Vitrola stands rigidly, clearly anxious to get on with her day. "All set?" she asks.

I nod, resisting the urge to glance at Will. "I'm ready."

"Fabulous! Welcome aboard. You can get started right away. We can send for your things, but don't worry about bringing too many clothes—the ladies are supplied with the services of the Palace maids and dressmakers."

My head is already spinning.

"If you'll follow me, I will escort you to your room," she says.

"I have some patients to visit at the infirmary, so I will excuse myself." Will inclines his head toward us and makes to leave. He grabs my hand on the way by, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

I watch him exit, fighting to keep my confidence from wavering. Without him here, the room suddenly appears incredibly grand and I am acutely aware of just how big a fraud I am.

Fortunately, Vitrola doesn't seem to have noticed the shift. She stoops down to shuffle her papers together, gathering them to her chest, then indicates that I follow her. "This way."

I fall into step behind her as she leads me through the door, backtracking down the sloped outer hallway toward the main staircase. As we ascend I lag a little behind Vitrola, chancing a look down the third-floor hallway. I catch a glimpse of several servants hurrying between rooms, their arms laden with linens and trays. By their casual demeanour I determine that the third floor is made up of servants' quarters and closets; possibly the kitchen as well.

I follow Vitrola up to the fourth floor, craning my neck upward, distracted by the way the staircase continues to spiral up, twisting high against the glass walls and disappearing into infinity. My concentration is broken by the sound of someone politely clearing their throat. Vitrola offers me a tight smile and gestures me down the fourth-floor hallway.

This floor is bright and open, revealing a vast, open sitting area to our left, decorated in girlish hues of pink, blue and yellow. Natural light pours into the parlour from the floor above. Several girls mill about, their tinkling voices ringing through the space as they talk animatedly to one another. I pull my shoulders back and focus on Vitrola's slim figure walking determinedly in front of me; I'm suddenly self-conscious. My eyes dart sideways as we pass the parlour, feeling a heat rush to my cheeks when the ladies pause in their conversation and resume again in hushed whispers.

The parlour disappears and the hallway sweeps inward, curtaining us from the glass outer walls. Individual rooms now dot the walls on our right. We pass several of the doors before Vitrola draws to a halt. I nearly crash into her, so caught up in looking around.

"Right, then. Here we are!" She opens the door with a flourish, ushering me inside.

I step through the doorway, blinking at the sudden brightness spotting my vision. As the room swims into focus, I realize I am standing in a spacious bedroom, one solid wall being a glass window overlooking the City.

I take a couple of steps forward, spinning in place, trying to take in everything at once. There is a polished desk stocked with writing instruments, a vanity with a plush bench and a large bookcase stretching from floor to ceiling. On the opposite wall there sits a wide, cushy bed draped in what looks like the softest fabric imaginable. Bathed in the glow of the afternoon light, everything appears comfortable and welcoming.

I am daydreaming of running my fingers over the book titles and curling up on the bed when I am immediately drawn back to the present by a crushing feeling of guilt.

"This is all...for me?" I turn back to Vitrola, my stomach flipping uncomfortably as I struggle to maintain the illusion of someone accustomed to such grandeur.

Vitrola laughs lightly. "This will be your bedroom, yes. You will also be supplied with a handmaid. Sera, I think her name is. Where is that girl?"

"Right here, Miss," a small voice pipes up from behind us. I turn to see a girl around my own age standing in the doorway, hurriedly pushing strands of pale, messy hair beneath a kerchief on her head.

"You're late, Sera. What have I told you about focusing on your tasks?" The chipper edge to Vitrola's voice has dropped and I narrow my eyes at her sudden coldness.

"I'm sorry, Miss." Sera drops her gaze to the floor, scuffing the toe of her boot. "It won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't." Ignoring the girl completely, Vitrola addresses me. "Sera will be your personal maid. She can assist you in any way you need."

"Oh. Lovely!" I force some enthusiasm into my tone.

"I'll leave you to get settled. Remain here, and I'll be back to introduce you to the ladies before supper." Vitrola gives me a cursory nod before heading out the door, not breaking stride as Sera darts out of her way.

I wait until I hear her brisk footsteps retreating down the hallway before I turn and give Sera a friendly grin.

"I'm Abby," I say, extending my hand.

She stares at my outstretched palm for a moment before taking it in a tentative grip.

"I am supposed to address you as Miss Fellows," she tells me.

"Oh." I scratch the back of my neck. "Is that really a hard and fast rule?"

The ghost of a smile crosses her lips. "I'm not sure. No one but the servants has ever asked me to call them by their first name."

"I'm not much for formalities, so let's just stick with Abby for now." I move toward the bookshelf, my eyes skimming over the titles.

Most of the books seem to be typical princess fare—light reads about fashion and beauty—but I notice a few classics, likely slipped in as decoration.

"Would you like to change your dress for supper, Miss Abby?" Sera asks.

"Um," I stammer, glancing down at my dress. "I don't think my trunks have been brought up yet."

"Not to worry." Sera scurries across the room to a set of doors next to the bed. "You and Miss Tessa look to be about the same size. That is, until—" She catches herself before mentioning the unfortunate Miss Tessa's expanding waistline.

She flings the closet doors open and I stifle a gasp, my eyes widening at the sight of countless colours and fabrics. My fingers drop from the bookshelf and I feel my legs pulling me toward the closet. It is large enough for both Sera and I to stand in comfortably and is lined with polished wooden drawers and more gowns than I can count.

"Perhaps this?" Sera pulls down a violet shift.

I run my hand across the material, the silky texture sliding pleasantly between my fingers.

"It would go beautifully with these." She drapes the garment over her arm and pulls out a drawer beneath the racks of dresses. In it rests an assortment of jewellery, the various crystals and metals sparkling. Sera draws out a necklace of hammered silver and displays it to me, resting it against the violet colour of the dress.

It takes me a moment to remember to speak, only doing so when Sera clears her throat timidly.

"I..." I swallow, forcing an impassive expression. "That will do just fine."

My handmaid nods, tossing the garment over her shoulder and ushering me toward the vanity. "Let's get you dressed."

Half an hour later, I am pacing nervously. Sera hovers nearby, trying to make herself look busy by unnecessarily straightening the items on the desk.

"I think I'll just go out there and introduce myself," I say. "Vitrola is taking too long."

Sera looks up, alarm etched across her pale features. "She told you to wait here until she gets back."

"I'm sure there's no harm in going out to the parlour and being friendly." I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Sera has re-braided my hair and finished the end with a silver band that matches the necklace at my throat.

"You are new here, Miss Abby. Things are done in a very...particular way."

"Sera, it's just a couple of introductions—what's the harm?" I roll my eyes, pulling open the bedroom door, and step into the hallway.

I head back toward the parlour, following the sound of tittering voices. As I walk into the room I paste a smile on my face, holding my shoulders stiffly in an attempt to steady my nerves.

Roughly a dozen girls are sitting in the room, lounging on various overstuffed couches and settees.

"Hello!" I say brightly. "I'm Abby."

The girls' conversation stops abruptly as a dozen pairs of eyes turn to me.

I fight the urge to fidget with my dress as I squirm beneath the sudden rockslide of scrutiny. No one says a word in reply and the silence is maddening. Internally I curse my impatience, wishing furtively that I had heeded Sera's warning and waited in my room.

"I..." I clear my throat. "I'm the new lady-in-waiting. I am very excited to be living with you lot and serving the Princess." My cheeks are pinched with the effort to keep smiling.

"Vitrola does the introductions." One of the girls looks at me sideways. She is slightly plump, with mousy brown hair piled high on top of her head.

"That seems to be the way of it," I reply, now understanding Sera's trepidation about me coming out here on my own. "I was just sitting in my room and I figured I may as well get to meeting you all. No harm in a little politeness, is there?" I can't help but take a dig at their stony welcome and, as I suspected, not a single face shows any trace of understanding.

"We always do things a certain way." Another girl has spoken up this time. She is tall and thin and has a slightly hooked nose, her derisive tone and sharp features giving her the appearance of a hawk. "A lady should follow ceremony." One or two of the other girls nod in agreement, including Plumpy, her precarious updo wobbling atop her head.

"I see." This is not going well. Will's number one rule was to blend, and I am fairly certain that he would not approve of the circumstance I have put myself in. I wrack my mind for a solution that could somehow salvage the situation, but I cannot for the life of me figure out a way to ease the awkwardness. These girls seem bound and determined to shame me into feeling as uncomfortable as possible.

"Well, there would be no point to Vitrola introducing me now, would there?" I force some cheeriness into my voice; I'm damned if I will let these girls make me feel small. "We may as well move past it."

"What is going on out here?"

The girls' postures straighten at the voice behind me. Vitrola appears, wearing a fresh dress but still clutching her rolls of parchment.

"I was just saying hello," I explain.

There is a soft snicker from one of the couches.

"I always introduce the new recruits to the ladies. I told you that, Abby." Vitrola's brows are lowered and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something rude.

Why in the gods' names is a simple greeting so complicated?

"Yes, the ladies here have kindly reiterated that information to me."

"We do things a certain way here, Abby."

I can't believe this, I am actually being scolded.

"The next time I give you an instruction, I expect you to follow it to the letter," she says. "Is that understood?"

I clench my jaw. "Yes."

"Good." She leans to the side, looking past me and addressing the other girls. "I suppose there isn't much point to it now, but ladies, this is Abby Fellows. She comes from the Outer City and I am certain she will be a wonderful asset to our group, as well as a brilliant servant to her Royal Highness."

"Welcome, Abby." A dozen voices chime in together. Their octave is uncomfortably enthusiastic and I flinch, despite myself.

"A pleasure to meet you all," I say, tightly.

"Come then, ladies, to dinner." Vitrola marches toward the staircase, the ladies filing out after her in a perfect line.

I wait to fall into the rear of the group, my blood boiling as I fight the warning tinge of red threatening the corners of my vision.

I am pulled from my haze of loathing by the sudden weight of a curious stare. A girl is lagging behind the rest, her regal head tilted as she studies me. It isn't until I take note of her stature and the elaborate headpiece adorning her dark hair that I realize this is the person all this trouble has been over.

This is the Princess Megra.