Great.

So it seemed I was a prisoner, after all.

What did they think I was going to do? Run away? I’d come here willingly.

All at once, the injustice of it all overtook me, and I collapsed onto the soft silver pillows on the bed. Salty tears soaked the pillowcases and burned my cheeks as I sobbed, hoping that no one outside was listening. How weak they would think I was. Just a little girl, barely an adult by human standards, weeping into my pillows like a schoolchild.

But the embarrassment only fueled my tears, and I sobbed harder. Just this morning, I had woken to the belief that today would be different—I would finally present my shoes to the world and strike the deal that would launch my business into success. That my work would be profitable, something that would truly make my father proud, not simply amused.

My father. My throat tightened at the thought of him.

Would I even see him again? I had no idea what betrothal entailed for the prince. If he was as rash as everyone said he was, as he had already proven himself to be, what lengths would he go to in order to free himself of this betrothal? Would he kill me just to end the bargain? Would that even work, or would the fae curse that forbade fae from lying keep him from sabotaging the bargain with foul play? I didn’t have high hopes in that regard. The fae boasted a reputation for being ruthless when it came to finding loopholes.

That was it. Either I would be made a reluctant princess, or I was going to die. If that happened, Papa would probably die inside too. Mother would keep him as healthy as she could. She’d put on a strong face for him, but in the end she would crumple.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

By the time I awakened, the sun drooped low in the sky, its rays shimmering through my window which, from the looks of it, had been supplied by none other than yours truly. If I squinted, I could make out the brand in the lower right-hand corner, the curves in the glass that spelled my initials.

E.P.

There might have been a time when I would have been ecstatic about discovering my initials inside the castle walls.

Today was not that day.

It must have been late afternoon already, and I marveled at what a capable sedative shock made, forcing me to sleep for so long in the middle of the day. My eyes were puffy and tired, but the cry and nap seemed to have drained some of the tension that had built up in my chest. Now that my head felt clearer, I examined my room.

Indigo wallpaper with swirling silver patterns that matched the color of the sheets on my bed overlaid the walls. There was a desk in the corner, the one that I remembered contained parchment that I should probably use to write to my family. The door to my right had been left ajar, and it led into a spacious bath with a large silver bathtub. I’d have to indulge in that before I was inevitably assassinated.

Or moved to the prince’s quarters.

My cheeks heated at the very idea, but I banished the silly notion. My parents might have shared a room, but that likely was not standard practice among nobility. I couldn’t imagine Prince Evander sharing anything with anybody.

Except for perhaps his bed.

My cheeks burned this time, and I tried, with great difficulty, not to think of that, either.

A white-oak vanity perched on the wall directly across from the bed, and I ignored my reflection as I walked past it. I had no desire to see how disheveled I must look after a long afternoon of napping and crying and sniffling and snotting all over my pillows.

I had to do something, though. I was wide wake from my fitful nap, and I wanted nothing more than to pace, but my room wasn’t quite spacious enough for it. So instead, I wrote to my family.

Dear Mama and Papa,

It seems my stay at the palace will be longer than I intended. Apparently, our beloved prince enchanted my slippers with a bargain that I accidentally agreed to when I put them on. I must stay at the palace while we try to work out an exception to the bargain, but I hope to see you shortly.

Love,

Ellie

I scribbled on the paper, the foolishness of what I was writing becoming more pronounced with each word. I’d send it anyway, because I couldn’t bear for my parents to have no idea what had happened to me or why I hadn’t returned home. But the notion that there was an exception to a fae bargain wouldn’t fool them. If anyone was going to find a loophole, it was always going to be the fae, not the human.

Though, I had to admit, at least the fae I’d made a bargain with had an incentive to find a loophole.

It was then that I remembered that a perfectly reasonable exception would be to kill me.

I groaned and folded the letter before stuffing it into an envelope and addressing it.

Not long after, I heard a knock at my door.

I responded out of reflex. “Come in.” Though I quickly remembered that this was a silly thing to tell someone when I was locked inside a room to which they most likely had the key.

The door creaked open, and in peeked a slight girl dressed in servants’ attire. Her hair straddled the line between blonde and brunette. She’d pulled it into a lifeless bun at the nape of her neck, the shape of which did nothing to frame her thin jawline. Her pale-white cheeks were sallow, and she looked as if she hadn’t seen the sun since childhood. My gut reaction was to check her forehead for a fever, but guilt immediately usurped that instinct when I realized sickly was simply how the girl looked.

“Lady Payne? May I come in?”

“It’s Miss Payne. Or just Ellie, really. And yes.” I wasn’t sure why I was worrying about what I wanted to be called when the prince was probably going to have me killed soon. If his molasses mind ever made it around to that solution, that was.

“Not to argue with you, ma’am, but I do believe you’ve been promoted to a lady now that you’re betrothed to the prince. I’m to be your lady’s maid.” The girl walked in and curtsied. “Along with a servant named Blaise, although she’s nowhere to be found.”

Was it my imagination, or did I sense a twinge of bitterness in the girl’s voice, along with an “as usual,” muttered under her breath?

Oh, well. I supposed it would frustrate me to no end if I was supposed to be sharing duties with a partner who never pulled their weight. Though I’d most likely be happier doing it all myself. “What’s your name?”

“Imogen, my lady.”

“Imogen, would you mind delivering this to my parents?” I asked, handing her the envelope. She took it and slipped it into one of the many pockets in her drab dress.

“I’d be happy to. Is there anything else I might get you?”

“No, thank you,” I said, though, in reality, I was really quite thirsty. I simply felt bad asking it of her, but then I remembered I couldn’t exactly leave the room myself.

“Maybe some water?” I asked.

“Of course.” She scuttled out of the room, locked the door behind her, and was back within a few minutes with a glass. I pondered whether I could overpower her the next time she unlocked my room, but I had no idea how I was going to make it out of the palace once I made it into the hallway.

Instead, I gulped down my water as Imogen shifted on her feet, rocking back and forth slightly. “Pardon, milady. But the other servants are saying that even though you’re the prince’s betrothed, you weren’t the one to dance with him last night at the ball.”

She bit her lip and picked at the hem of her sleeves. I supposed this was probably a very improper question to ask of a lady, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. On one hand, Imogen could be taking advantage of the fact that I wasn’t a lady and didn’t understand the proper etiquette between a servant and a lady. On the other hand, it wasn’t a question I would have found rude yesterday.

“No, I wasn’t. This is all some misunderstanding.”

“But the shoe did fit your foot?”

“Only because I made it. I used a mold from my own foot to shape the glass.”

“Oh.” Imogen went quiet and bit her lip, then asked, “Did you know the shoe was enchanted?”

“No.” I straightened in my chair, feeling a bit antsy now. She seemed sweet enough, but I wasn’t typically fond of nosy people.