1
The day had finally come.
It was still very early when the sun crested over the Bavarian mountains, its light climbing up the walls of Duke Maximilian’s palace to slip through its arched windows. But Sophie had been awake for hours. She’d spent most of the night staring into the dark velvet above her four-poster bed, and now she turned to watch the line of light that made its way past the thick tapestry curtains.
She jumped out of bed and threw the drapes open wide, squinting as the sunlight hit her pale skin. Lotte, Sophie’s lady’s maid, would be along in a little bit, but Sophie just couldn’t wait any longer. She crossed the room to her dressing table and ran a hand through her thick, dark hair, studying her reflection in the wide gilded mirror. When she was younger, she had been nicknamed Snow White for her alabaster skin. At sixteen, people told Sophie that she was starting to look like her mother, the late Duchess Maria, who had been known throughout their land for her stunning beauty.
In the mirror’s reflection, Sophie saw the raven-black hair, ivory complexion, sharp chin, and red lips that resembled her mother’s features. But she was still just Sophie underneath. She hoped she would have even half her mother’s elegance one day.
Duke Maximilian, Sophie’s father, had veiled all the paintings of the duchess for a long time after her death. The portraits lined the halls of the palace in mournful black rectangles, darkening the mood of everyone who passed. Though Sophie had been nine years old when a fierce illness gripped Duchess Maria, the memories of the short life they’d spent together seemed to disappear more and more with each passing year. When the portraits were uncovered again, Sophie was struck by the image of her mother. It was like looking at a beautiful stranger.
Sophie looked away from the mirror and sighed. Today was meant to be a happy occasion, for that very evening Duke Maximilian would be wed, and the palace would have a duchess once more. But the memory of Sophie’s mother seemed more present than ever. She reached for the carved box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, which remained always next to the mirror, and rummaged through its thin drawers until she found the necklace that had once belonged to her mother—a loop of thin filigreed silver inset with stones of opal. She clasped the jewelry around her neck, the cool metal on her skin bringing her a little comfort. The prospect of having a stepmother felt incredibly strange to Sophie, but she was happy for her father. And, in truth, a little relieved.
Her mother’s death had made Duke Maximilian quiet and distant, causing him to withdraw from palace life and from Sophie, too. He’d spent many dark winter evenings alone in his quarters and sent himself on long trips to do business with other dignitaries. Years had gone on this way. For a long time, Sophie nearly felt orphaned in the big, silent palace, worried she was losing him. She wished he’d take her with him—Sophie would have loved to see where he went and to travel outside of Bavaria—but he said it was too dangerous.
So she spent her days inside, reading, studying with tutors, waiting and walking the long halls. She had little desire to do much else; though Sophie and her mother had often hiked into the mountains to enjoy the
sun and the wind on their faces, Sophie found she didn’t want to do that anymore. Not alone.
This pattern held father and daughter in its grip for many years too long. Yet on one of those long journeys, Duke Maximilian found comfort in someone new. While on a philanthropic trip to Khadjibey on the Black Sea, he and his advisers made a fateful stop in the principality of Moldavia, where they accepted the hospitality of a noble family—some of the only nobility the small state had. There in the dark, eastern fields, where anyone would have least expected it, he discovered the one person who seemed to wake him from his slumber. Her name was Lady Claudia. Though tonight was the wedding, Sophie hadn’t met her yet. She had only heard the whispered rumors among the palace staff.
“I hear she’s just a young thing—young enough to be Lady Sophie’s sister!” the serving maid whispered to the valet at dinner earlier that week.
“They say her family is out of favor with the Kyiv nobility,” the gardener murmured to the coachman the following day, unaware that Sophie was reading nearby. “And there’s rumblings of war with the Ottomans in that part of the world. I certainly hope this isn’t some kind of charity case—or worse—a spy.”
Now the chamber door flew open behind Sophie, interrupting her thoughts, and Lotte burst into the gilded mirror’s reflection.
“Are you ready to debut?” She squealed the question as she rushed to Sophie’s side.
The mention of the second important event taking place today sent Sophie’s stomach into knots. She’d been doing everything she could to avoid the subject. Even though it was a little early—her mother had debuted at seventeen, after all—Duke Maximilian had decided it was time for Sophie to be introduced to palace society. He feared she’d missed out on so much already, being holed away in his absence.
The arrival of Lady Claudia seemed to have turned his thoughts to romance in all areas of his life, and he had the unusual idea to conduct the debut and the wedding on the same night, in one operatic— and stressful—ceremony.
“What convenience,” Duke Maximilian said, “with all the foreign dignitaries and guests gathered in one place already!” Her father looked at her keenly. “And we must think about your future as well.”
“My future?” Sophie asked.
“You will have to marry, of course, and once you are introduced to society, we must make the proper arrangements. And you cannot marry just anyone,” said the duke with a smile.
Marriage? Wasn’t it just yesterday that she had put away her dolls? She rarely spoke to any boys—she had cousins all over the continent, but they hardly visited. There were few young men that she knew by acquaintance, though mostly she had spent years alone with only the servants for company. But she was the duke’s daughter, a lady, and of course she would have to marry. This was expected of her, and in her dreams, she wished for the same happiness her parents had found—and perhaps her father had found once more.
“We shall find the best of suitors,” her father assured her. “Someone who deserve
you.”
“Someone that I love?” she asked hopefully.
Her father’s smile deepened. “One who adores you. It is my dearest wish to see to your happiness, my child.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
Still, the anticipation of so much change in one day was the reason she hadn’t been able to sleep, and the reason her heart leapt into her throat at Lotte’s declaration. Her future would begin tonight.
“Lotte,” Sophie said sternly, rising and allowing the lady’s maid to pull off her dressing gown and begin layering on the petticoats, “I’m trying not to think about it. And after all, this is Lady Claudia’s special day.”
She tugged at Duchess Maria’s necklace again, straightening it between her collarbones. The stiff lace of her practice gown came up around her skin, feeling scratchy and tight as Lotte tightened the laces of her stays, made stiff with whalebone. It pulled in her waist and made her lungs feel shallow. Apart from her debut, Sophie was also trying very hard not to think about the fact that her mother wouldn’t be there to see her.
Sophie’s father; her governess, Frau Hilda; and her tutor, Monsieur Gustave, had been working to the bone, trying to prepare Sophie for her debut in the few short weeks since Duke Maximilian had made the plan. But despite arduous training and the many volumes she’d been tasked with reading, Sophie had little idea of what to expect. Her father and Monsieur Gustave were men, after all, and Frau Hilda had never herself debuted.
“Oh, you can’t worry about that. It’s going to be a dream, they will be banging down the castle door,” Lotte said, pressing her foot on Sophie’s back and yanking her laces. Sophie felt the breath push out of her and nearly doubled over. “You two get to share this. And Lady Claudia better not be envious of you if she’s going to be a good fit in the palace.”
Sophie winced. “We must make Lady Claudia feel at home. Papa seems happy, so I want her to be happy, too.”
Lotte shrugged. “It's not easy being an outsider.”
2
The palace bustled all day with final preparations for the wedding. Sophie tried to get a glimpse of Lady Claudia, but she’d arrived with all her maids and ladies-in-waiting that morning and was now hidden away in the north wing.
Sophie watched from her bedroom window as four whole carriages filed up to the palace doors. Sophie wondered what the lady was like. Would she be strict and regal? Would she keep close to her entourage or spend time with Sophie out in the gardens? Would they even have anything to talk about?
Sophie leaned on the window casement and sighed. She’d just have to wait to find out.
Instead of finding Lady Claudia, Sophie endured forty-five minutes of debut practice with Frau Hilda and Monsieur Gustave. In order to complete the ceremony, she would have to join her father—and by then, his new wife—on the ballroom stage and execute a low curtsy in front of the crowd. The slippery shoes she’d be wearing and the layers of heavy, billowing tulle only added to her nerves, not to mention the boning that almost prevented her from breathing entirely.
“Down once more. Lower. Now up—chin down as you rise!” Sophie’s tutor barked. “No, don’t look at us. You must keep your eyes demure! Now you lift your head. Smile! You’re not smiling!”
“Monsieur Gustave,” Sophie said. “I am going to break my ankle if I keep doing this.”
“Would you rather break your ankle here, or in front of everyone? Again!”
When she finally escaped practice, Sophie was exhausted. In the rush of preparations and her own turbulent stomach, she realized she’d forgotten to eat.
Sophie slipped down a back stairwell and into one of the smaller pantries so she’d be out of the way of the anxious kitchen staff. Though Sophie theoretically had authority over them, the palace’s chef—who answered only to “Chef”—was a tyrant who would not hesitate to call for Frau Hilda if Sophie was in the way.
Disappearing into the darkness, Sophie puffed out a breath of relief as she eased the larder door closed, alone at last with the cured meats and cheeses. Then she turned around and broke the silence with a scream. In the dim light, a face was staring back at Sophie.
“Who are you?!” a voice cried.
A tall young woman with a sharp face was standing at the back of the room, holding a block of cheese like a weapon. She looked like she was roughly ten years older than Sophie.
“I’m Sophie, I live here,” Sophie said, her pulse returning to normal. She noted the servant’s traveling cloak wrapped around the woman. “Can I help you with something? Are you looking for Chef?”
But instead of answering, the woman raised the hunk of cheese above her head, as if to throw it at Sophie, but she dropped it instead and ran for the door.
Sophie watched as the servant slipped away, finding it odd that she’d wrapped her traveling cloak around herself so tightly for such a warm day.
***
It took two hours for Lotte and three other maids to get Sophie dressed for the ceremony. They scrubbed and scalded her thoroughly in the bath, then strapped and yanked and sewed her into a ball gown, ordered directly from Paris, with lengths of satin and embroidery. It had a blue bodice and sleeves that clung tight to Sophie’s shoulders and opened, bell-like, edged with red lace at her forearms. The blue velvet paneling opened to a grand golden skirt, the fabric almost iridescent in its liquid smoothness. Sophie’s maids pulled her hair tight around hot irons to curl and set it with a matching red band, then finished by batting her skin with all manner of powders and rouges. Sophie couldn’t help coughing on Lotte, which made the girl buff even harder.
“Almost—there—” Lotte said through gritted teeth, attacking Sophie with the puff.
But Sophie was grateful for the distraction—the discomfort took her mind off the events that were to come. She reassured herself that most of the guests and dignitaries would be very old, already married, and with no more than a passing interest in her. Maybe the wedding would overshadow her debut entirely. She hoped so, at least.
In no time at all—far too soon—Frau Hilda came to fetch her. Arm in arm, walking carefully with all the weight and decoration piled atop Sophie, they made their way to the ballroom, which twinkled with hundreds of flickering candles.
Sophie found her seat in a balcony on the ballroom’s second floor, where she would be partially out of the crowd’s view for the duration of the wedding ceremony. When the time was right, she would descend to the main floor and formally present herself to her father, Lady Claudia, and the full audience in attendance. As the guests began to fill the enormous room, each announced by the master of ceremonies, Sophie felt her heart climb out of her chest.
She watched them take their seats and marvel at the ballroom, which was adorned with garlands of red and white roses that cascaded down from the second floor and filled vases on either side of the room. Carved wooden statues of Duke Maximilian’s and Lady Claudia’s likenesses flanked the main stage, and a small orchestra struck up traditional hymns and folk songs.
Sophie wondered if things had been so grand for her own mother’s wedding. She touched her mother’s necklace and looked for her father but didn’t see him anywhere in the sea of people.
All at once, the music of the orchestra died, and the lively crowd hushed. Duke Maximilian appeared at the head of the stage and looked expectantly to the end of the room, and everyone’s eyes followed. Each guest hoped to catch a first glimpse of the bride.
Sophie stood as well, clutching the railing of the balcony and peering into the distance. She shook her head, reminding herself that this woman would not replace her mother.
The wide doors at the back of the ballroom opened once more and two figures stepped through. One was a tall, heavily veiled woman, dressed in a sea of pale lavender silk, who appeared to float as she clutched the arm of the other, a man—Lady Claudia’s father.
The orchestra began an instrumental of “Die Vogelhochzeit,” the sweet spring song about the blackbird who marries the thrush, and Lady Claudia and her father walked slowly down the aisle. Her father kissed the bride’s hand gently and helped her climb the stairs.
From where she sat, Sophie could tell the duke was blushing. He looked younger and happier than he had in years, and as he reached with the utmost care for the hands of his new wife, Sophie felt a lump in her throat and swallowed hard.
Duke Maximilian brought Lady Claudia to stand in front of him and slowly lifted the opaque veil. Every duke, duchess, and lady
in the room collectively held their breath.
Then the duke threw the veil back, revealing a young woman with light hair, sharp features, and radiant eyes. A ripple sounded through the crowd at the sight of her stunning beauty. Sophie gasped, but for a different reason—
It was the strange woman from the larder.
The one who’d almost chucked the cheese at Sophie’s head.
Sophie felt a strange coil in her belly. This was her new stepmother? This was Lady Claudia? A woman who snuck into cupboards and threatened strangers?
Claudia smiled up at Duke Maximilian and took his hands in hers. The celebrant began the ceremony, and from her place in the balcony, Sophie could hear their voices as they spoke the vows.
“I promise to be loyal to you in good days and bad, in health and illness . . . ,” Duke Maximilian said.
“. . . to love and respect, until death separates us,” Claudia finished quietly.
The audience watched in rapture, and Sophie noticed the comfort and ease in the faces of the couple.
Sophie felt, again, a tightening in her chest as her father and his new bride, now Duchess Claudia, embraced, the orchestra playing joyfully and the crowd unleashing applause and cheers.
Then a hand clamped on to Sophie’s shoulder. Frau Hilda appeared at her side. “It’s time!” she hissed.
Sophie’s stomach twisted hard. It was her turn.
3
Sophie barely registered the rush to the main floor of the ballroom as Frau Hilda pushed on the small of her back, and suddenly, she was out in front of the crowd. Hundreds of pairs of eyes were trained on her, the swell of people looking closer and much bigger than it had in the balcony. Sophie hadn’t been in front of this many eyes since her mother’s funeral.
She froze.
Her heart stopped. What was she supposed to do?
The orchestra began a light melody, an air on the “Bayernhymne,” the Bavarian national anthem. Sophie touched her mother’s necklace and looked to the stage. It came back to her—all she had to do was walk forward, climb the stairs, allow the master of ceremonies to introduce her, and execute the curtsy. It was simple.
Sophie took one wobbly step, then another. She lifted her chin as she had been taught, keeping her eyes demure. Somewhere beneath the music, she could hear murmurs of approval in the crowd.
“Ach du meine . . . just beautiful.”
“The spitting image of Duchess Maria!”
Their words buoyed Sophie as if the sun was breaking through the clouds. Her confidence grew with every step.
Soon she was before the stage, and she looked up to face her father and Duchess Claudia for the first time. Duke Maximilian was positively beaming.
Duchess Claudia was flushed and looking a little unsteady on her feet. But she raised her eyebrows when she locked eyes with Sophie, evidently recognizing her from the larder as well. Sophie smiled, trying to communicate that there were no hard feelings about their earlier meeting. Claudia returned the expression with her own small twitch of the lips, pressing one hand to her neck and holding on to Maximilian with the other.
A servant at the stairs extended his hand to Sophie and helped her ascend gracefully. She reached her father and stepmother at last, feeling triumphant.
The music of the orchestra swelled; the guests beamed.
But then Lady Claudia’s eyes fluttered closed and her head fell. She stumbled backward, sagging against Duke Maximilian’s arm.
The crowd gasped as the duke caught Claudia before she fell, stabilizing her with a strong arm and pulling her back into a standing position.
Sophie was hardly able to process what was happening; the orchestra faltered and the music stopped. Claudia came to as Maximilian squeezed her arm, bending his head and speaking to her in a low voice. Her eyes darted, unfocused, and she shook her head as if trying to clear water from it. The master of ceremonies and another servant rushed forward as Maximilian led the duchess to one of the gilded chairs on the stage and helped her sit down. They whispered to each other for a moment, and Claudia nodded, her face bright red.
Then Maximilian smoothly turned to Sophie and bowed, extending his arm as an indication to proceed.
Sophie looked at him, then stiffly pivoted to face the ballroom, staring back at the silent, alarmed audience. Sophie felt sweat soak the back of her neck, suddenly understanding how Duchess Claudia must have felt.
The master of ceremonies broke in from Sophie’s left. His loud, booming voice echoed through the huge room: “At the behest of His Right Honorable Duke Maximilian and his good Duchess Claudia, I present to you Lady Sophie of the Imperial Duchy of Bavaria!”
As he spoke the words, Sophie snapped back to life and placed one foot behind the other, sinking low into a curtsy almost by instinct and letting the mass of her ball gown pool around her. She held the pose as he called out each title, her leg shaking slightly beneath her dress
, then rose slowly as he finished.
There was one more beat of silence—just a fraction as the audience recovered from their surprise—then the orchestra erupted into the national anthem, and the crowd broke into applause once more. Sophie bestowed upon them what she hoped was a gracious smile, ...
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