Erin wears a maroon wig that has been elaborately styled and placed on her head in such a way that strands of her dark hair are still visible around the edges. I reach forward and tuck them away, letting my fingers linger near her cheek.

She is all I want.

Suddenly, she takes my hand in hers and presses my palm to her lips. She pulls my hands into her lap and leans forward, pressing her forehead against mine.

“We’re out of time,” she says, her eyes closed.

“We’re not,” I say, gripping her hands, breathing her in. “We can stop right now. We can run.”

“Where can we go? If I thought we could make this work—”

My heart leaps as a glimmer of hope springs to life. “We can. You just have to say it’s what you want. That’s all. It’s easy.”

She smiles, and as I go to put my arms around her, she presses my hands down into her lap, holding them there. “It’s not. And I know you don’t want to hear this, but this isn’t what I want.”

That spark of hope is immediately extinguished, replaced by a numbing ache. “Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

Erin was my first friend, the first person I cared about as more than a friend, the first and only person I’ve ever kissed. In the beginning, I’d been so afraid to tell her how I felt about her that I lied and said another girl had feelings for her, just to see how she would react. Apparently my ability to lie convincingly wasn’t as good as I thought it was, because she saw straight through me. She told me that she cared about me, too, but that we had to keep it a secret. I didn’t want to keep it a secret. But I did. For her. And the moments we shared sustained me, gave me something to look forward to.

Over time, as the ball grew closer, something began to change. She didn’t want to hold my hand or even hear me talk about us being together. It wounded me in a way I didn’t even know was possible.

She sits back, her face a mask of pain and hurt. “My parents have made it clear that if I put one foot out of line, they’ll take me to the palace as forfeit. There’s no place the king couldn’t find me if I tried to escape. Lille is his capital, but he holds just as much sway in every other city in Mersailles. You’ve seen the convoys when they come through town, bearing gifts, emissaries groveling at his feet. Every king who has ruled over Lille since Cinderella’s time follows the same path. You think it’s any different outside our borders? It’s not.”

“That’s not true,” I say, scrambling to find a way to make her change her mind.

“The ball may lead to something wonderful for us.” It sounds as if she’s reading the words from a piece of paper, stiff and unfeeling.

“How can you say that to me?” I ask in disbelief. “How can you pretend like this isn’t tearing you apart?” I refuse to believe that everything we’ve shared suddenly means nothing to her.

“You’re tearing me apart,” she snaps. “Why do you have to question everything? Why do you have to make this so hard?” Anger invades her voice, but it isn’t loud enough to drown out the sadness. The same sadness that colors everything we do because we know these stolen moments are rushing us toward a catastrophic end. She crosses her arms hard over her chest. “I don’t want to fight for us, Sophia. I don’t want to fight for something that will only bring us pain. This is wrong. Everyone says so, and they’re right.”

“It’s not wrong,” I say. “I choose you, Erin. I want you, and I’m willing to risk everything for that.”

Tears slide down her face, and she pats them dry with a handkerchief before they have a chance to leave streaks on her cheeks. “I can’t do this. I can’t be an outcast. Our families are depending on us to make them proud, to find suitors who will provide for us. Disobeying the king for an impossible situation won’t do that.”

“I don’t care about what the king wants,” I say.

“Because you’re selfish,” Erin says bluntly. “Because you’ve never once stopped to think that maybe I don’t want to be different. I don’t want to stick out. Accept it.”

I choke back tears. Then I give in and let them fall. Maybe letting them flow freely will give me a temporary relief from the crush of sadness that comes with knowing that Erin isn’t saying she doesn’t care about me; she is saying she’s choosing not to. But relief never comes. The ache creeps into every part of me and lingers there, burning and painful. I can only look at her as she avoids my eyes and stares out the window.

I find the little vial the dresser had given me and open the top.

Erin glances at me. “What is that?”

“A potion. For luck.”

Erin’s eyes grow wide. “Really? Where’d you get it?”

“One of the dressers gave it to me. It’s from Helen’s Wonderments.”

I drink half and offer Erin the remaining part. She hesitates for a moment but then takes the vial from me and gulps it down. I hope against hope that it works, but something tells me we’ll need much more than luck to get through this night.

The carriage bounces along over a ridge. Erin shifts in her seat, and a gasp escapes her lips. The palace comes into view outside the window, and it looks like something out of a painting. On any given day, the palace is extravagant, a beacon of wealth, power, and privilege. The sprawling ivory façade can be seen from miles away, but when the ball is held, it looks like something out of a dream. I wonder how he manages to do that, to make something so terrible seem so inviting. This isn’t a dream; it is a nightmare made real, and there is no waking up.

8

Lamps line the drive; their low, undulating light gives the entire area an ethereal glow. Every window is dressed with red-and-blue sashes. Lights hang along the covered parapet walks, and the ramparts are decorated with gonfalons displaying the royal crest: the body of a lion with the talons of an eagle and the head of a hawk. The golden mantling is set against a crimson background, with the royal motto emblazoned across the bottom: A Deo Rex; A Rege Lex, which my father told me means “From God, the king; from the king, law.”

The palace guards, dressed in colors matching the crest, line the length of the footpath just outside the main entryway, their gleaming swords holstered at their sides, their faces stoic and unchanging. A wave of panic washes over me. I dread going inside.

The queue of carriages extends behind us almost all the way out to the main road. We inch along, waiting for our turn to exit.

“This is more than I could have ever imagined,” Erin says, staring up at the castle.

“That something could look so beautiful and still be a nightmare is terrifying,” I say as I look at her.

“You don’t know that it will be a nightmare.”

“I wasn’t talking about the palace.”

She shoots me a frustrated glance as she climbs out of the carriage. I follow her, my heart galloping in my chest, my nerves getting the better of me with each passing moment. There are sideways glances, hushed whispers, and more than one catty laugh. I’ve never felt so exposed. I look through the crowd, and for every judgmental face I see, another is drawn tight with fear and apprehension.