“I wish that they were scarlet, to match your cloak,” he said.

“But I like yellow roses best,” she told him.

“Then I will fill your room with yellow roses,” Oliver said, and leaned close as though to kiss her.

“Stop giggling,” Pansy said, standing there in her nightgown with her hands on her hips.

Petunia turned in embarrassment to apologize to Oliver for her sister intruding on them, but Oliver was gone. The forest was gone. Petunia was suddenly awake, lying in her bed in the grand duchess’s manor, and Pansy was standing over her, glaring.

“It’s bad enough that we have the nightmares most nights,” Pansy said crossly. “But now you’ve woken me from the best sleep I’ve had in weeks with your giggling!” She made a disgusted noise and stomped into their dressing room to use the water closet.

Petunia looked around groggily. Judging from the light coming in through a crack in the curtains, it was just after dawn. Then she had to gape: the curtains were not only closed, but the warmth of the room told her that the windows were still closed as well. What had come over Olga?

As though the thought had summoned her, Olga burst into the room and marched over to the window, yanking aside the curtains. Petunia covered her face with a small moan as the winter sun stabbed into her eyes. The maid ignored her and tied back the curtains, humming as she tidied the room.

“Isn’t it rather early?” Pansy had come back from the dressing room and didn’t seem all that thrilled with the open curtains either.

“But you’re to have a very big day today, Your Highnesses,” the maid said.

“We are?”

Petunia blinked at the maid. So far as she knew, they were going to get a more thorough tour of the gardens … and that was more or less the extent of their plans.

A stab of anxiety went through her as Olga began to fiddle with the coverlet. Was Oliver underneath her bed? She hadn’t heard him come back, but then, this was the best night’s sleep she’d gotten in weeks as well—she prayed silently that Oliver hadn’t heard her giggling in her sleep. And that she hadn’t said his name aloud.

“What precisely is happening today?” Pansy asked.

Petunia got up and started sorting her knitting basket. It was on a chair across from the bed, and she contrived to drop a ball of yarn so that it rolled underneath.

“Clumsy!” She started patting around under the bed before Olga could offer to help.

“Prince Grigori has arranged quite the outing for you all,” the maid said. “First you are to go riding in the forest with him, and then have lunch at his hunting lodge.”

Petunia had writhed her way across the underside of the bed, but hadn’t found any sign of Oliver. She crawled out from under the bed on the other side, making Pansy jump as she appeared, holding a ball of yellow yarn.

“Oh! What were you doing?”

“Getting my yarn,” Petunia said meaningfully, tilting her head slightly at the bed.

“Oh. Oh!” Pansy appeared to catch her hint at last. “And did you find it?”

“Here.” She held up the ball. “And the bed is very clean underneath,” she said.

“I shall tell the chambermaid that you approve,” Olga said, her voice flat. “Are you not excited to spend the day with Prince Grigori?”

“Of course we are,” said Petunia brightly. She tossed the yarn into the basket. “Aren’t we, Pansy?”

But Pansy’s face was creased. “Is it safe? Aren’t there bandits? And wild animals?”

“Prince Grigori is the greatest hunter in Ionia,” the maid snapped. “If he says that you will be safe with him, then you will be safe with him!” And she swept out of the room.

“Well,” Pansy said, her eyes wide. “I guess we’ll be dressing ourselves, then.”

“She’s in love with Grigori,” Petunia said slowly.

“I think she made that very plain,” Pansy said, going to the wardrobe. “Are you sure Oliver isn’t in here?”

“He’s not under the bed,” Petunia said. She went to the wardrobe and rustled the gowns about. “Oliver?” When no answer came, she pulled out her riding dress and threw it on the bed. “I don’t know where he is,” she said. “Or if he’s coming back.”

“I’m sorry,” Pansy said, putting a hand on Petunia’s arm. “But with things as they are, he’s probably better off. I mean, we’re dealing with the King Under Stone and his brothers, and the grand duchess might be—” Pansy stopped with a gasp, her eyes wide. “What if she’s Rionin’s mother?” Pansy’s eyes got even wider, if that were possible. “Or worse—the mother of one of the princes we killed? She must loathe us!”

“The grand duchess is a rather strange old lady,” Petunia admitted, remembering their conversation from the night before. “But I can’t imagine she would have anything to do with this. She doesn’t have any contact with her … firstborn … I’m sure. How could she?”

This gave Pansy pause. “Well,” she said at last. “I still think we need to be wary.”

Petunia busied herself getting dressed, not wanting to start an argument. Olga soon returned and helped them finish dressing, doing their hair in simple styles that wouldn’t interfere with their riding hats. Not that Petunia planned to wear hers. It was very stiff and the veil itched, and she never wore it unless one of her sisters fussed.

As soon as breakfast was over, they assembled in front of the manor. The presence of Prince Grigori and the grand duchess at breakfast had meant that Petunia had not been able to ask if anyone knew what had become of Oliver. She hoped that he had been able to speak with Galen, but Galen gave no sign at all.

All thoughts of Oliver were chased from her head when she saw the horse that Grigori wanted her to ride. Nearly the twin of his own enormous mount, it was a coal-black beast that towered above Petunia.

“Er,” she said when the groom led it over to her. She looked at the other horses being brought forward for her sisters. They all seemed much gentler, and she watched with envy as Lilac reached for the reins of the smallest, oldest-looking horse.

“Oh, but you must try her,” Prince Grigori enthused about the black mare. “She is one of the finest in my stables. The full sister of my own favorite.” He patted the nose of his horse, which looked like it was going to bite him.

“Er,” Petunia said again.

“I would love to ride her,” Poppy said with genuine admiration. “I’m afraid that I’m the horse woman in the family.”

“I can assure you, Petunia, she is as gentle as a lamb,” Grigori said. The mare stamped her foot, and the groom took a step back. “And for you, dear Princess Poppy, I have an equally worthy mount.” He gestured to a fiery-eyed bay.

“Ooh, lovely,” Poppy said. She snugged on her leather riding gloves, an eager expression on her face.

“Poppy,” Petunia whimpered.

Poppy looked from the bay to the black mare, then shrugged. “You’ll be fine, Pet, just keep a firm grip on the reins.” And she happily followed the groom to the mounting block.

Prince Grigori cupped his hands to help Petunia mount. She felt like she was preparing to be tossed over the moon as she put her knee into his hands. He lifted her into the saddle with a smile, and she scrabbled to adjust her cloak and get the reins in the right position. The horse shifted beneath her, and she broke out in a cold sweat. Her leather riding gloves felt thick and awkward, and she couldn’t remember how to hold her hands, suddenly. Olga was probably watching her through a window, sick with jealousy, and at that moment Petunia wished she could trade places with the maid.

“Isn’t she magnificent?”

Prince Grigori’s face was alight with plea sure. Petunia wondered if he wanted her to fall to her death. Before she could say anything, however, Violet’s husband, Frederick, started asking the prince questions about his horses’ bloodlines. Petunia just sat there like a lump with the reins wrapped around her hands, worrying about whether she would even make it through the front gates without falling.