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Once Thicket caught her breath, she scanned the conjoined living room and kitchen quarters for any sign of Lotta. The only indication she had been there was the kitchen table stacked with books, one of which was opened. In the center of the table was a tier of pastries and fruit, paired with a tray containing all the necessities for tea. She had learned not to be fooled by the delicious ensemble. It wasn’t so much for eating as it was a part of her lessons.

On top of trying to win back her people’s favor, Caspian also had Lotta instructing her on the do’s and don’ts of being a princess. Not only would it help soothe the anxieties people had over her lost memories, but they would be essential skills once Thicket officially took over as queen.

The thought alone was enough to make Thicket want to turn right back around and find some deserted location to hide in for eternity. Having to face her sister after all this time was daunting enough. She didn’t want to think about the fact that it was only half the battle.

“You are late.” A crisp voice cut through her thoughts and Thicket jumped as Lotta emerged from what appeared to be thin air, holding a steaming kettle. Lotta, along with the rest of Bilya, had lived several lifetimes trapped within the wall surrounding their city, unaging and cut off from the rest of the world. In that time, Lotta had trained hard to become Thicket’s personal maid. She was far wiser than someone of her age and far more dignified—especially compared to Thicket.

“Sorry,” she said. “I got… held up.”

“Which is code for, she got distracted,” Marcellus mused.

Thicket shot a scowl in his direction. He snatched a pastry from the tier of cakes and waved, disappearing down the hall with Bayo at his heels. The wolf had taken a liking to him. For what reason, Thicket couldn’t fathom.

When she glanced back at Lotta, she was met with a disproving stare. Thicket swallowed as Lotta leaned forward to pluck a leaf from her curls. “We will have to cut our lesson even shorter today,” she said, eyeing the leaf. “You will need more time to prepare for the Pyre than I thought.”

Every day, Lotta was breaking through her quiet shell and becoming more strict and opinionated. Thicket was happy Lotta was becoming comfortable around her, yet she was also growing more and more terrified of the girl.

Thicket’s head lowered. “I’m sorry.”

“It cannot be helped now.” Lotta set the kettle onto the counter. “As much as I hate to do this, I believe we should skip etiquette today and focus on history instead. It will serve you much better for tomorrow’s meeting.”

Dread coiled in Thicket’s stomach.

While Thicket had been under the sleeping curse, Caspian had been tasked with managing the Royal Council on her behalf. After waking up, he had done his best to shield her from the responsibilities that came with being the Crown Princess, however now that everyone knew she was awake and she had made her public debut, memories or not, she would be expected to resume her duties.

If there was anyone she needed to convince of her reliability, it was the Council.

Lotta told Thicket to go over what she had taught her in yesterday’s lesson while she drew a bath. Thicket skimmed the pages of the open book, which went into detail about each kingdom’s customs and cultures. Who the figurehead of each kingdom was, what each kingdom was known for, and any previous relationships Vindrya had with them.

By the time the bath was ready, Thicket’s brain was mush. She cupped one of the many astromeia petals bobbing amidst the soap suds. From the moment she stepped from the alleyway and announced she was awake, she had reclaimed the weight of responsibility, one she would carry with her until her dying breath. As someone who spent the majority of her life hiding from the public eye, that was far more terrifying than stepping onto a battlefield.

It was times like this she wished she had her memories.

Realistically, she knew she wouldn’t have to rule the kingdom alone. While the Counts of Sleeria and Bilya oversaw the cities, she would work directly with the Duke of Minloc to oversee the capital and Caspian would be there to help her with all other matters. But every decision was ultimately in her rule.

How could she possibly know what was best for Vindrya when she barely knew its history, let alone everything that went into ruling it? What if she was worse than Lavender? What if people regretted supporting her once she took the crown?

The thoughts chased her from the water long before it went cold.

A gown was waiting for her once she emerged from the bathroom. She had grown accustomed to wearing dresses. Now that she made a constant appearance in public, Caspian insisted she start wearing nicer clothes, not the hand-me-downs from Marcellus that Lotta had altered to fit her. However this dress was far nicer than the ones Lotta had provided for the past few days. As usual, it was dyed from astromeia, giving it a rich purple hue. Only this one was far lighter and warmer, looking more like a sunset purple than a cool, rich indigo.

She slipped it on, grunting as Lotta fastened the strings in the back. Unlike the dresses she had been wearing, this one had off the shoulder sleeves, exposing far more of her chest than she was used to. She tried to shimmy it up higher, but the built-in corset was fastened so tight to her middle it refused to move an inch. From the scrunched waist, two elegant layers of rippling fabric fell, the bottoms of each embroidered with wispy white flowers and butterflies, trailed down well past her feet. As beautiful as it was, it was even plainer than the gown she had worn to the Dymrian ball. Yet somehow she felt far more undeserving.

It felt like a lifetime had passed since their visit to Dymree. She had felt so confident then. She had even been delusional enough to think she was capable of being a princess. No… She had felt like she was capable of being a queen. Of ruling. Of making a difference.

Now, because she had been unable to save everyone, she was responsible for burning all those who had fallen.

A lump formed in her throat, followed by a sharp pang of guilt.

“There,” Lotta said, fluffing her gown one last time. “All that is left is hair and makeup.” She guided Thicket over to the vanity and helped her ease into the seat. Thicket couldn’t tear her eyes away from the unruly mass of her tangled curls, unable to shut out the echo of a long forgotten dream.

Someone with hair as unruly as yours can never be beautiful.

Her entire body went cold.

“Thicket?”

Thicket’s gaze snapped to Lotta’s. “W-what?”