Her only visitors were dressmakers and combers and her chattering ladies-in-waiting, who slept till noon, then spent the early afternoons in Raisa’s chambers, going on and on about the parties they’d been to, and the dresses they’d worn and planned to wear, before retiring to their chambers to prepare for the evening ahead.

It was considered a social coup to host southern royalty, even if they had fallen on hard times. So, with Raisa unavailable, the Tomlins and Lady Heresford were swept from dance to dance and dinner to dinner with scarcely a chance to visit the garderobe between.

Raisa missed Melissa Hakkam’s name day party, but Missy came the next afternoon to tell her all about it. Missy was all baggy-eyed and yawning, having stayed out till the wee hours.

“A shame you couldn’t have been there. Mother was so disappointed,” Missy said. “She kept pairing me up with this dreadful Arno Manhold. Can you imagine? Lady Melissa Manhold? How awkward.”

“Who is he?” Raisa asked disinterestedly, to stop the flood of words.

“He’s a ship owner from Chalk Cliffs—well, he’s actually from the Northern Isles—and he’s at least fifty years old. He does own ten ships, and he has loads of money and three houses, one in Fellsmarch, one in Chalk Cliffs, and an estate along the Dyrnnewater, but he’s a tradesman, after all, and he trod on my feet all night, and he only knows two old dances.”

“What if he owned four houses,” Raisa said. “And a hunting lodge in the Heartfangs. How many dances would he need to know then?”

Missy blinked at her, confused. “Well! I’m sure I don’t know. Me, I am hoping for a southern match. I mean, Prince Liam is so handsome.” Missy heaved a great sigh and batted her eyelashes. “And he says such wicked things. He’s a wonderful dancer too, unlike the Klemaths. How does this sound?” She struck an elegant pose, tossing back her excessive hair. “Princess Melissa of Tamron.”

“Some people say matters are rather—unsettled—in Tamron,” Raisa said, unable to resist deflating Missy. “They say there’s a chance the war in Arden will spread west.”

“Some people are tiresome and gloomy,” Missy said, completely undeflated. “We could both be princesses, wouldn’t that be wonderful? I might even become queen before you.”

“Prince Liam has declared himself, then? He’s spoken to his father? What wonderful news!” Raisa said, stooping to cruelty.

Now Missy looked flustered. “Well, of course not. His father is in Tamron and Prince Liam is here, but no doubt when he returns home…”

Just then Magret tapped on the door to Raisa’s bedroom, entered, and curtsied. “Lord Averill Demonai, Royal Consort, to see you, Your Highness.” Magret always went formal when Raisa had company.

Good, Raisa thought. Maybe I’ll finally find out what’s going on.