The curtains in the bedroom were pushed to the side and I'd opened the window a crack to let the boisterous music of the Servant's Dance seep into the room. A joyful melody wove alongside a pounding drumbeat that came faster and faster, encouraging the dancer's footwork to move swifter with each rolling beat.

We couldn't see the dance from the position of our bedroom in the northern wing, but the autumn sky glowed with a halo of light-tinged blue from the wildfyre that had been lit in tall bamboo torches encircling the festivities. My aunt was in the bathroom getting ready, humming along with the music floating inside, and while I was alone in our bedroom, I knelt down, the coarse material of my skirt's hem brushing the carpet as I dug under our bunk and dragged out my battered trunk.

Quietly, I lifted the lid—there was a squeak of rusty hinges as it settled ajar—and started rummaging around inside. There was something I wanted to do while I still had a small amount of time to myself. This occasion warranted a look through the past I couldn't remember.

My rifling stilled when I came across the Jackie Collins novel I'd stuffed in here near the false bottom of the trunk. I swiped my fingertips over the innocent dust cover and the edge of its pages, tempted to find another dog-eared section of pure dirty-heat Beckah had left for me. But there was little time, and no doubt all it would do was light me on fire with an unfulfilled need I couldn't dampen, as the earlier passage had done a few hours back.

I wanted a distraction from my worries that frayed my mind and set my teeth on edge. I knew logically there was no point worrying. The best thing to do was pretend, illogically, that it wasn't going to happen. To push my fearful thoughts aside and forget about them altogether. Which was much easier said than done, because, in a few hours from now, I was going to sneak into Laurena's bedroom and steal the Crown of a Princess. I'd either get away with it, or I wouldn't.

Right now, I just want to live, really live, for a few hours, if it so happened that these were to be the last I'd ever have. And Tomas, I was sure, could do that for me.

Tomas had no idea the kind of girl I was. He thought, like everyone else did, that I was prim and proper. Well, yes, that was the impression I gave because I pretty much held to the same ideals my aunt did...to a point...

But tonight, Tomas was going to discover the other side of me.

The side that was going to kiss the hells out of him!

I pushed the book away; the oversized black tracksuit pants and hoodie too; as well as the football shoulder pads, and thigh and knee protectors. I dug deeper through the special things I kept in here, like the blanket in rainbow colors I'd crocheted with my aunt, and the silly bits and pieces I'd collected during my walks in the forest: feathers and oddly shaped twigs, dried husks of iridescent scaled-skin that the otherworldly Drossane creatures shedded like snakes.

My fingers curled around the small rectangular bundle I'd unearthed near the false bottom of my trunk.

There was always a despairing pang in my chest when I thought of momentous occasions like this one. I imagined my mother would fuss over me, help me get dressed to attend the dance, and we'd both share the excitement in anticipation of meeting the one.

Instead, I'd never be able to experience with her how I felt about Tomas. Aunt Ellena was all about propriety. If I did speak to her about boys, she'd interrupt me with a lecture of moral good-standing. Afterward, she would fall into silence and there was always something pained flashing through her deep-green eyes that dulled the color to a murky green with her own hidden past. I always wondered if someone a long time ago had broken her heart. Yet, I still didn't have the courage to ask her.

I understood, really I did, this world of servants and separation of classes. But it was so old-fashioned. The world of mortals was evolving around us, even the upper ranks had sexual freedom, and yet here we were, us servants, sticking rigidly to a moral code that belonged in the past.

So, more often than not, I kept that side of me silent.

Aunt Ellena wanted me to remain pure until marriage. Which she really didn't need to worry about, because this Uptight Spinster spent most of her time working her fingers to the bone and being so tired at the end of her long day, all she had the energy for was falling into bed and disappearing into a book—living vicariously through a heroine and her romance.

Besides, I didn't have any time for boys—boys weren't interested in someone like me. But deep inside, I was hungry to experience what other girls had—intimate closeness with a boy—even if it meant going behind my Aunt's back and risking her disappointment and disapproval.

Tomas was worth it.

I dug out a small handful of photographs I'd bundled together with a pink ribbon and kept in an envelope. Despite keeping care of them, they were creased and worn and faded. I only had a few photos—memories captured from my early childhood with my mother, Asta, and none of my father, who had died before I was born. I only knew his name and nothing about his family.

Untying the satiny bow, I carefully went through the photographs until I found the one I liked best. In the rest of the photos my mother wasn't smiling, but in this one, a small smile was pasted on her lips, while I was five years old and grinning like a lunatic, my thin arms wrapped around my aunt's neck as I stood behind her. My aunt had told the story of her holding the camera aloft, managing to get us all into the photo, along with a pair of black swans rippling through the dark water of the small pond behind us. Aunt Ellena said she'd had taken it when we'd gone on a picnic one summer to a spot in the ancient forest surrounding the Szarvas estate.

My grin was broad and unrestrained and toothy, with the dimple denting my cheek. We were leaning into my mother, who wasn't looking directly into the camera. Her round face was slightly angled away, her long chestnut hair a little messy, and I wasn't sure whether it was because it was windblown or she'd constantly dragged her fingers through it. My gaze sharpened on her own...there was such sadness in her eyes. But, indeed she was smiling, if a little half-heartedly.

Whenever I let myself sit and look and wonder about things I couldn't remember, there was a sharp edge, like the tip of a knife, scraping across the back of my mind.

I cocked my head, frowning at the uneasy feeling teasing my thoughts—

And a phantom slash of searing pain grasped my wrist. I could practically feel jagged fingernails puncturing the flesh—

A sharp noise of clattering suddenly resounded from the bathroom, followed by a low cry of pain.

I shot to my feet, the photographs falling from my hands. The memory of phantom fingers disappearing from my mind. My heartbeat picked up as fast and wild as the staccato beat thundering from the dance outside. I ran to the bathroom. "Aunt Ellena?"

She'd dropped the hairbrush onto the tiled floor and her hands were curled around the lip of the vanity like claws. She was hunched over, her spine arched, while she sucked in short panting breaths. Dark-blonde hair had fallen forward like a thin veil of lace and hid her face from me in the reflection of the mirror.

My stomach lurched.

And the breath in my lungs hardened.

A cold, cruel shiver crawled down my back.

I took a hesitant step inside the bathroom. Then another, afraid to even approach her, as if she were a wild animal I'd cornered in the room. One that did more than bite.

"Aunt Ellena?"

My hand trembled as I reached out to touch a shuddering shoulder—

And froze—

The knots in her spine seemed to take on another shape, become more prominent, sharper, pushing against the thin material of her dress and its zipper running down the length of her back. Almost like a ridge of spikes. The small space was filled with deafening sounds—those panting breaths began to sound more like a snorting beast.

"Aunt Ellena?"

She jerked upright, her spine straightening and the awful sound of crunching bone rippled through the room.

Her hair fell away.

I stared wide-eyed at her reflection in the mirror, swallowing back the scream.

She looked normal, seemed normal, as she winced. Her lips thinned as she gave an apologetic smile. "I dropped...I dropped my hairbrush."

Then her brows nudged together in confusion as she took in my reflected features, how the colors of my eyes shone starkly against my pale face. "Tabitha?"

I blinked, shaking my head slowly, trying to sweep away the fear and confusion that clouded my mind and surged like a sluice of ice through my veins. Suddenly in the warm, bright light of the bathroom, everything that occurred before seemed surreal, and maybe I hadn't seen that thing trying to show itself. Maybe my aunt just had one of her episodes, where the pain was too much. She'd dropped the hairbrush, overcome with the agony that felt like shards of raw glass grinding into the joints of her bones, trying to breathe through it.

Maybe...

Aunt Ellena turned away from the mirror to face me. Her smile grew broader as her gaze roamed up and down my body at the dress clothing my figure. And then her bottom lip began to wobble. "You look beautiful," she whispered, her expression collapsing as she drew closer. Her eyes began to well with tears and she dabbed them away with her fingertips, careful not to smudge the eyeliner and mascara. She pulled a silly, self-deprecating face. "I'm sorry, I'm being so silly. My little Tabitha is all grown up."

I tried not to flinch when she cupped my cheeks with her cold hands. I gave her a measured look, both of us staring at each other for different reasons. While she was caught up capturing the significant moment, I was busy collecting every detail in the nuances dancing across her face and body.

She seemed tired like she normally did this time of night, and in pain.

The magic inside me let loose a whine as if it hungered to chew over the dull ache running rampant through my aunt's body, like a bone.

The moon was nearly full. And a day from now, she would be out there amongst our peers, with that thing inside her.

We'd always lived in danger of exposing ourselves. But while I was one thing, she was another. I reassured myself it never showed itself to anyone but me, and only me in short bursts. It wouldn't come out.

Still, there was always a niggling doubt...would it show itself?

"Are you alright to come out tonight?" I hated how selfish I felt, hoping she'd answer otherwise, when I said, "I can stay with you. Help ease the pain."

"No...no...I'm fine," she replied, lying to me while smoothing my hair back from my face with fingers that were swollen. "I'm just going to stay out for a little bit before I head to bed." She took a step back, turned back to the vanity, and rummaged around in her bathroom kit, fishing out a small vial of painkiller from House Simonis.

It would dull the pain, but not entirely erase it. She glanced up, meeting my gaze in the mirror, and smiled reassuringly. But I could see the pinch of pain in the lines around her mouth before she tipped her head back and released three teardrops of red liquid from the dropper onto her tongue.

I scooped up her hairbrush from the floor and went back into our bedroom. I still wasn't sure what to do.

"Tabitha?"

Startled, I jerked around to see Marissa at the threshold of our bedroom, her fingers on the edge of the door she'd opened without me hearing. "What on earth are you wearing?"

I pressed a hand to my thundering heart.

Holy hells-gate she'd given me a fright.

Two, in quick succession, nearly did my heart in. I pushed out a relieved breath, then quietly shooshed her, shooting a pointed look at the open bathroom door.

Sorry—she mouthed back, pulling an apologetic face.

I tossed my aunt's hairbrush onto the duchess and crossed over to my trunk. Picking up the photographs that had fallen from my grip and scattered over the carpet, I tucked them safely away and closed the lid of the trunk.

Heaving a sigh, I moved to the center of the room. I spread my arms wide and turned slowly around in a full rotation so Marissa would get every single glorious angle of the dress. A navy affair with a really high neckline that choked the base of my throat; a gaping bodice; clinging sleeves, and one of them was distinctly longer than the other. The thick material flared out from the empire waistline and fell to an unflattering mid-calf, and even the cut of the skirt's hem wasn't straight. Seeing Marissa's commiserating grimace, I guessed it was as I feared—a potato sack would have more shape. The only nice thing about the outfit was the shoes, and that was saying something. They were basic high-heels—not strapless or even slingbacks—and plain navy, not even a shine to the leather.

I had no idea my aunt had been secretly making a dress for me. And she was so excited this morning when she presented it to me, I didn't have the heart to say no. She was gifted with her knitting and crochet work—a talented seamstress she was not.

"Why aren't you wearing this dress?" Marissa whispered, walking into the bedroom and pointing at the dress she'd given me yesterday, which was now hanging over the railing of the bunk. The Purcell sisters had delivered it this morning before I headed out to work, and my aunt had given it a disapproving click of her tongue a couple of times. Beautiful—she admitted, but not for the dance.

I sighed wistfully as I drew closer to the elegant draping folds of rose gold. I pinched the expensive silk between my thumb and middle finger, wishing with everything I had that I could wear it. But even I agreed with Aunt Ellena. It just wouldn't be seemly if a servant wore a dress to a folk dance that cost thousands of dollars. A small, sly part of me whispered that I could sell the dress and raise some cash to pay back the money I owed for breaking the Venetian vase and the antique Chinese teapot.

"I can't, and you know why I can't."

Marissa gave a soft huff in disagreement, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just rip the tags off and say it's an imitation."

I shook my head—no.

My friend was wearing a sleeveless floral dress with a sweetheart neckline with those ruffles her mother adored. It was more fitting for summer than autumn with its thin layers of silk and bright colors. "I love your hair," I gasped, transfixed by just how high her hair had been teased up and over in a side part with loose wild locks as if she'd spent the day by the seaside.

"Joann did a great job." Marissa nodded, her hair not moving an inch out of place with the motion. She tentatively touched a shiny hair-sprayed lock. "I'm pretty sure it won't budge in the wind either."

I picked up my hairbrush from the duchess, but before I could run the soft bristles through my hair, Marissa snatched it from me. The gold bracelet with diamonds around her wrist glittered from the sudden movement. She started brushing my hair, apologizing when she snagged a knot that had me howling.

"What do you want to do tonight with your hair?" she asked, tapping me on the shoulder with the brush's paddle.

It was usually up in a ponytail or twisted into a bun, and though it would have been nice to do what all the other girls would be doing, teasing and fluffing and scrunching, poofing it upward, there was no point and no time, not in a dress like this.

The noise of vehicles arriving had been constant for the past few hours, and the dance was already underway. Every minute here was a minute wasted without Tomas's company. "Just down," I replied, urging her to hurry up with a wave of my hand.

She fussed over my hair, parting it to the side, and brushing it until it shone.

"How are things going with Aldert Pelan?" I asked.

In the dim, wavering reflection of the windowpane I watched her lift a shoulder and pull a sour face. "He's all over Irma at the moment."

"Isn't she with Varen Crowther?"

"She keeps saying she is, but they haven't been spotted together as of yet. I don't know who she's trying to kid...though," she said slowly, dragging the word out, "you know how it goes. He'll probably end up marrying her anyway...even if he doesn't want to."

I guess in some ways the same could be said of her.

Marissa fluffed the hair on my crown with her fingers, giving it a little bit of height. "I just want Aldert, and for my parents to approve of the union," she said wistfully. "They're still going on and on about Byron Wychthorn. Byron this and Byron that," she pouted, waving the hairbrush around. "He's out-of-sorts because Valarie's not come out of her room. Anyone with eyes can see that he likes her, really likes her."

"Laurena?" I inquired, my voice rising and squeaking a little bit, even though I was trying desperately to sound casual.

"She's around, Rosa's borne the brunt of her wrath so far. Laurena's particularly unpleasant tonight."

Nasty and cruel, I would have added. And I knew the reason why. She wanted Valarie out of the picture and to gain a stable footing for her family as Great House.

Finally, Marissa let my hair settle in loose waves over my shoulders. "There," she grinned, "beautiful."

Marissa then stepped back as I turned to face her, and she hmmed as she ran a considering look over the outfit, half-bending to pick up the skirt and raise it above my knees. "Maybe we can quickly stitch the hem a little higher?"

"It's proper and becoming the length it is," my aunt interjected with a disapproving glance at Marissa as she came out of the bathroom.

Marissa dropped the skirt, straightening. Her blue eyes flared wide to be caught out. "Yes, Ellena, it's the perfect length," she said in agreement, shooting me a horrified look behind my aunt's back.

An abrupt rapping of knuckles on wood had all of us swinging around.