I wake early the next morning to Kaia bustling around my room. The late summer sun floods my apartment as the maid throws open the curtains to goad me into action. Sadly, it works. While Kaia finishes packing my trunk for the journey, I retreat to the bathing room to wash up. Cold water on my face livens me somewhat, as does the steaming cup of tea Kaia presses into my hands.

Toilette complete, I walk out naked and pick up the clothes Kaia has laid out for me. I don stays and underwear, then pull on soft deerskin trousers and a linen shirt. After styling my hair, Kaia hands me a green jacket with gold trim. The fit is snugger around the waist than I remember.

Kaia shrugs when I throw her an inquiring glance. "Mistress Redsparrow says this is at the height of fashion in Kaenocht."

I tug at the squared-off hem, which sharply contours up and over my hips. The jacket's large collar is designed to reveal a triangular patch of my shirt beneath. The oversized cuffs are rolled up several inches.

"I don't know why we're bothering," I complain as Kaia fastens a red ribbon around my neck, tying it in a floppy bow. "It's not as if these clothes carry over to our wolf forms."

"Crimsonshadow is an old, noble pack," the maid explains, smoothing invisible wrinkles from my clothes. "Appearances must be maintained."

I try to not roll my eyes—and fail miserably. Back in Stormrider territory, Morgana and I used to run around in worn canvas trousers and rough-spun shirts—when we weren't playing with the other children in our wolf forms. I can count on one hand how many times I've shifted over the last three years in Daroonga. For a nation of werewolves, the courtiers and politicians don't seem to enjoy the sight of their queen in her other form.

What do they expect us to be? Humans?

Kaia chuckles and hands me my hat—a jaunty green, white, and gold thing, barely wide enough to fit on my head. A wide double ribbon streams from the back.

"There," I say, holding out my arms. "How do I look?"

"Like a lady," the omega compliments, tucking her hands into her apron.

"And not the 'Whore of Daroonga'?" I ask dryly.

Kaia blanches, eyes widening. "Who has said that, my lady?"

"No one recently," I tell her, easing my feet into a pair of brown ankle boots. "But I've heard the whispers here and there."

It's a name I find both amusing and undignified at the same time. Wolves—at least back home—are open about their sexuality. Not so in Daroonga. I suspect the rumormongers are using it as a cover for their real target—Morgana. But I would never let her know that. I've never even brought the nickname up, because I know her temper and the palace walls would need a good wash later.

Kaia licks her lips, no doubt weighing her words. My omega maid and I have an easy relationship, but there is still a sharp divide between us. "No," she says at last, "no, you most certainly do not look like a whore, my lady."

I smile. "Indeed. They are far too gaudy."

"True," she agrees. Thus satisfied with her handiwork, Kaia walks over to a corner of the room and pulls on a thick cord to summon the footmen. Within minutes, two male omegas enter and whisk off with my trunk. Kaia grabs her small travel bag and I my satchel with its books, yarn, and crochet hooks. Unable to race through the woods or visit nearby villages as I wish, I've adopted a noblewoman's pursuit to occupy my time. Embroidery may never be in my cards, but I've become quite skilled in crocheting. It will take three hours by train to reach Crimsonshadow Pack—ample time to work on a project.

We leave the suite and follow the steady stream of footmen carrying trunks and suitcases toward the palace foyer. Like ants, the servants trickle out of the massive front doors, down a marble staircase, and load the trunks onto two large wagons pulled by matching liver chestnut dray horses.

Kaia and I part ways at the staircase—she to the carriage for ladies' maids and I to the royal coach. The coach of state is constructed of red lacquered wood with gold inlay. A rampant werewolf and Morgana's cipher is inlaid in gold and white on the doors. The coach boasts polished black-stained wheels with blunt spikes embedded in the steel rim. A grand, two-tiered gold cap sits atop the coach, each side boasting reliefs of the goddess, the moon, and Her avatars: Jani the Red, Illaris the Black, Vesta the White, and Solange the Silver. Four gleaming chestnut carriage horses wait patiently in their traces, occasionally tossing their head or flicking their tail. A driver and his assistant sit straight-backed on a plush black velvet seat, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Two guards with pistols and swords wait nearby while more guards in their wolf forms pace the courtyard.

Morgana stands by the coach door, nodding at something Letitia is saying. As the ranking alpha's daughter, she will be riding with us. It's not something I am happy about, but as a gamma I must obey convention.

The queen and Letitia wear similar attire, though Letitia's habit is a dusky blue compared to Morgana's cerulean. A slim silver tiara perches atop Morgana's head, a single fat iridescent opal catching the early morning sun's rays. A pair of matching opal earrings hang from her earlobes and a broad silver collar encircles her throat.

The other girls cluster together nearby, forgoing sensible trousers and jackets for full skirts, starched blouses, and corsets. I silently wish them good luck with the trip; it won't be comfortable.

"Issa!" Morgana calls out, pivoting to face me. "There you are."

"Your Majesty," I greet, curtseying.

Letitia's lips purse, her expression pinched. It lasts long enough for me to notice before she wipes it clean, replacing it with an air of calm neutrality and poise.

My brows furrow, causing Morgana to inquire, "What is it?"

I could mention Letitia's petty attitude, but it is too early and I don't have it in me right now to get into an argument. "Just a passing thought," I temporize, watching the alpha's daughter out of the corner of my eye.

Morgana nods and goes to speak with one of the footmen. Letitia eyes me warily and turns to face the queen's right.

I know the alphas' daughters don't like me, but I find it odd that Letitia has suddenly become so blatant about it. We generally avoid each other outside of Morgana's company—which takes up most of my days. We do not socialize nor speak to each other unless necessary, so I am at a loss.

"My lady?" a footman inquires.

Stars, I'm woolgathering. I mutter some polite apology and allow the footman to hand me up to the state coach. Letitia and I sit opposite Morgana on gold velvet benches, facing a thick glass window. Quilted panels of gold fabric line the doors and ceiling; tiny black buttons are inlaid in each dimple. A dark gold carpet covers the floor of the coach and the rest of the interior is lined in black lacquered wood panels.

I'm not fond of the state coach; it reminds me too much of an elaborate coffin. **

Morgana gazes at the plush ceiling before banging on the side of the coach. There's a flurry of activity outside, with guards moving into position. The coach rocks slightly as two of them climb onto the back seat, their black-clad knees obscuring the view. A whip cracks and the coach lurches forward.

It only takes half an hour to reach the station, but I reach into my satchel and pull out a book.

"More herbology texts, Issa?"

I pause, book on my lap. "No, I left that in your sitting room. Just a few novels imported from the human kingdom."

Morgana lifts an eyebrow. "Oh? Where did you get them from?"

"A traveling bookseller."

"May I see?"

My brow furrows in confusion as I hand over the four novels. Morgana examines their cloth covers and opens them to read the title pages. "What's this one about?" she asks, turning a blue-bound novel around.

I peer at the gold-lettered title: The Magnificent Travels of Hortense Villamere. "Oh, that one is a fantastical tale of a woman who goes on a voyage across the sea, only to be transported to another realm."

"Hm. And this?" She points to a green-bound book titled The Beast Diaries: Observations from the Edge of Civilization.

"Uhm, that one is about a human naturalist who spent five years observing wild beasts in the Lothair Archipelago."

Morgana makes a humming sound deep in her throat, thumbing through the pages. I steal a glance at Letitia; the blonde's mouth is slightly pursed, but her eyes stare straight ahead.

"The author could not have seen this creature," Morgana scoffs, turning the book around to display an illustration. I haven't perused the book too heavily, so the great, shaggy creature with an elongated proboscis, heavy legs like tree trunks, and twin horns protruding from the corners of its mouth is unknown. "This is a faerie tale." She hands the books back to me.

I pack three of them into the satchel but keep The Beast Diaries out. "There are four others," I tell Morgana. "One about her time in a rainforest, then another where she spent a year traveling through Noctis—"

Morgana waves a hand, cutting me off. I try not to take offense, but she immediately turns to Letitia and starts asking her questions about the Crimsonshadow estate. The alpha's daughter perks up as quickly as a water-starved plant, launching into an animated description of the lands and—and most importantly, the men.

I sigh quietly and thumb the pages, suddenly disinterested. It looks to be a long week.