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She shakes her head as she sets it on the foot of the bed. “It’s from Rory Godrickson.”

Rory sent me a gift?

My confusion must be written across my face because Lettie shrugs and carefully retrieves the note from the box. “Would you like me to read it?”

“No, that’s all right.” I pad across the room and take the card from her. “Could you give me a moment?”

She nods in quiet understanding, dipping into a graceful half-bow—one I’ve told her is completely unnecessary, time and time again—and steps onto the sun-drenched terrace where Achlys lounges.

Once she closes the door, I ease open the card.

Gwyn,

Riven won’t be able to take his eyes off you in this.

All our love,

Rory and Quill

Beneath her flowering print, in different handwriting, is another message—Rory insists I grant you one piece of insider knowledge when it comes to my brother. She’s actually glaring at me right now for telling you I’m only writing this because she’s asked me to, so maybe ignore all of that and just focus on what comes next.

My advice is this: Riven values actions over declarations.

I tuck that tiny bit of information away for later, unable to shake the unsettling feeling that Rory must have glimpsed something of the future. Why else would she send me a gift and entrust me with insider knowledge about Riven after meeting me just once?

Does she know how heartbroken I’ll be once he has a wife who is not m⁠—

Wait, what?

Where did that thought come from?

It’s not like I want to be his wife or his queen or⁠—

No. Not going there.

I busy my mind and shaking hands by sliding the box open.

I gasp.

Silk and lace and starlit glitter come together to make the most breathtaking gown I’ve ever seen. It’s a deep, regal violet—rich as amethyst—with a heart-shaped neckline and delicate straps meant to trace the shoulders, hinting at just a whisper of skin before draping into long, sheer sleeves capped at the ends with polished gold buttons.

I peer closer at them, noticing a barely-there engraving in the shape of a flower blossom.

Is that nightshade?

I stifle a laugh as I lightly trace the soft white lace, the color twin to my hair, edging the neckline like a frost-kissed bloom.

Further down, the bodice is corseted and sculpted, designed to cinch my waist before flowing into a sweeping skirt that will glitter with every movement, each step bound to trail sparkles across the marble floors.

“Lettie,” I call out, “come look!”

My handmaiden slips inside as I pin the dress against my body and twirl, light-headed with delight.

Her awestruck gasp is much louder than my own had been. “It’s stunning!”

It is. It’s a gown fit for a princess—or a queen. I run my fingers over the embroidery, over the shimmer stitched into the skirt like a star-filled night. Sure, I’ve worn plenty of gowns over the course of my long life. Tweed, cotton, hand-me-downs. Luxe, silken little things. Even gauzy, striking numbers that Lettie commissioned from Thistle and Thread.

But this? None of them have felt like this.