Gemma placed the salve down on the vanity in front of me, wiping the greasy sheen off her fingers on the fabric of her skirt. "This stuff is so messy."

“I don't think I need it.”

Gemma grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward the mirror, her face hovering above mine in the reflection. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat still seeping through the open windows.

Me, well, I was more than a little pink. I reached up to touch the tip of my nose, the skin burnt to a vibrant red that envied the color of the evening gown I had worn to dinner with Ernest just an hour ago.

“Thank Goddess that man got you into the shade!” she said, shaking her head as she reached for the greasy can of salve again, struggling to pry it open. “What were you thinking, wearing that jacket out on a day like this? It's still almost ninety degrees outside, and the sun is setting!”

“It’s spring! How was I supposed to know it was going to get this hot?”

“How many times do I have to remind you that we’re not in Winter Forest anymore? There are real seasons in Valoria, Maeve. Not just Winter and Break-up.”

I grunted, pulling away from her as she reached for my face with a glob of yellowish salve. Gemma was right, though. Back home, our springs and summers were brief and often chilly. Break-up signified the melting of ice over rivers and lakes—basically another word for spring. But snow still hung on the mountains even in late summer, most of it never melting at all.

“I just wanted to wear Rowan’s jacket, that’s all. It’s not even that thick. It’s a flannel.”

“How many people do you see wearing flannel here?” Gemma tried again to smother my face with the salve, but I dodged her touch. She leaned back, giving me a steely look.

“Stop moving!”

I surrendered, grimacing at the smell. “What the hell is that?”

She shrugged. “One of the kitchen maids gave it to me. The servants have been talking about your sunburn all evening. You looked a right mess at dinner, from what I heard.”

“It smells awful.”

“Well, you wouldn’t have needed it if you’d used your brain and stayed out of the sun.”

“I was a little busy.”

“Hanging out with your lunatic, I almost forgot!” she laughed, shaking her head as she screwed the lid back on the salve and tossed it into the top drawer of the vanity. “Put it on in the morning, too.”

Gemma disappeared through the bathroom door. I heard water running, followed by a string of mumbled curses as she tried to scrub the thick salve off her hands.

She was my closest and dearest friend. We’d been thick as thieves since I was a kid, even though she was ten years older than me. She used to look after Rowan and me, but our relationship had long since evolved into something deeper. She was family, truly.

Gemma was the daughter of Seraphine, who had been a close friend of my mother, Rosalie. Gemma had seen much of the world, which gave her a worldliness I had found intoxicating as a child. During the war, she had lived on the island where our mothers had first met. Our games of make-believe had no limits when she was in charge. When it was decided I would relocate to Valoria, I refused to go without her.

I was to be Luna, after all. Maybe even the White Queen of the North one day. I’d need a staff of my own eventually. There was no one I trusted more than Gemma—and no one more qualified to be my advisor. Her role placed her in the upper echelons of Pack Drogomor, granting her access to every party and gathering within the castle’s walls.

Unfortunately, it also meant she had to work closely with Horace, the decrepit old man who served as Ernest’s advisor.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Gemma groaned as she sat down on the edge of my bed, crossing one leg over the other and wiping her damp hands on her skirt. “He has me running about all day right now, readying things for your breeder’s arrival.”

I blanched. I hadn’t thought about Aaron all day—not since meeting the man in the market.

“Oh Goddess, did he tell you who it is?” I asked, turning to her with sudden urgency. She shook her head, her eyes flashing with playful anticipation.

“Hopefully someone handsome.”

“It’s Aaron Cressner!”

“Not Aaron of Red Lakes—”

“Yes!”

“No!” she cried, and I buried my face in my hands. We were both resisting the urge to laugh. I knew the second we made eye contact we would dissolve into girlish giggles.

“I thought he hated you!”

“Oh, he loathes me,” I said through my hands. “How could he not?”

“I mean, you only maimed him… a little.”

“A little? He fell ten feet out of a tree and had a branch come through his shoulder!”

In my defense, he had agreed to climb the tree. I only called him a baby—twice—when he protested. I warned him not to go too high, but did he listen?

Gemma snorted with laughter, rocking back and forth on the bed. “Oh Goddess, what are you going to do?”

“What can I do? It obviously wasn’t my decision. I doubt it was his, either.” I had a sudden flashback of the day his family departed, Aaron glaring at me through the seaplane window, his blonde hair sticking up as he slowly raised his hand and gave me the middle finger.

“His mother must be dead,” Gemma said, sobering. I nodded. Aaron’s mother had blamed me for his fall, calling me a devil. She had even called my mother a witch as she screamed at her not to heal Aaron with her gifts.

“Curse you, girl!” she had said, her bony white finger just inches from my face. “Curse you and your mother. You’ll never find your mate. You’ll never know your wolf.”

No one else blamed me, of course. I was only ten. Aaron was nearly fourteen—old enough to know better. Still, something in my mother’s eyes when she reassured me had stuck with me all these years.

“Well, the good news is he’ll be sent home when you reach your second trimester… if everything goes swimmingly.”

“Stop it,” I groaned, my hands covering my face again. The sunburn stung under my fingers. “I’m supposed to see the doctor soon, aren’t I? To find out when my chances of conceiving are best?”

“Yeah, probably. That old quack… I doubt he even knows what ‘ovulation’ means. I’ll know more after my meeting with Horace next week.”

“And so it begins,” I said soberly.

Gemma tilted her head. “So, tell me more about this man from the market.”

I perked up. I had already told her most of what happened, but still.

“He wasn’t really a lunatic, you know. He was just… funny. I understood his humor. I liked it. And he picked up on that almost immediately. It was like he knew me already.”

“Oh… you should go to the ball tomorrow—”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why, Maeve? You haven’t gone to a single ball since we got here, and I’ve gone to five!”

“This isn’t about the curse,” I started, but she gave me a look. I sighed. “I’m not twenty-one for two more months. I wouldn’t even be able to sense my mate. It would be a waste of time.”

“What if he’s there? Come on—”

“And what if I am cursed? Or worse, what if he already has a mate and is just a ridiculous, playboy flirt?”

Gemma gave me one of her famous half-smiles. “You like him.”

“I don’t like him. Not like, like him. Okay? I met him once, and for, like, an hour. I couldn’t do anything about it even if I did like him. I’m about to be… to be pregnant. By Aaron. To give my cousin an heir.” I paused. “Wow, that sounds horrible when you say it out loud.”

“It’s a mess, truly,” she laughed, standing and coming to my side. She placed a hand on my shoulder. “But it’s our mess. I’ll stand by you.”

“You kind of have to,” I murmured, flinching as she noticed a spot the salve hadn’t covered.

“Don’t do it!”

“Okay!” she said, hands raised. “Your crispy skin, not mine.”

I rolled my eyes, collapsing face-first onto the bed. “Why couldn’t they have just sent Rowan here? Would that have been so bad?”

“Well, it might have started a war, so yes. Very, very bad,” she sighed, patting my back. “I do miss Rowan, though.”

Her voice was dreamy. I rolled over, giving her a look. “What? Don’t act like everyone doesn’t adore him.”

“I don’t know why—”

“Well, he is rather handsome. Everyone says so.”

“Who, exactly?”

“Um, your mom has said so a time or two.”

I snorted, and Gemma laughed, eyes creasing with mirth.

“I miss him too,” I said quietly.

She always made me feel better. Even when I didn’t see her often, when we were together, I never felt so alone.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the lace canopy overhead. Our laughter had just faded when a sharp knock startled us.

“What?” Gemma called, glancing at the clock. It was just after nine.

A maid poked her head in, flustered. “Miss Gemma?”

“Yes?”

“Horace is looking for you. He sent me.”

“Tell him I’m going to bed,” Gemma said sharply. “And stop letting him order you out of bed to run his errands.”

“The Alpha needs to see Miss Maeve too,” the maid interrupted nervously. “Right now.”

“Now?” I asked. She nodded, and Gemma and I exchanged a glance.

“Are we under attack?” Gemma asked, serious.

“Oh, no! Nothing like that.” The maid shook her head. “The breeder is here. The Alpha said there was no reason to wait until tomorrow for introductions.”

I stood, catching my reflection in the vanity as I reached for my robe.

Well, here goes nothing.

I pulled my silken, cream-colored robe tight around my waist as I walked barefoot down the empty hallway, murmuring complaints under my breath. I was tired, sunburned, and irritated. Why Ernest couldn’t wait until morning was beyond me—but he was unusually eager about the whole process. He wanted an heir, badly.

I didn’t know why he had never found his mate. Or why he couldn’t have children. He had never stopped talking long enough for me to ask.

I reached his study and found the door ajar, muffled male voices drifting out into the hallway. I pushed the door open hard enough for it to swing and bang against a tall bookshelf.

Ernest turned, startled—but his face lit up when he saw me.

“Ah, Maeve! So good of you to join us!”

“As if I had a choice—”

And then I saw him.

Standing near the window. Broad shoulders. Brown curls. Familiar.

My breath caught as he turned around, a knowing, almost secret smile spreading across his face.

“Aaron has been so looking forward to seeing you again—”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

One blue eye. One gray.

It didn’t make sense.

But it was him.