I awoke before dawn and now I find myself poised and tense in Will's flat while Jules fusses with the hem of my skirt. She has dressed me in a linen toga, dyed the palest of blues and cinched at the waist with a gold belt. My hair has been combed, with a few unruly tendrils springing loose around my face, the remainder braided into a thick rope that hangs down my back. The final touch is a sweep of kohl around my eyes and a simple jewelled headpiece laid low on my head.

As Jules works, I practice drawing up my posture and reciting the names of the nobility. I haven't been this nervous since I first started breaking into courtly homes five years ago.

Losing myself briefly in the memory, I recall a modest townhouse on the fringes of the Court. I had crept in through the unlocked back door, grabbed the first item I could get my grubby hands on and scampered back out. I managed to swipe only a single serving spoon, but the heart-pumping excitement fed me more than the score ever could.

Will emerges from his bedroom, pulling on a leather vest over his shoulders. He is dressed in a white collarless shirt, which is tucked into a pair of soft trousers and rolled neatly to his elbows. His boots and vest are made of the same quality leather—strange to my eyes as I have only seen him wear scuffed and travel-worn apparel. A green kerchief is tied loosely around his neck, useful against the coarse sand blowing in the street.

As I take all this in, I almost fail to notice the biggest change of all.

"Your beard!" I exclaim.

He laughs as he rubs his jaw, "Yes, it's gone. I thought I should polish myself up a bit for your big debut."

I grin, my nervousness easing somewhat. "How considerate of you."

"You look fantastic," he says.

For the moment, I can't manage to formulate a reply.

"Jules, you're a miracle worker," he finishes.

I turn away and roll my eyes. Of course, the compliment was meant for Jules. Though I will admit, it does take a considerable amount of talent to turn a gutter rat like me into a lady to be presented at the Palace.

"I think you're all set." Jules steps back and regards me, her dark head tilted as she considers me.

I draw my shoulders back and throw her my most haughty look.

She giggles. "You've nailed it."

Will is leaning out the window, his long fingers threading the silver buttons on his vest through their holes. "The carriage is here," he announces, drawing back inside and nodding to me. "Are you ready?"

I bite my lip. "Let's go."

Jules reaches over and pulls me to her chest in a tight hug. I squeeze her back, pulling away quickly when something itches behind my eyelids. Ducking my head, I busy myself gathering my dress away from my feet.

I follow Will down the stairs and into the street. A wooden carriage drawn by a large silver gelding waits patiently by the curb. The driver is dressed smartly in a grey vest and cap, which he doffs at me while he holds open the door of the carriage and gestures us inside.

I am about to step up when I feel Will grasp my hand, supporting me as I climb aboard. He offers me a reassuring smile before disappearing around the side of the carriage. I breathe out a nervous sigh between my teeth, sitting stiffly while Will settles himself on the bench next to me.

My stomach lurches when the cart rolls forward; the movement feels unnatural.

"Are they expecting us?" I ask quietly, not wanting the driver to overhear our conversation.

"Yes," Will confirms. "We'll be meeting with Vitrola, the Princess' chief—"

"Right, chief of staff," I interrupt, remembering.

"Exactly. She conducts all the interviews for the Princess. When she deems you fit, you'll be introduced to the Princess herself."

If she deems me fit.

"Got it." I glance down, realizing that Will has taken hold of my hand and is squeezing it tightly. He seems to notice our contact in the same moment because he releases me immediately, flexing his fingers into a fist and turning to look out the window.

I watch the buildings roll past us as we are pulled along the street, the horse's hooves tapping out a steady rhythm against the sand-strewn road. We travel uphill toward the centre of the City, weaving closer and closer to the grandiose Palace situated at the peak.

The landscape begins to change as we drive deeper into the Court. The buildings here are less pockmarked and boast colourful window treatments. Brightly dyed fabrics drape the affluent people strolling past. The pace feels generally unhurried compared to the rough-and-tumble attitude of the Commons. Familiar with these streets, I am able to anticipate every turn, though it occurs to me that in a matter of minutes, I will be navigating foreign terrain.

I feel a light hand on my shoulder and turn to see Will gesturing for me to look out his window. I lean past him and peer up, my eyes widening at the sight of the Palace looming above us. I have seen the landmark every day of my life, but never so close. It boasts tall, arched walls made entirely of glass and gilded balconies circling every second storey. The ground floor is expansive while the topmost storey narrows, giving the overall impression of a glass monument reaching up to scrape against the sky. When I crane my neck, I can just make out the top balcony. How many times have I stared out toward the Palace from within my tiny attic, imagining the view offered from the City's highest point? I can scarcely believe that the great, glass doors will soon open for me.

The cart lurches to a halt and I hear the driver conversing with someone. I look back at Will, who appears unbothered.

"We're just at the gate," he explains.

There is the sound of wood creaking as an impressive gate swings open wide enough to admit us.

We pull forward again, the wheels now turning almost silently on the smooth path.

I lean out my window, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of the flawless glass walls rising high over our heads. Will places his hand gently on my shoulder again and I fall back in my seat.

"Don't gawk," he whispers.

I nod wordlessly.

The carriage finally comes to rest in front of the Palace doors and the horse sighs softly. The driver comes around to Will's side and tugs the carriage door open, standing back so that we can step out. I take Will's hand, allowing him to help me down, using my other hand to wrangle my dress away from my feet.

Will hands the driver a handful of coins and pats him on the shoulder. The man scurries back up to his seat, leaving us standing alone in the expansive drive. Will offers me his arm and I loop my arm through his elbow, steeling myself.

Here we go.

Two guards stand stationed outside, imposing in their heavy leather armour. I can't help but feel a bit sorry for them in this oppressive heat.

"Do you have an appointment?" the larger of the two guards asks.

"Will Cain and Abby Fellows," Will says in a clear voice. "Here to see Vitrola."

The guard unfurls a roll of parchment, taking his time in scanning it. After an eternity, he nods. "Welcome, Dr. Cain. Miss Fellows."

He pushes open the door and stands aside. In the next instant, we are swept through the great mouth of the Palace and into its depths.

"Follow me." The smaller guard speaks a bit stiffly, motioning us past the expansive foyer.

I paste a bored expression on my face as we follow him down the hall, but allow my eyes to dart around. The exterior walls are all made of glass while the interior ones are a polished stone. There are rounded archways leading to the various rooms, and multicoloured tiles decorate the walls and ceiling. Richly woven tapestries cover the furniture, boasting a level of wealth I scarcely imagined possible.

Bringing my eyes forward, I realize that the floor beneath my feet is exploding with vibrant colour. A glistening mosaic has been laid out, thousands of minuscule shingles arranged into an elaborate design that swirls down the hallway.

The guard leads us to what appears to be a waiting area, judging by the plush white couches and carefully arranged cushions. Two grand staircases rise on either side of the couches, twisting up the outer walls and disappearing into the top floors. Beyond the stairs there is a magnificent archway and two heavy, wooden doors. I strain to look into the room's depths, catching a glimpse of several dining tables. I guess that the Great Hall must lie through there.

"Please, wait here. Vitrola will be along shortly." The guard instructs curtly.

I join Will on one of the couches, adopting a rigid pose so that I don't slouch.

The guard's footsteps recede back up the entryway and I struggle not to fidget with the folds of my dress, instead glancing around at our surroundings.

"The mosaic represents the Burn. Do you see it?" Will's voice cuts through my thoughts.

I look down at the floor, frowning. "I can't see anything."

"It's difficult to make out from here," he says conversationally. "But it comes together if you look down at it from the top floor."

"I bet." I know he is just trying to distract me, but I feel as though my nerves are too frayed for friendly chit-chat.

Several minutes of tense silence pass before I hear the light tap of sandals on the steps above us.

A petite woman descends the stairs and appears at the foot of the couch, her arms laden with parchment. Her dark hair is twisted into silky ropes that protrude from under the bright headscarf she has tied around her head.

"Dr. Cain, it's good to see you." The woman gives a tight nod, a consummate professional.

"Vitrola, always a pleasure." Will stands to greet her and I follow suit, standing back as she kisses him on each cheek.

"And you must be Abby." Vitrola shifts the parchments into her left arm and extends her hand toward me. I notice that her nails have been painted a vibrant pink. "I've heard so much about you. Welcome."

"Thank you. It is a pleasure to meet you as well." I grasp her hand, conscious not to grip too tightly as I flash my most gracious smile.

"I do hope you haven't been waiting long. Things have been a touch hectic around here lately, what with the recent disturbances by the Wastelanders." Vitrola rolls her eyes as though the war serves only to complicate her day.

"Not at all, we've only just arrived," Will tells her.

"Excellent. Please, follow me. We'll have drinks in one of the drawing rooms."

We trail after her up one of the staircases to the second floor. I pause a moment to glance below, trying to make out the pattern in the mosaic on the floor. Will clears his throat and I start, hurrying to catch up.

The second-floor landing takes us to a walkway that appears to wrap around the entire outer glass wall. To my left are doors at regular intervals, some open and revealing opulent rooms, the rest shut tight. The layout of the Palace, while massive, appears to be quite straightforward. The tricky part will be remaining oriented while walking in great looping circles.

Vitrola clearly knows exactly where she is going. She turns left through a set of double doors and ushers us into a bright, white room. Several couches, chairs and tables are scattered throughout the space, turned toward each other and giving an impression of deliberate socializing.

We settle around a low table into comfortable armchairs as Vitrola puts her parchments down and begins sorting through them. A young girl appears from seemingly out of nowhere and asks if we would like anything to drink.

"I think some tea, if you don't mind," Will says.

The girl nods and looks to me.

"Water is fine, thank you," I tell her.

Vitrola shakes her head and waves the girl away, barely acknowledging her before she turns to Will and me.

"Now, then, Abby. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?"

"I would love to." I cross my right knee over my left. "I suppose I should start by saying that I recently graduated from the Outer City Academy."

"How wonderful! What did you study?"

"Pre-Burn literature."

"Ah yes, the classics. Do you have a favourite book?"

"I..." My mind flips through the possibilities. "I love so many books, but if I had to choose a favourite, I would say The Count of Monte Cristo."

Will's grey eyes flash at me from the next chair, but he doesn't say anything.

"Hmm, I'm not familiar with it." Vitrola tilts her head, her glossy tendrils swaying.

"It's a wonderful story about fate and free will," I tell her. I decline to explain the overarching plot of a poor prisoner driven by vengeance and reinventing himself as a duke.

"Lovely. The Princess is an avid reader, also. I am sure she would be very keen to discuss books with you."

"I would be delighted!" I say, with what I hope sounds like a mixture of graciousness and enthusiasm.

"What did you do before studying at the Academy?" I know that she must already be aware of Abby's tragic past. The Palace would have done a thorough check on the history that Will forged for me, but Vitrola is going to force me to tell the whole story anyway.

So be it.

"Before that, I lived in a care facility. I was placed there after the death of my parents." Here, I reach for the handkerchief handed discreetly to me by Will and bring it to my eyes.

"Oh, you poor dear. I am so sorry."

Sorry, my foot, you silly gossip.

The young maid appears again, carrying a silver tray laden with our drinks. She places it on the table between us and scurries away.

I let the silence linger for a few moments as I dab at imaginary tears, waiting for Vitrola to say the question I know she is aching to ask.

"Did they die...naturally?" she words carefully.

I nearly snort with laughter and cover it up by pretending to blow my nose into the handkerchief. I don't know which is more ridiculous: that Vitrola is every bit as scandal-hungry as Will said she would be, or that she actually has the gall to ask whether two people can die of natural causes at the same time.

"No, I'm afraid it was much worse than that." I sigh, reaching for my glass of water; I take a long sip while I let Vitrola stew in her curiosity. "We lived in a gorgeous house in a good part of the Outer City." The trick to telling a convincing fib is to add a few specific details but not to overly embellish. "One day, I was out with my friend, Lara, at the market when Wastelanders attacked our walls."

"How terrible!" Vitrola gasps.

I press the handkerchief to my eyes again. "When I got back, I knew immediately what had happened. The beautiful white walls of our house were splattered with...with blood." I shudder dramatically. That ought to be enough to satiate her morbid concern. I adjust my posture, feeling a jolt of triumph as Vitrola regards me with fascination. "But that is all in the past now," I say bravely. "As the saying goes, you can't go back, you can only go forward."

"She's been so strong," Will says. "The whole family is very proud of her."

I give him a shaky smile, ever the stoic little lady.

"Clearly, you are an exceptional young woman." Vitrola sits back in her seat. "I daresay we could use someone with your education and insight."

"It would be a great honour to assist the Princess in any way," I tell her.

"Indeed, it is." Vitrola suddenly turns grave. "But being a lady-in-waiting isn't just about being a friend to the Princess. Our young ladies must conduct themselves with the utmost grace and dignity at all times."

I nod sagely. "Of course."

"If we were to accept you for this position, you would be representing the Palace. That means there will be zero tolerance for any behaviour not befitting someone of your station. You will be at the Princess' beck and call, expected to perform whatever duty she asks of you. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Well, then!" Vitrola's sober demeanour vanishes as she beams at Will and me. "I think we will get along famously."

Like a house on fire, I can't help but think.

Her small figure hovers over the table as Vitrola sorts through the parchments, efficiently selecting one, which she hands to me.

"I'll just ask you to read over this contract and sign it. It's all quite standard, but if you have any questions, let me know." Her tone suggests that she will not be entertaining any such possibility. "I'll give you a moment to read it over." She stands, straightening her dress. "Take your time!"

She sweeps from the room and I release the breath of air I hadn't realized I was holding. "All right. That wasn't so bad."

Will has taken the contract and is studying it, his brow furrowed. "I told you that you didn't have anything to worry about."

"What does the contract say?"

"Nothing unexpected. You must always look presentable, you must attend all formal Palace events, you are to limit your interaction with anyone below your station..."

I snort unattractively, ruining whatever ladylike effect I was pulling off. "That last one is charming."

"Welcome to the Palace." He withdraws a pen from the pocket of his jacket and hands both it and the contract back to me. "There's no going back now, Red."

I smile at the nickname and sign with a flourish, even adding a flamboyant heart to the signature.

Behind me, there is the sound of the door creaking open. Will and I rise quickly to our feet, turning as Vitrola steps back into the room.

This is it.

I'm in.