"Lady Amelia, you look beautiful as always."
"Oh, you flatter me. You're quite radiant yourself, my lady."
The Winter Garden sparkled under the midday sun, but the light did little to melt the ice clinging to my nerves.
The soft crunch of gravel beneath heels, the clink of porcelain teacups, the whispery laughter of nobles—it all felt like a stage play I'd stumbled into without a script.
And unfortunately, I was wearing the lead actress's face.
There were a number of children—no, heirs—milling about nearby. All dressed to impress, all pretending they weren't sizing each other up like merchandise on auction.
Then I heard it.
"Alice—!"
A familiar voice rang out across the garden, bright and unmistakably happy.
Amelia Frost.
She bounded over like a snowflake on caffeine, her arms already outstretched before I had time to react.
She hugged me.
Yes. Hugged me.
Me, not Alice.
