Henry’s glare was cold as ice. “I’m done here.” He turned and exited, head held high, not sparing me a backward glance.

Faerry, on the other hand, took a slow, calculated look at me, her expression critical. “You’re pretty, in your way,” she said finally, “but you’ll need more than that to stand beside my king.”

“Are you offering to help?” I asked, sensing an opportunity.

“If you need hair and makeup, yes,” she replied. “Though nothing is ever free ...