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THE END OF DINNER IS SIGNALED BY MAUDE RUSHING into the kitchen and demanding to know where Imogen is.

For half a heartbeat, I look around for someone else before remembering that’s me.

“Get upstairs,” she hisses.

“Sorry!” I say, following her out into the stone halls. “I didn’t realize dinner was over.”

“You have about three minutes before it is,” Maude says. “I rang the bell.”

“I was in the garden. I needed some fresh air. It won’t happen again,” I say quickly, withering under her gaze.

“I certainly hope not. You are to escort Miss Coral upstairs, prepare her for bed, and then report to Cora. She will be your direct supervisor in this house.”

“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Of course.”

We climb the set of stairs behind the tapestry and come out in the hall by the dining room. Cora is already waiting there. The sight of her brings back another flood of memories—a plate of grapes and soft cheese, the soothing feel of the ice ointment she applied after the Duchess hit me. Putting on my veil for Dahlia’s funeral. The way the keys that hang from her belt would clink together. Her auburn topknot is exactly as I remember it, as are the crinkles around her eyes. She gives me a curt once-over.

“And Garnet hired her?” she asks Maude.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I keep silent.

“Hmm.” Cora’s mouth turns down. “I heard Coral gave you a name.”

I nod.

“Imogen,” Maude says.

“Hmm,” Cora says again. “You will report to my chambers after Coral has retired for the evening.”

I drop into a curtsy just as the doors open. I look up and find myself face-to-face with the Duchess.

The panic that grips me is so complete, the fear so overwhelming, that for an instant it’s like I no longer exist. My body is gone and my mind is blank and there is nothing left but terror.

I’d forgotten just how beautiful she is. Her caramel-honey skin, her ebony hair, the way her purple silk gown hangs perfectly off her thin frame, revealing her shoulders and collarbone. But it’s her eyes that I remember the most. The way they used to study me, critical and impassive. How they could shift from vulnerable to cruel in an instant. The look in them when she ran the knife across Annabelle’s throat, as easy as if she were slicing through a stick of butter.

The Duke is by her side. He looks drunk.

“Fabulous dinner, Maude,” he roars. The Duchess winces. “You must send Zara my compliments.”

“Yes, my lord,” Maude says.

“What is this?” the Duchess asks, stopping short to look at me. It doesn’t escape my notice that she says what instead of who. Sweat drips under my arms, and my knees shake, but I force myself to keep my gaze steady, my face neutral, the same way I did the very first time I met her, before she hit me.

It was harder then. I didn’t know anything, about where I was or who I was or what I had the potential to be. I’m not that girl anymore.

“New lady-in-waiting, your ladyship,” Maude replies.

At that moment, Garnet and Coral appear behind them.

“Mother, have you met Imogen?” Garnet says. He looks a bit intoxicated himself. “I got her for Coral. She must have a proper lady-in-waiting, right?”

The Duchess gives me a long, lingering look. Perhaps I’m imagining it, but she seems particularly focused on my eyes. Then the moment passes, and she turns to her son, an icy smile on her face.

“Why, darling, how marvelous. I never thought you capable of hiring help.”

“Isn’t she perfect?” Coral coos. “She looks just like me, doesn’t she?”