She couldn’t believe that this life she’d envied and dreamed of was truly hers. That Emmett was here as well. That Arthur had ridden all the way to Brocelande to apologize, and had suffered through a rendition of The Faerie King in order to do so. That Gran had given her blessing, and had practically shooed Emry out the door when she heard the prince had come in person, insisting she would be fine with Marion to check in on her.

Emry went to the window, looking out at the castle lawn. At the now-familiar guards running perimeter laps for Captain Lam. Lance wasn’t out there, she noticed. And neither was Arthur. She supposed everyone was where they were meant to be.

Even Gawain, who had already left for France. She’d looked for him at supper the night before, only to find his seat empty. She was going to miss him, and his ridiculous coats, and his infuriating snobbery.

Emry pulled open the doors of her wardrobe and reached for her best dress, fastening the buttons with a muttered spell. When she peered in the mirror, she looked entirely like herself.

So she tucked her wand into her belt, dabbed some rose salve on her lips, and went to wake her brother.

He was, predictably, still asleep.

“Get up,” she ordered, yanking his blankets onto the floor and making Emmett moan in protest. “Now.”

“Fleoges.” He snapped his fingers, and his blankets slithered back onto the bed, wrapping around him like a sausage casing.

“Seriously?” Emry folded her arms and glared.

“I’m indisposed,” Emmett insisted with a groan. “I have a headache.”

Emry glanced around the room. No wonder his head hurt; two empty wine bottles littered the table under the window, along with a deck of playing cards, and two very ornate goblets that looked to be made of hammered gold. There was, Emry realized, the faintest smell of orange blossom perfume.

“Did you have company last night?” she asked incredulously.

“None of your business.” Emmett moaned, burrowing deeper under the covers.

Emry rolled her eyes and pulled off his blankets again. “Must you always play the rake?”

“Hey!” Emmett complained, swinging a pillow at her.

Emry dodged out of the way, levitating a pillow and sending it flying toward her brother.

“You’re cheating!” Emmett accused as it knocked into his shoulder.

“Magic isn’t cheating!”

Emry climbed onto the bed, reaching for another pillow and batting him in the face the old-fashioned way.

“You’re acting like a child!” Emmett raised a pillow over his head and prepared to swing it in attack.

Before he could, a piece of elaborate wall paneling clicked open, revealing a hidden door, and Guinevere burst in wearing a thin linen nightdress.

“Emmett!” she cried, looking alarmed. “I heard shouting!”

Emry froze, realization dawning. So this was why her brother had been so eager to exchange rooms.