The knights outside his door notice my bare feet and bare ankles and the way I am clutching the robe. I am not sure what they suppose, but I refuse to be embarrassed. I summon my newly minted status as the Queen of Elfhame and shoot them such a withering look that they turn their faces away.

When I enter my old rooms, Tatterfell looks startled from where she sits on the couch, playing a game of Uno with Oak.

“Oh,” I say. “Whoops.”

“Hi,” Oak says uncertainly.

“What are you doing here?” He flinches, and I regret the harshness of my words. “I’m sorry,” I say, coming around the couch and bending down to pull him into a hug. “I’m happy you’re here. I’m just surprised.” I do not add that I am worried, although I am. The Court of Elfhame is a dangerous place for everyone, but it is particularly dangerous for Oak.

Still, I lean my head against his neck and drink in the scent of him, loam and pine needles. My little brother, who is squeezing me so tightly that it hurts, one of his horns scraping lightly against my jaw.

“Vivi’s here, too,” he says, letting me go. “And Taryn. And Heather.”

“Really?” For a moment, we share a significant look. I’d hoped Heather might get back together with Vivi, but I am stunned she was willing to make another trip to Elfhame. I figured it was going to be a long time before she was okay with more than a very cursory amount of Faerie. “Where are they?”

“At dinner, with the High King,” says Tatterfell. “This one didn’t want to go, so he had a tray sent up.” She injects the words with a familiar disapproval. I am sure she thinks rejecting the honor of royal company is a sign that Oak is spoiled.

I think it’s a sign he’s been paying attention.

But I am more interested in the dinner tray, with half-eaten portions of delectable things on silver plates. My stomach growls. I am not sure how long it’s been since I had a real meal. Without asking for permission, I go over and begin to gobble up cold strips of duck and chunks of cheese and figs. There’s some too-strong tea in a pot, and I drink that, too, straight from the spout.

My hunger is great enough to make me suspicious. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Well, they drugged you,” Oak says with a shrug. “So you’ve woken up before, but not for too long. Not like this.”

That’s disturbing, partially because I don’t remember it and partially because I must have been hogging Cardan’s bed this whole time, but I refuse to think too much about it, the way I refused to think about sweeping out of the High King’s chambers in nothing but his shirt and cloak. Instead, I pick out one of my old seneschal outfits—a gown that is a long column of black with silver-tipped cuffs and collar. It is perhaps too plain for a queen, but Cardan is extravagant enough for both of us.

When I am dressed, I go back into the living space.

“Will you do my hair?” I ask Tatterfell.

She huffs to her feet. “I should hope so. You can hardly walk around the way you came in here.” I am swept back into the bedroom, where she shoos me toward my dressing table. There, she braids my brown locks in a halo around my head. Then she paints my lips and eyelids in a pale rose color.

“I wanted your hair to suggest a crown,” she says. “But then I suppose you’ll have a real coronation at some point.”

The thought makes my head swim, a sense of unreality creeping in. I do not understand Cardan’s game, and that worries me.

I think of how Tatterfell once urged me to marry. The memory of that, and my certainty that I wouldn’t, makes it even stranger that she is here, doing my hair as she did then. “You made me look regal anyway,” I say, and her beetle-black eyes meet mine in the mirror. She smiles.

“Jude?” I hear a soft voice. Taryn.

She’s come in from the other room, in a gown of spun gold. She looks magnificent—roses in her cheeks and a brightness in her eyes.

“Hey,” I say.

“You’re awake!” she says, rushing into the room. “Vivi, she’s awake.”

Vivi walks in, wearing a suit of bottle-green velvet. “You nearly died, you know? You nearly died again.”

Heather follows in a pale blue gown with edges of the same pink that sits in her tight curls. She gives me a sympathetic grin, which I appreciate. It’s good to have one person who doesn’t know me well enough to be angry.

“Yes,” I say. “I know.”

“You keep rushing into danger,” Vivi informs me. “You’ve got to stop acting as though Court politics is some kind of extreme sport and stop chasing the adrenaline high.”

“I couldn’t help that Madoc kidnapped me,” I point out.

Vivi goes on, ignoring me. “Yeah, and the next thing we know, the High King is on our doorstep looking ready to tear down the whole apartment complex to find you. And when we finally hear from you through Oriana, it’s not like we could trust anyone. So we had to hire a cannibal redcap to come with us, just in case. And it’s a good thing we did—”

“Seeing you lie in the snow—you were so pale, Jude,” Taryn interrupts. “And when things started budding and blooming around you, I didn’t know what to think. Flowers and vines pushed right up through the ice. Then color came back into your skin, and you got up. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I was fairly surprised myself.”

“Does this mean you’re magical?” Heather asks, which is a fair question. Mortals are not supposed to be magical.

“I don’t know,” I tell her.

“I still can’t believe you married Prince Cardan,” Taryn says.

I feel an obscure need to justify myself. I want to deny that desire came into it, want to claim that I was entirely practical when I agreed. Who wouldn’t want to be the Queen of Faerie? Who wouldn’t make the bargain I made?

“It’s just—you hated him,” Taryn says. “And then I found out he was under your control the whole time. So I thought maybe you still hated him. I mean—I guess it’s possible that you hate him now and that he hates you, too, but it’s confusing.”

A knock on the door interrupts her. Oak runs over to open it. As though summoned by our discussion, the High King is there, surrounded by his guard.

Cardan is wearing a high jeweled collar of jet on a stiff black doublet. Over the tops of his pointed ears are knifelike caps of gold, matching the gold along his cheekbones. His expression is remote.

“Walk with me,” he says, leaving little room for refusal.

“Of course.” My heart speeds, despite myself. I hate that he saw me when I was at my most vulnerable, that he let me bleed all over his spider-silk sheets.

Vivi catches my hand. “You’re not well enough.”

Cardan raises his black brows. “The Living Council is eager to speak with her.”

“No doubt,” I say, then look at my sisters, Heather and Oak behind them. “And Vivi should be happy, because the only danger anyone has ever been in at a Council meeting is of being bored to death.”

I let go of my sister. The guards fall in behind us. Cardan gives me his arm, causing me to walk at his side, instead of behind him the way I would have as his seneschal. We make our way through the halls, and when we pass courtiers, they bow. It’s extremely unnerving.