother, is probably only about ten years older than I am, and the Quorum felt that making me look younger might put the court at ease.

“You’re as ready as you’ll ever be,” Mara says. “I’m going to chase down the princess. There’s still time; if you want, you can go to the monastery to prepare your heart with prayer—”

“You know I don’t believe all that,” I snap, harder than I mean to.

Her face softens. “I know, Red. But this is a religious country, and for appearances’ sake . . .” Her voice trails off at the look on my face, and she looses an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t know how Elisa thinks she’s going to make a politician out of you. You have no patience for dissembling.”

I plunk down on the bed, not caring that this will wrinkle my overwrought train. “I’m wearing the monstrosity, aren’t I?”

“A more than acceptable compromise, if you ask me.”

A knock sounds at the door, and Mara rushes over, hand to the dagger at her belt. I tense and clench my fist. It’s not that we’re in any danger; it’s just that I and everyone I know and love—Mara, Hector, Elisa, Rosario, Belén—have been through so much that peril is a constant, comfortable companion, and we are prepared to welcome it always.

“It’s me,” comes a muffled voice through the door, and Mara swings it open.

“Good morning, Highness,” she says to Prince Rosario, my soon-to-be stepbrother and my best friend.

“Mara,” the prince says, striding inside. When he sees me, he stops short—and doubles over laughing.

The fifteen-year-old heir to the Joyan Empire is as tall, slender, and strong as a palm, with dark eyes full of mischief and lips always on the verge of smirking. He’s the object of many a young court lady’s dreams, and depending on which day you ask, either the bane or the pride of his stepmother’s existence.

“It’s not that funny,” I say with a mock glare.

“Oh, yes it is, little sister.” He straightens the vest of his ceremonial garb and pretends to dab tears from his cheek. Then he raises one eyebrow and gives my gown a thorough study. “It’s even worse than you described.”

“It’s pretty awful,” Mara agrees. “I’m going to make sure Mena didn’t slip by the Guards again. I’ll be there for the procession, Red, cheering you on.”