Why wasn’t the king saying anything? Emry’s heart felt like it was in her throat. She stood as still as she could manage, not daring to meet the king’s gaze, instead staring at a courtier’s jeweled shoe clip.

“The very image of your father,” the king pronounced, and Emry let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, making her voice low.

“But that doesn’t qualify you to become our next court wizard.”

Emry’s mouth went dry.

“I require a demonstration of your magic,” demanded the king.

“A demonstration, Your Majesty?” she echoed, horrified.

“When you’re ready,” the king said, making it clear he meant her to give this demonstration now.

She hadn’t prepared a thing. And yet the courtiers’ faces all turned eagerly in her direction, and the King sat up straighter on his throne.

She couldn’t think. Every spell she knew had emptied from her head.

It was far too warm. Even the ladies in low-cut gowns were fanning themselves. Between the blazing fire and the candelabra and the endless wood paneling, the heat was oppressive. Sure enough, the king, in his heavy ermine-trimmed robe, had beads of sweat on his brow.

Why not? she thought. She closed her eyes, concentrating. Pride kept her from reaching for her wand. It was much more impressive without—if she could pull it off.

“Nivis,” she whispered.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then snow drifted down from the ceiling. It fell in soft, fat flakes that vanished as they landed. It was just an illusion, one she’d performed at the theater many times, but the courtiers still gasped in amazement.

The crowd fell to murmurs, then silence as King Uther slanted her a look of approval.

“Most impressive,” he declared, reaching out to catch a falling snowflake. The illusion stopped on contact, and his mouth twisted in disappointment. “Pity it isn’t real. Or cold.”

The courtiers tittered.

“I still have much to learn, Your Majesty,” Emry said, casting off the spell with a wave of her hand.

“And Master Ambrosius has much to teach,” said the king. “Mark him well, so that you may serve my son as your father did me, Apprentice Wizard Merlin.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Emry murmured with a bow.

The king motioned for a serving girl to come forward and show her to her room, and Emry practically sagged with relief.

This room had to be a mistake.

There was a four-poster bed hung with silks and bolstered with a small battalion of pillows, a washbasin that looked to be made of real silver, a wooden desk, and a chair. A grand fireplace took up an entire wall, and a tapestry depicting a unicorn in the forest occupied another.

Emry frowned, confused. She’d been expecting servants’ quarters, not a lavish bedroom with a private garderobe attached.