“I would, Your Highness. You’ll be sixteen in July, and eligible for marriage. It will be my head if anything happens to you. I mean, he’s a soldier, after all.”

“Blood. Of. Hanalea. I’m not marrying anyone, Magret. Not for a long time.” I’ll take a hundred lovers before then, just for spite, she wanted to say. Besides, I’d be more likely to get into trouble in the card room with Micah or under Mother’s nose in the banqueting hall than with Amon, Raisa thought.

They glared at each other for a long moment, at an impasse.

“Fine,” Raisa said. “Come with me, then.”

Magret looked down at her chamber gown. Obviously, she’d thought she was in for the night. “Really, Your Highness, I don’t think…”

Raisa put on her imperious princess face. “If you insist on coming, you might as well make up a tray for Amon. He stood guard at the door all during dinner, so he’s not eaten.”

A quarter hour and much grumbling later, they left Raisa’s rooms, Raisa in the lead, Magret following, radiating disapproval, carrying a large silver tray.

They climbed several flights of stairs that grew narrower and steeper as they ascended.

“Are you meeting him on the roof, then?” Magret wheezed, two flights behind Raisa.

“We’re meeting in the glass garden,” Raisa said, pausing at the top of the last flight to let Magret catch up. It would’ve been much easier to go up via the secret staircase, but that was one secret she didn’t intend to share with Magret.

She’d not shared it with Micah, either. Once disclosed, it couldn’t be taken back if it became awkward or inconvenient.

The greenhouse must have been a showplace once, designed by someone with a love for gardens. They entered through tall bronze doors decorated with cunning vines, flowers, animals, and insects cast into the metal. The air inside was moist, fragrant with earth and flowers and the breath of growing things. The dark slate floor gathered up sunlight all day long and gave heat back during the night. Hot water from thermal springs circulated through pipes, controlled by a series of valves so the temperatures could be adjusted to meet the needs of tropical, desert, and temperate plants.

Queen Marianna had little use for gardens, preferring her flowers to be arranged in vases, but Raisa shared a passion for digging in the dirt with her father. On those rare occasions he stayed at Fellsmarch Castle, they spent hours in companionable silence, rooting cuttings and thinning seedlings.

With both of them gone these past three years, the garden was overgrown and neglected, the more aggressive plants crowding out the weaker, more delicate kinds. Panes were broken here and there, stuffed with wool or crudely mended with ill-fitting patches. Some areas of the garden were too cold now for any but native plants.