She examined the newly proffered outfit before her, then slipped into its components. It looked like something worn by a court entertainer that—though hideous—did include a pair of pants that fit her small stature. At least, she wanted to call them pants. The bottoms provided resembled black jester’s tights far more than the riding leathers she’d preferred.

The outfit was composed of four pieces. The first was a lovely, clean, off-the-shoulder sari made of a gauzy, white fabric. She examined herself in the mirror, appreciating the way the blouse gathered around the smallest part of her waist, giving her thin, boyish shape the illusion of a womanly figure. She would have preferred to wear the white sari on its own, but unfortunately, the ensemble included both a black bustier and something that may have been a gaudy attempt at a silver, puff-sleeved jacket.

Amaris slipped into the black tights and white blouse but required the attendant’s help in lacing up the bustier.

“Who in the court has worn this?” Amaris asked. She gasped as they cinched her waist tighter and tighter.

The attendant finished lacing the bodice as she answered, “The court juggler, I believe.”

“Wonderful.”

Of course, she would be assigned the juggler’s clothes. It was a fitting punishment for a woman who refused a dress. Why be taken seriously when seeking an audience with the queen? The outfit made it clear: she would be allowed no dignity in the eyes of the court.

Amaris sighed, resigned to the fact that it didn’t matter. Whether she’d worn the formal, royal dresses or her grimy travel clothes, or had rolled in red paint and entered the throne room naked, none of it had any bearing on her dispatch. At least her attire would give Ash and Malik something to laugh about on the ride home. Soon they’d be finished with their mission and the whole keep would share its ale-drunk commentary about the humor of a reever in juggler’s clothes before Farehold’s queen.

“It will have to do,” said the displeased attendant. “I did think the silver jacket was a lovely complement to your hair, given your objections. Though if you change your mind about the dress, I have the most stunning lavender to match your eyes—”

“The juggler’s attire will do just fine.”

Amaris considered the extra space in the room. She remembered how isolated she’d felt in her early days in Uaimh Reev. It had been cramped but well loved. It was old but clean. This bedroom space in Aubade was revolting in its opulence. Between the abundance of furniture, the lavishness of the decorations, and the excess of the golds and jeweled features in the space, Amaris had missed a key detail. She’d been so distracted with the finery of the beds, the chaises, the tables, the windows, and the bathing room that she hadn’t taken stock of anything that mattered.