Élise glanced at the workers. “Certainly. If they had enough power to manage it. Which they don’t.”

“Oh,” I replied, trying not to stare at their downturned heads as we passed.

Dust motes hung in the light of the multitude of lamps, and the small amount of sun that peered in through the hole in the rock above was made all the more faint by the haze. The trolls in the streets hurried about in twos and threes, expressions alert and wary. There were not many of them considering the size of the city, but to me, Trollus seemed overcrowded and stifling, as though each individual needed ten times his physical space. It was a corked bottle ready to blow at any moment – the witch’s curse must be powerful indeed to keep it all contained.

The worst of it all, though, was the way the trolls reacted to my presence. I had expected dark looks, nasty comments, or even the odd rotten fruit tossed my direction. But after a few near collisions that required me to leap out of the way or risk being knocked down, I realized the trolls were content to pretend I did not exist. I was flanked by two hulking guardsmen whom Élise called Guillaume and Albert, but they ignored me as well, seemingly content to discuss what they’d eaten the prior evening and what they hoped would be served at tonight’s dinner hour. Even the dressmakers ignored me, directing all their questions to Élise. Which seemed to be going right to her head, because as time passed, she grew more and more bold and less deferential, until I started to doubt which of us was the servant.

“They are acting as though it’s all my fault,” I grumbled as we exited the shop where yet another troll had refused to acknowledge my existence. “It isn’t as though I was the one who cursed you lot to an eternity stuck in a hole.”

Élise made a face. “Don’t be ignorant – they are well aware of how powerless you are.”

“How powerless you are, my lady,” I corrected, giving her a sweet smile.

“You are very flippant for someone in your position, my lady,” she replied wryly. “I could hang you upside down from your ankles if I were so inclined.”

“Be my guest. No one would notice, and my feet feel like raw meat in these blasted shoes.”

“Oh, they’d notice,” she muttered. She began to speak very quietly, keeping an eye on our trailing guards, who seemed far more interested in the pink-frosted cakes they had purchased than in what we were saying. “The Montignys – the royal family,” she began, “they shocked everyone by bonding His Highness to you. Everyone expected them to lock you up in a closet when the bonding failed to break the curse, but instead they have you parading about in front of everyone as though you actually are a princess.” She chuckled softly. “Now they’re all waiting to see how the great houses react – whether they will support your existence or not.” She gestured discreetly at the passing trolls. “They aren’t ignoring you – they are merely waiting to see what side of the table those they are sworn to will sit at.”