“Good, isn’t it?” Emry beamed, pushing off from the wall. She looked every inch her brother, from the unruly mop of black hair to the unbearably smug expression of an eighteen-year-old boy who had never in his life been told no.

“Very.” Marion gave her a closer inspection. “How’d you make your shoulders that wide?”

“Padded the doublet,” Emry explained. “Lifted the insides of my boots, too. I had to try three different spells until it worked.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask,” said Marion, “but why exactly are you dressed as your brother?”

“I’m going to Castle Camelot in his place,” Emry admitted, recounting the entire story.

When she’d finished, Marion blinked in shock. This was far beyond whatever silly amusement she’d been expecting. There was no question Emmett had gone and thrown himself arse over elbow, the way he’d been threatening to do for a long time, but Emry’s plan was a lot to take in.

“Say something,” Emry begged.

“The royal court,” Marion spluttered. “Dressed as your brother.”

“It’s only for a week,” said Emry. “Besides, I’m hoping the food will more than make up for having to magic a bulge into the front of my hose.”

Suddenly, the two girls couldn’t stop giggling.

“Is that what you did?” Marion asked. “I’d thought it indelicate to ask.”

“Stage tricks,” Emry assured her. “I didn’t have much time.”

“I can tell,” Marion said, reaching for the scissors on her sewing table. “Your hair’s uneven in the back. Sit.”

Emry flashed her friend a grateful smile and climbed onto a stool, straddling it in a most unladylike manner. “Just practicing,” she said innocently.

Marion shook her head and began to snip.

“Do you think you’ll meet the prince?” she asked.

“Arthur?” Emry made a face. “I suppose so.”

“You could at least try to sound more excited. He pulled the sword from the stone!”

“Almost a year ago!” Emry returned. “And I still don’t see why it’s so impressive. He hasn’t done a thing since.”

Marion rolled her eyes. What did Emry expect? For a nineteen-year-old boy to ride off and unite England in a fortnight? “Doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “Crown prince. Magic sword. And I bet he’s gorgeous.”

“Not according to Emmett. Besides, I’ll be dressed as a lad,” Emry reminded her.

“Good. Then you can tell him all about your beautiful friend Marion.” She ruffled the back of Emry’s hair. “Done.”

“How do I look?” Emry asked, leaning forward to peer into the ancient looking glass. “Devastating? Emmett-ish?”

“You’re practically his twin.”