Ivy's POV

I woke to the regular whistling of birds outside, the sound usually gentle but now only making the pounding in my head worse. A wave of pain hit so hard that I instinctively clutched my temples.

“Good morning, Lady Ivy,” Camille’s voice broke into my fog. She entered carrying a bowl of steaming soup.

“Good morni—” I began, but stopped when she abruptly turned back to me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, blinking in confusion.

“You should dress properly while ...