18

Asher's arm is bulkily muscled beneath your hand. They drop the cushion and lace their fingers with yours; it centers them, and they take a deep, steadying breath.

"I do want this," they say. "Whatever this is. My parents would be furious, I know that. But I can't stop thinking about you."

Asher gives a guilty laugh. "You say that, but I'm sure you wouldn't be happy if something bad happened!"

They fall quiet, and their gaze tracks over your face intently, as though they're trying to etch every detail into their memory.

You tug Asher close by the hand, and pull them into a hug. As soon as you wrap your arms around them, they sigh happily. They stroke your hair lightly before stepping backward, bright-eyed and flushed.

"I should," they say, "check in with the hotel staff. Yes."

With a yearning look over their shoulder, they leave you alone. You settle into bed and quickly fall into a deep sleep.

Next

The following morning, you return to Archambault Academy by carriage and rail. It's mid-afternoon by the time you arrive, with little time for class, so Clemence sends you and the rest of Vercher House off to the kennels to check on the dogs.

"Part of your time here," Clemence says, "is to learn responsibility and care for your animals."

"That means, you, too, Dominique," Vere adds sharply. "You spoil that sausage dog of yours."

Dominique trails after you and the others, muttering something about Lightning enjoying snacks.

The others busy themselves in the neighboring cages. Dominique seems to be trying to get his Lightning to do a trick, but from his frustrated tone, it's not going well. Beaumont, on the other hand, easily leads Patch out; Javi follows, murmuring something complimentary to Silver, his butterfly dog. You've rarely seen Silver do anything in classes other than trotting at Javi's heels, but Javi seems very fond of him.

You bring Gooseberry out to the field and toss a ball for her. She races enthusiastically, returning back and forth faster and faster.

The wind grows more insistent, whipping your coat against your legs, and Dominique watches you curiously.

"How on earth did you find such a nice dog?"

Dominique laughs. "My parents thought I should get an easier breed to deal with, but I thought Lightning looked so amazing."

Your mother kept tactfully nudging you towards a calm, placid hound, but as soon as you laid eyes upon what turned out to be your brand new mountain dog, the decision was made.

"I wasn't going to give in," you say.

"I guess the Queen's the only one who can order you around," says Dominique. "But it's good that you got Gooseberry in the end."

Once your hands are too cold for you to want to be out much longer, you return to the kennels and put Gooseberry in her cage, where she settles happily.

Next

The weeks continue, and your classes roll onward. You do find yourself struggling to keep up with the others in class sometimes; it's not always easy to bring the right answer to mind before someone else does.

You spend more time on your prep work and make an effort to listen as well as talk during your classes. After a while of such focus, your essays are starting to improve. It's not always easy, but your teachers notice the effort you're making.

But soon, the Winter Ball is the one thing anyone talks about. During one afternoon, a snowfall begins, disturbing a Politics lesson as everyone flocks to the window to look out.

"Now, now," Clemence says, without much conviction; they look as delighted by the snow as the rest of the group.

The lesson breaks up shortly afterwards. You and the class emerge into a flurry of snow. Dominique scuffs his boot, frowning. "How are we supposed to supervise the ball supplies coming in when it's like this?"

Javi looks up into the sky. Flakes fall onto his cheeks and he laughs, rubbing them away. "How can you not like this? It's so beautiful!

You bend down and scoop up a handful of snow. While Dominique argues with Javi about the whole thing, you take aim and fling it straight at his back.

Dominique squawks and wheels round. "You! I can't believe you'd do that! I thought we were friends!"

He scoops up snow himself and tries to chase you with it until you reach the safety of Vercher House.

Next

The snow is not Dominique's only problem. The next day, he grabs you for an emergency Student Council meeting in one of the common rooms. Gabi is the first to arrive, looking very formal with their notebook at the ready.

"I just received a letter saying that a member of the string quartet we booked is sick, so they're backing out," Dominique says. "What are we supposed to do? We can't have a ball without music."

Gabi looks at you expectantly. "Does Prince Irad Motahhari have any thoughts?"

Both Gabi and Dominique stare at you for a moment. "Oh, goodness!" Gabi says. "That would be marvelous. I didn't even think of that!"

You write a letter to your mother explaining the situation, and after a couple of days you receive one back. "I'm not sure we can spare them," she writes apologetically. "With Hearthlight coming up, it's so difficult. I'm sure you understand."

When you tell Gabi, they snap to it. "Don't worry, Prince Irad Motahhari," they say. "I'll sort it out."

But despite their certainty, Gabi has trouble tracking down anyone from the talent agencies; everyone is already committed, and even mentioning your name does not make them fall into line. Eventually Gabi ends up finding a quartet. It was at the bottom of their preference list, but any music is better than none.

Next

Even the situation with the musicians cannot dampen Dominique's enthusiasm for the ball itself. One evening you find him poring over a catalog of outfits muttering about green velvet or plum. "This'll be my last Hearthlight at Archambault," he says. "I have to go all out."

Beaumont and Javi stroll in, bringing cold air and the smell of woodsmoke with them. Beaumont hunkers down to look at the catalog. "If you wear that, you'll look like a soldier," they say. "All those shiny buttons. Horrible."

As for you, there's no question of picking from a catalog. Your mother's tailor, Mx. Caruso, is on hand to create a bespoke outfit for the occasion, which, as you know, is themed around a moody, spooky atmosphere. You arrange a telephone call in Pascal's office to discuss your specifications; after the usual pleasantries, Mx. Caruso is all business.

"First," they say, their voice tinny and distant through the telephone receiver, "what sort of evening wear would Your Highness like to wear for the occasion?"