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The first refused to close across my chest. Something that happened more often than not, truth be told. The second gown must’ve been made for a young lady, because it left several inches of bare ankle exposed, which was a feat because I wasn’t that tall.

At last, the maids were able to stuff me into a bottle-green muslin gown with a square-cut neckline and the most hideous puffy sleeves I had ever seen.

“This will suffice,” Mrs. Crowe decided.

“Says you,” I snipped back. “It’s horrid.”

Mrs. Crowe didn’t seem to care what my opinion was. She continued with my transformation, which was more jarring than casting a glamour spell, and far less thrilling. All the while, I stared at the vase, wondering if I made a terrible, terrible mistake putting my bodice in there. Would someone find it while dusting and throw it out?

“Stop fidgeting, Miss Ravenwood.”

I narrowed my eyes, directing my ire at the lady’s maid. “I much prefer black to green,” I informed her as she did up the million buttons running down my back.

Mrs. Crowe huffed. “You can put in that request tomorrow when you’re fitted for your new wardrobe.”

“I don’t want a new wardrobe! Not if it looks like this.” My eyes strayed back to the vase. “I prefer my own clothes.”

The maids all exchanged glances as if they couldn’t believe the fight I was putting up about new clothes. It reminded me so starkly of my family members, watching me stand against my mother, refusing to believe there could be another way of doing things. The memory caused a wave of nausea to come over me.

“His Grace has requested it,” Mrs. Crowe said. “So you’ll be getting new dresses whether you like it or not.” She finished doing up the buttons and then spun me around by the shoulders. “You’re not in the forest anymore, Miss Ravenwood. This is what ladies wear at court.”

I narrowed my eyes. If I had my magick, this woman would not be speaking to me like this. I’d have my wand jammed so far down her throat…

“I don’t care what ladies wear at court. This isn’t who I am. I’m a witch. A⁠—”

I had to bite my tongue. This wasn’t Devonelle. I couldn’t throw my last name around. I had to use the name Yves had given me.

“I’m a Ravenwood,” I choked out. Hating the way the name sounded in my mouth.

It was a good thing my mother’s ghost wasn’t here. She would be doubled over with laughter. But she’d been strangely absent since I declined to join The Devouring. Instead of feeling relieved by her absence, I was on edge. Looking for her around every corner. I wondered if the castle had been warded against ghosts, or if Mama was just pouting.

Mrs. Crowe sat me down in a chair and pulled out a hot iron to curl my hair. “No, Miss, you’re not just a witch. You’re a Lady Companion,” Mrs. Crowe asserted. “Sanguine partner to the heir of Valemer. It is a great honor.”

As she pinned the curls around my face, a younger maid with chapped hands helped me put on a pair of white gloves over my thinly bandaged fingers. Then she handed me a paper fan and Mrs. Crowe shooed me toward the door.

“Go on. They’re all waiting for you.”

I swallowed what I wanted to say. I was only here to help Yves find The Devouring. And, of course, to make money. This was about securing a future for Della and me. I could endure the dress and the preening for one year to live the rest of my life on my own terms.

“Della!” I called. She pretended not to hear me from her lovely little perch by the window. I pointed my fan at her. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this.”

She made a series of knocking sounds, then disgruntledly fluttered onto my shoulder. Her sharp talons nearly tore through the thin, puffy sleeves of the dress.

One maid opened the door. The other shoved me out. I startled at the sight of the Duke’s nephew, Severin, who was waiting for me. Della ruffled all her feathers and let out an irritated squawk.

He cut a look from me to my bird, then back again.

“There is a rookery,” he said dryly, offering me his arm. “You don’t have to carry that bird around.”

I tried to stop the laughter from bursting out of my mouth, but wasn’t successful. “Believe me, my lord, you would rather she stay with me than be left to her own devices. Ravens tend to hunt for treasures when they’re bored.”

“Is that so?” he asked.

Reluctantly, I rested my hand on his arm, my fingers barely touching his jacket. “It is.”

Severin led us through the busy corridor, where household staff crisscrossed between rooms. “And what about witches who appear out of thin air? What do they do when they are bored?”

I arched a brow. “What are you insinuating?”