The next several days pass in a blur of brightly coloured dresses, insipid chatter and decadent feasts. I make an effort to blend in with the ladies, sitting with them in the parlour and throwing in the odd comment when they discuss the guards they are eyeing or how someone plans to style their hair. As the days pass, it becomes more and more difficult to feign interest in their shallow affairs. At the same time, as vapid as these girls are, I know that they are barely tolerant of me. I'd have to be blind not to notice the way their conversations cease whenever I walk by.

I attempt to disguise myself among the most forgettable of the group, three girls I have nicknamed Blushes, Glassy and Blinky. Blushes is a quiet girl with a habit of turning red in the face every time I address her directly, ducking her head and murmuring replies. Glassy appears distant, staring blankly with a glazed, far-off look in her eyes and Blinky, being completely uninteresting, forced me to settle on the one characteristic I was able to discern.

Shielded by these girls, I am mostly able to hide myself and avoid being conspicuously alone. I walk with them to and from meals and sit next to them in the parlour, occasionally enticing them to play a few hands of cards, which I win easily.

I have been unable to speak to the Princess alone since the first day I arrived. She is most often shadowed by Hawk Nose and Plumpy, or otherwise occupied with some business that her father has arranged. I don't want to impress myself upon her, remembering Will's instructions to concentrate on blending in and biding my time.

I ache to explore more of the Palace but am hesitant to give the ladies more fodder for gossip if I'm caught snooping. For the most part I keep to the fourth floor, leaving only for meals and the occasional walk in the courtyard when the confinement becomes too unbearable.

At supper I look for Will, my annoyance growing with each night that I find his seat empty. I expect him to send for me any day to discuss my progress and formulate our manoeuvres, but it seems that after seeing me settled, he has returned to his flat in the City and left me to fend for myself. Deprived of his dependable arrogance, I feel more alone than ever.

After a week spent at the Palace I find myself going mad from the boredom and stagnation. I pace back and forth in my room as Sera sits on the bed, darning a tear in the hem of a dress from when I trod on it the night before.

"Would you like to take a turn in the grounds, Miss Abby?" she suggests.

"I've taken enough turns," I say, not bothering to hide the curtness in my voice.

"Perhaps a novel? There are several books on the shelf that you haven't read yet."

"Pointless drivel, all of them," I declare. "I've already read everything that was written for someone with more than half a brain in their head."

Sera cringes, chewing on her bottom lip. "What of the library, then? The Palace has several more books on the seventh floor."

This stops me in my tracks. "There is a library?"

Sera nods eagerly, relieved to have stumbled on something that might interest me. "Yes, the best collection in the City. The ladies are encouraged to borrow from the library, but I don't think many of them have the inclination."

A room in the Palace full of books, and not a single lady to contend with? How is it that I am only hearing about this now?

"Thank you, Sera." I say gratefully. "I'm going to go visit it right now."

"Have a good time, Miss Abby. And keep your skirt free of your feet!"

I laugh, shaking my head as I exit the room and head toward the staircase. I pause at the landing, glancing around to see if anyone is watching. Seeing no one, I hitch up my skirt and take off up the stairs at a sprint, revelling in the feeling of exerting my legs, grown soft from the days spent indoors.

At the seventh-floor landing I stop and catch my breath. I really must find a way to get more exercise while I am stuck in here.

I adjust my loose ringlets of hair and continue walking with a renewed sense of composure, barely making it two steps before I stop and gape openly at what lies before me.

The doors to the library are open, revealing a gigantic room with a ceiling that stretches up a full two storeys, natural light pouring in from all sides and illuminating the intricately carved shelves. The bookcases are arranged in spiralling rows, reaching up into the highest alcoves of the ceiling and creating a network of passages that remind me acutely of the twisting Commons. A wide aisle leads to the middle of the room, the shelves on either side congregating around a cushy sitting area.

I walk slowly down the main aisle, swivelling my head left and right. On either side of the room is a spiral staircase leading to the second storey, and the taller shelves have narrow ladders affixed to them, which appear rickety on their rails. The couches in the centre of the room are overstuffed and shabby, appearing infinitely more welcoming than the rest of the Palace furnishings.

It is the height of the bookcases that impresses me most. After so many days trapped on the ground, I feel my muscles twitching from anticipation. The need to be high above the ground and lost among the beautiful books, to summit the highest shelf and look out across the open space, is instantly overwhelming.

I gather the folds of my dress and tie them into a secure knot just below my hip, allowing my legs to be free but still preserving my dignity in case someone happens to come by. Judging by the silence, however, I don't have much to worry about.

My skirt lashed securely, I place one hand on the ladder closest to me and scramble up it with a practiced sureness. The even rungs of the ladder are no challenge compared to the rough ledges and bricks I am accustomed to, but the thrill of the climb makes my heart feel freer than it has in days.

In no time I am at the very top of the ladder. I spin on the final rung, grip the top shelf and hoist myself onto it, letting my feet dangle high above the floor below. I revel in the height, a smile breaking out over my face as a feeling of peace washes over me. When I close my eyes I can almost feel the sandy air on my face, imagining the City stretched out in front of me, the next roof an easy leap away.

"What are you doing up there?" A voice breaks through my thoughts and I start, gripping the ledge tightly as I am brought abruptly back to the present.

"Damn," I mutter under my breath and lean forward to look below me.

Princess Megra is standing at the foot of the shelf, ethereal as always in a patterned wrap dress.

"I was just admiring the view," I say, cringing at how stupid the words sound, even as I speak them.

To my surprise, she laughs. "It looks precarious!"

I grin. "It's beautiful up here. Would you like to join me?"

She clutches a book to her chest. "I could never! I have the most awful fear of heights. Just seeing you up there is making me nervous."

"I'll come down, then," I say, turning in place and making sure my skirt is arranged decently before descending.

When I reach the ground, I notice that her knuckles have whitened from holding her book so tightly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," I say gently. "I won't go up there again."

"No, no. It's fine," she says quickly, her grip loosening. "It's just that...I wish I could do that."

"Monkey up a bookshelf?"

"Yes, that, but really just...anything. Anything brave." She studies the cover of her book. "I've been treated like such a delicate flower my whole life, I'm starting to believe it myself."

"Bravery isn't climbing up a bookshelf," I tell her. "It's being scared but carrying on with it anyway."

She lifts her eyes, studying me intently.

I keep my voice low as I hold her gaze. "And as queen, you will have plenty of opportunity to be brave."

She doesn't say anything for several moments. I bite my lip, internally cursing myself. I've said too much; I've overstepped my bounds. This isn't a friend down at the pub—this is royalty. Stupid, Kay.

"You are an unusual person, Abby Fellows," she says eventually, a small smile pulling at her lips.

I laugh, relieved that the tension has been broken. "I get that a lot, your Highness."

"Oh, please, enough of that 'highness' and 'princess' ridiculousness. Just call me Meg." She gestures me over to one of the couches, where she slumps against the armrest and places the book on her lap. It is the most relaxed I have ever seen her.

"What are you reading?" I ask, sitting next to her; I unknot my skirt, frowning at the wrinkles it has left and knowing that Sera will be annoyed.

"Pride and Prejudice. Have you read it?"

I feel my face light up. "It's one of my absolute favourites!"

We sit for a long time, discussing Jane Austen and the vivid pictures she paints of the world before the Burn. We imagine cold, rainy weather and grassy moors, arguing passionately about Darcy.

"How can you say that? He is such a romantic!" I declare, taking the book from her and looking for the passage in which he declares his love to Elizabeth.

"Romantic? Please," Meg snorts, rolling her eyes. "He is a conceited, self-serving man who thinks of nothing but himself and what he stands to gain."

"But what about the way he searches for her sister? And pays for her wedding? What is selfish about that?"

"All to preserve the dignity of Elizabeth's family. Think about how poorly it would reflect on him if everyone knew his sister-in-law was traipsing around, making it with an unmarried soldier."

I sigh. "There must be more to it than that."

"Miss Fellows, I never would have taken you for a romantic!" she teases, snatching the book back from me.

I laugh, leaning against the couch cushions. "Romance in literature is something I can get on board with."

"Oh? Is there no one outside of the pages who strikes your fancy?"

I grab one of the cushions and press it to my face, groaning. "You're as bad as the lot of them on the fourth floor, with your talk of boys!"

She laughs, pulling the cushion off my face. "Goodness, Abby, there is someone, isn't there? You're as red as a sunburn!"

"It's just my hair," I say, sitting back up. Will's face flashes before my eyes and I fight to keep the blush from creeping further up my cheeks.

"Very well, keep it to yourself. I daresay, I will find out sooner or later." Meg teases.

"What about you?" I ask, changing the subject. "You may not be a romantic, but there must be someone who makes your heart flutter."

She runs a hand through her dark locks and I watch with fascination as the glossy strands fall perfectly back into place. "Oh gods, no. Though my father would love it if there were."

I sense an opportunity to gain a little information and concentrate on keeping my tone casual. "Most fathers would rather their daughters keep away from romance."

"Not my father." She sighs. "He has his mind set on marrying me off to Lord Lynal Grayson from the Outer City."

My mind reels at this revelation. The City and the Outer City are on friendly terms but have always remained completely independent of one another. Why would the King want to join forces with them, suddenly?

I immediately land on one obvious possibility: the King wants to harvest the soldiers and resources of the Outer City for use in his war with the Wastelanders. Before I can report this back to Will, however, I need to be certain.

"What is Lord Grayson like?" I ask.

"Nothing special. He is about thirty years old and completely obsessed with my father. They will shut themselves away in the study for hours, discussing matters with the Board. Don't ask me what about—they've never asked me to join them. I doubt the man has ever read a book in his life." She rolls her eyes.

If the Outer City is also interested in forming an alliance but are holding out for a wedding to Meg, then there must be something else that this Lord stands to gain through a marriage.

"It must be frustrating. I'm sure you receive a lot of suitors who are interested in the political possibilities of a royal marriage," I sympathize.

She sighs. "I can't say I blame them. The rules here are so archaic. Anyone who marries me would gain rulership over the City once my father passes, while I sit passively in the background."

And there it is.

"Well, I must say I think you win in the category of boy troubles." I shake my head.

She laughs. "And what is my prize? A lifetime of misery?"

"A slice of chocolate cake," I say, standing up; I grab her hand to hoist her to her feet. "Come on, let's see what we can scare up in the kitchen."