A human servant appears with a tray of honey tarts, and another hands out wineglasses filled with a deep purple liquid. They’re dressed in shades befitting the Autumn District. I search their faces for the girl from the palace, but I don’t find her. I’m not sure I will—the House of Harvest has its own servants separate from those of the palace. But Prince Caelan’s entire court is here. If I’m lucky, he’ll have brought some of his servants, too.

A Resident wearing a crisp bronze suit and an elaborate headpiece stands in front of the open balcony doors, a drink firmly in his hand. After announcing the start of the banquet, he invites everyone to take a seat in the south garden. Like ants following their leader, everyone makes their way outside.

I glance around quickly, wondering if I’d have been better off staying out of sight until after the dinner. I’m not exactly prepared for mealtime conversation.

“You’re here,” Prince Caelan says, appearing at my side like a perfect harmony.

I curtsy, rising again until we’re eye level. “I am” is all I can think to say.

Each time someone moves past us, they give a respectful nod toward the prince. Most of them don’t seem to pay me any attention at all, but a few allow their eyes to linger a moment too long.

I suppose attracting the prince’s attention wasn’t going to be something I’d be able to keep under the radar for long.

Prince Caelan leans in, and I catch the scent of pine. “It’s not too late to make your escape,” he says with a smile. “I wouldn’t blame you. All I’ve thought about since this festival started was walking out that door.” He pauses. “Though it seems I’m not in as much of a hurry to leave as I was a moment ago.”

I let myself smile at his flirtations the way I assume I’m supposed to. “It would be bad manners to leave before the food.”

His laugh is quiet and contained, meant only for me. He lifts his elbow, offering an arm. I take it nervously, walking alongside him through the balcony doors and into the garden.

Rows of tables stretch across the manicured grass, set up with porcelain dishes and serving trays bursting with roasted meats, glazed pies, honeyed root vegetables, and spiced chestnuts. Fruits ripe for picking fill every empty space, and every place setting boasts a tall crystal goblet simmering with a hot liquid.

And at the head of the feast is a table that stretches in the opposite direction of the others. A throne carved from an oak tree sits at the center.

He leads me to the empty chair beside his, and I fight hard to keep my eyes from widening.