Page 65 of The Thirteenth Count

“Occupied.”

Fern frowned. “That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the only one you need.” He stepped into the sitting room and glanced once around the untouched suite, then gestured to her room. “Wear something you can move in.”

“Why?” Fern asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Because,” he said as he took a seat in the wingchair, “my mother has spent weeks teaching you how to compose yourself. Now I mean to see whether it survives pressure.”

His gaze flicked over her once, taking in the shift, the bare feet, the irritation she hadn’t managed to hide. “Not one of the gowns. Trousers. Boots.”

He checked his timepiece. “I’ll give you thirty minutes. Your breakfast will be waiting.”

Fern stared at him, irritated by how easily he’d upended the morning. Sprout chirped softly from the mantel.

“Must I dress you myself?” Cassius asked.

Fern huffed and turned back toward her room.

“Must I dress you myself?” Fern mocked to no one as she tore off her shift and rummaged through the wardrobe. “Demands. That’s all he does. Read this book by the fifth bell. Analyze these logs before dinner. Compose yourself. Bah.”

She shoved past the first row of gowns, pushing them aside with more force than necessary. Silk, wool, embroidered hems—one after another—until she began pulling them free entirely, tossing them onto the bed in a growing heap. Somewhere near the back, half-hidden behind the rest, her fingers caught on something heavier. She tugged it free: worn leather, a familiar cut. Trousers. A tunic bundled in with them.

Of course.

Fern dragged them out and turned—then paused.

The bed was a mess. Fabric spilling over itself, sleeves tangled, hems dragging toward the floor. Lina would’ve had it all folded, sorted, restored before Fern even noticed the disorder.

Fern winced, then shook it off and reached for the trousers.

“Oh, this cannot be serious,” she muttered. The leather settled over her hips, and then she found the lacing—threaded up the back where she couldn’t see the damn thing.

She grabbed both cords, her fingers fumbling as she reached blindly behind herself. One side pulled too tight. The other slipped loose entirely, the lace sliding free of one of the metal eyes. Fern swore under her breath and tried again, twisting awkwardly as she fought to thread it back through and tie the whole mess off evenly.

By the time she stumbled toward the vanity, mildly breathless and thoroughly annoyed, she already knew it looked terrible. She twisted one way, then the other, trying to catch a better look at the back of the looking glass. The lacing sat uneven against her spine.

A loud creak sounded from the sitting room.

Fern braced both hands against the vanity and dropped her head with a sigh. Lina would have done this in ten seconds flat.

Fern straightened with another irritated breath and reached for the tunic draped across the bedpost. At least that required no lacing. She dragged it over her head, shoved her arms through the sleeves, then dropped heavily onto the edge of the bed to tug on her boots.

Sprout fluttered down from the wardrobe and landed beside her while she wrestled the second boot tight.

“Yes, yes,” she muttered when he chirped at her. “I know I look ridiculous.”

The faint, measured tapping of something against wood came through from the sitting room. Impatient without needing to say a word.

Fern shot a glare toward the door before crossing back to the vanity.

Her hair had become hopeless sometime during the struggle with the trousers and waking up. Loose strands framed her face while the rest spilled unevenly down her back. She gathered it quickly, fingers working faster than carefully, then twisted it up and forced pins into place wherever she could see in the looking glass.

The front looked acceptable.

The back⁠—

Fern squinted at the reflection, trying unsuccessfully to angle the looking glass enough to see it properly. A section near the nape had already started slipping loose. She paused her ministrations as she heard the door to her suite open, muffled voices, then the door closed. Lina?