If you drink much from a bottle marked “poison,” it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,
Lewis Carroll

Pippa stood before the entrance to the Summer Court just before sunset, a ball of nerves gathering in her stomach. Her fingers smoothed across her snow-white skirts, the hem and sleeves fading to a dusky-rose hue. It was a gown unlike any she had ever worn in her life, the silhouette far more fitted to her natural form than the dresses she was accustomed to wearing. Of late, her corset and undergarments were intended to create the fetching shape of an hourglass. Instead, this gown clung to Pippa’s slender body, her figure appearing almost willowy. As if she belonged in the fey world.

Just as Twylle had promised, this was the finest garment Pippa had ever worn. The white was so bright it glowed from within, the silk overlaid by the translucent fabric the green nixie had first suggested, which shimmered with each of Pippa’s movements. Tiny diamonds and seed pearls formed a fitted bodice across her chest. An occasional rosy tourmaline was stitched among the other gems at random, meant to accent the fading pink dyed along her sleeves and hem.

Despite that this was the most beautiful gown Pippa had ever worn, the only sentiment that clung to her was one of supreme discomfort.

She’d been gone from New Orleans for nearly twenty-four hours. By now, Phoebus would have informed his father that she was missing. Undoubtedly Remy Devereux had contacted the police, which meant that Michael Grimaldi knew of her disappearance.

The first place he would go would be to the Court of the Lions.

Unease unfurled down Pippa’s spine.

She was to be married in less than two days. She did not have time for this nonsense.

Pippa glanced toward Arjun Desai, who’d moved into position beside her, a look of affected boredom on his brow. She wasn’t fooled by his appearance. Not anymore at least. Following the events of last night, Pippa had decided Arjun was not as world-weary as his features suggested. If anything, she suspected him to be harboring a well of emotion. How deep this well was, Pippa could only guess.

“Don’t fret,” he murmured. “As soon as my mother puts an end to this farce, you will be on your way.”

She nodded. He took her hand. “To keep up appearances,” he reassured her, his touch warm. Only a day before, it had been oddly comforting. Now Pippa came to realize she found it simply . . . comforting. Strange, that. She nodded again. Together they walked toward the curtain of vines before them. Pippa gasped when the waxen leaves parted of their own volition, as if the vines sensed their nearness.

Hand in hand, Pippa and Arjun stepped through the curtain into a tunnel of undulating ivy. Pippa shrank back in discomfort when the leaves reached for her. When they moved to caress her skin with the gentleness of a lover. She looked at Arjun, but she did not notice the vines grasping for him.

“They’re meant to deter unwanted intruders,” he murmured, squeezing her palm and threading his fingers through hers, his touch warming through her skin.

All at once, Pippa found herself recalling Phoebus’ touch. How he had trembled the first time he took her hand. How his palm felt clammy. She’d been endeared by it at first. Phoebus had been so nervous—so out of sorts—that he’d fumbled, both in words and in gestures. It did not bother Pippa that he was a bit blathering, nor that his spectacles were unendingly smudged. He was kind and gentle. After living under her father’s roof, Pippa had wanted nothing more.

Arjun Desai did not tremble. His touch was warm. Firm. Unflinching. He moved with surety and precision, as if daring the world to toy with him.

It had been so long since Pippa found herself thinking she could lean on someone fully. Even with Celine, their friendship had felt like one of shared strife. They supported each other. Loved each other. Pippa had wanted Celine to lean on her when her friend experienced difficulty.

And yet . . . Pippa had not truly leaned on Celine. Not once had she told Celine about her little brother and sister. It had just felt wrong. Especially when Pippa could see how troubled she was. How the circumstances surrounding Celine’s decision to leave her home in Paris had worn away at her.

Pippa had wanted Celine to confide in her. But Pippa had failed to share her troubles just as much as Celine had. Perhaps if they had been more earnest—if Pippa had relinquished her pride—they could have helped each other. Spared each other a measure of the pain they’d both experienced of late.

Regret was a strange emotion. And if—

“What in the nine hells?” Arjun said the instant they cleared the tunnel of shifting vines to enter the Great Hall of the Ivy Bower. Birch trees lined the walls, their branches joining with the mighty oaks above to form a vaulted ceiling. Beams of amber light filtered through the autumn leaves.

Alarm coursed through Pippa’s veins. “What’s wrong?”

“My mother,” Arjun replied under his breath. “My mother is already here.”

“Where?” Pippa craned her neck.

“Standing with Lord Vyr on the dais at the opposite end of the room, beneath the arch of silver vines.” His grip on her hand tightened. “She’s wearing a white cloak with shining trim.”

Pippa’s alarm rose into a flush of panic. “Should she not have come to speak with you first, as you requested in your—”

“Don’t worry,” Arjun said with a wide smile, nodding at another member of the gentry close by. “It will be fine. All will be well.”

Despite his assurance—all his calm precision—Pippa could not silence the dread building in her stomach, which begged to disagree.