“There,” Oliver muttered to himself. “She’s fine. Whatever those things were, they’re gone. And there’s nothing I can do to help her, anyway.”

But that was a lie, and Oliver knew it. He had to help her, somehow. Something or someone had set out to harm Petunia. Someone far more wicked than himself, with his coach robbing and his botched abduction of the princess.

And yet, what could he do to help? The first step would be getting out of the garden and back to the old hall. His mother might know more and be able to help him decide what to do from there. But in the back of his head, Oliver was already entertaining a terrible thought.

It was time for him to go to Bruch. And King Gregor.

Guest

Dearest Papa

,

I have arrived safe and sound at the grand duchess’s manor. Did you know that the estate used to be the seat of an earldom? There appears to be hard feelings among the local folk over this incident, and I wondered if you were aware

.

Petunia stopped and looked over the beginning of her letter. Should she start out that bluntly? Perhaps she should wait and add a little postscript about the earldom. Jumping in like that was something Poppy would do, but Petunia was normally more circumspect.

She left the lines there anyway.

As you have no doubt heard, I disappeared shortly after the coach was smashed. I can assure you that I am quite safe. I wandered too far into the woods and got lost. A kindly woodcutter and his family took me in for the night, and then delivered me to the

gates of the estate today. The grand duchess, dear soul, was quite beside herself, thinking that I had come to harm. I was quick to reassure her, and all is well here. How do you and my sisters get on?

With love, your daughter, Petunia

There. She had wanted to write her father yesterday when she’d first arrived at the estate, but her arrival at the estate had been so inauspicious that it had taken the whole day to get settled.

And then the nightmares had been so real and so terrible that she had woken up at the open window, screaming into the night. She had dreamed that there were shadowy figures in the garden calling her name, and even now she wasn’t sure that it had been a dream. She could remember the last time that Kestilan and his brothers had ventured out of the Kingdom Under Stone, taking on shadowy forms in the night. Petunia had studied the gardens carefully from her window, but she had seen only moonlight on the winter-dead lawns.

Petunia had slept late and then found herself being fluttered about by maids attempting to find clothes for her from the wardrobes at the estate. Her own trunks had gone back to Bruch with the damaged coach, and so gowns left behind by the grand duchess’s granddaughters were brought in and tried on Petunia. Before she knew it, it was time to bathe for her first formal dinner with the grand duchess, and she still hadn’t written to her father. After she had done so, leaving the remarks about Oliver’s earldom as they were, she decided to write her brother-in-law Galen in the morning.

She wondered what Galen would think of Oliver’s situation. Galen was nothing if not practical, and he had a keen understanding of politics, having seen it from both sides. Born a commoner and having served as a foot soldier in the war, he gave King Gregor unique advice, but it was always “worth its weight in gold” as her father was quick to tell anyone who doubted.

But for now Petunia stretched and cast an eye over her shoulder. There was rustling from her dressing room, where a maid was preparing a bath for her. Tonight she would be having dinner with the grand duchess and Prince Grigori, and she was surprised at how nervous she felt. It was not just because of Prince Grigori, though the prince was even more handsome than she remembered. Petunia had forgotten how imposing the grand duchess was. That lady, still beautiful despite her years, was more regal than many a queen, and Petunia found herself quite tongue-tied by the duchess’s gracious ways.

“Are you ready, Your Highness?” The maid, Olga, popped out of the dressing room, startling Petunia.

“What? Oh, yes.” Petunia folded up her letter and put it in an envelope, hastily pressing her seal to the wax and smearing it badly. She sighed as she handed it to the maid. “Please send this immediately.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Olga took the letter and scurried out.

Petunia struggled out of her gown. Her own maid, Maria, had apparently insisted on walking back toward Bruch with the coachman to get help.

One of Petunia’s guards had gone to the grand duchess to tell her what had happened, but the others had headed back to Bruch with the limping horses and ruined coach. The grand duchess had sent out servants to search when Petunia did not arrive on schedule, and it was a miracle, Petunia thought, that she and Oliver had not run into them. But then, Oliver was very good at eluding people in the forest.

Petunia was down to her petticoats and stockings when Olga came back. The maid simply walked into the room, nearly causing Petunia to fall over as she rolled down one of her stockings. At the palace in Bruch, maids always knocked, but Olga seemed to think nothing of flitting in and out without a sound. Petunia had been startled by her at least three times since she had arrived, and for a moment she contemplated making the girl wear a bell.

“Oh, Your Highness! Allow me!” Olga scurried over and started to roll down Petunia’s stockings.

This was the sort of thing that Petunia had always done herself, and she knew she was blushing. Olga set her stockings aside and unfastened Petunia’s petticoats, then her corset. She was reaching for the hem of Petunia’s camisole when Petunia caught Olga’s hands.

“Thank you, I’ll take care of that,” Petunia said firmly.

“But, Your Highness—” Olga began, and Petunia interrupted her.

“I prefer to do this myself. Also, I bathe alone,” she said. “There are towels and soap laid out?”

Olga nodded, looking distressed.

“Thank you. I’ll ring when I need you to help me dress,” Petunia said, though she privately resolved to see how far she could get without any assistance. There was something so annoyingly obsequious about Olga. “I will be fine,” Petunia assured her.

Once the door closed behind Olga, Petunia fled to the bath. She was convinced that the maid would come creeping back without being summoned, and she hated the thought of having her back forcibly scrubbed.

Petunia took a very short bath and was into her underthings and trying to get her corset on straight when Olga suddenly appeared at her elbow. The maid, who was barely taller than Petunia and probably no more than a pair of years older, frowned and started to scold in her accented Westfalian.

“I knew it! I knew you would not ring for me! And now you are all in a muddle!”

Her movements brisk, Olga got Petunia’s corset sorted out, then her petticoats. She helped Petunia into an evening gown that the grand duchess’s granddaughter, Princess Nastasya, had left behind after her last visit. Nastasya’s gowns fit Petunia the best, and there was the added benefit that she was very vain and only wore a gown once, which meant that the wardrobes were full of Nastasya’s gowns.

She was also taller than Petunia, though slightly smaller in the bust. Olga did the best she could to adjust the gown, which was apricot satin with straw-colored lace, but Petunia would have to keep the skirts lifted as she walked and be very careful about bending or reaching for anything. Not that she was complaining about the way the bodice fitted, exactly. It wasn’t unflattering … and her father wasn’t here to object.