Stray by Elissa Sussman Page A

talk as Aislynn examined the roses, which were tied with a red ribbon around their thornless stems. Each flower was perfect.
    â€œThank you,” she said, raising her eyes to Thackery. His dark eyebrows were slanted downward in a frown. He was angry, Aislynn observed with her new sense of detachment, but that couldn’t be right. If anything, he should be embarrassed. After all, she remembered his rant about spoiled royal girls.
    Why was he angry? Aislynn realized she was curious, but there wasn’t much time to dwell on it because the headmistress was already turning back toward the castle.
    â€œHurry now,” Madame Moira said with an impatient jerk of her hand. “We must not keep the monarch princess waiting.”
    Aislynn looked back at Thackery, but he had already turned away.
    Upon entering Linnea’s room, the first thing Aislynn noticed was how different it was from her own. Brigid pulled back the curtains, and the morning light revealed the luxurious suite. Aislynn’s room seemed even smaller and darker, more like a box than a place to live. Even her old quarters at Nerine Academy paled in comparison to the beautifully decorated space. The walls were a buttery yellow, the furniture a rich mahogany, and the girl herself was luminous as she sat up in bed, her copper hair bundled up in ribbons. The monarch princess yawned delicately as Brigid helped her into a red dressing gown.
    â€œYour Majesty.” Madame Moira curtsied deeply, and Aislynn imitated her. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early.”
    â€œNot at all.” The monarch princess smiled, looking as if her night had been filled with nothing but sweet dreams. Her blue eyes were bright and her skin like fresh milk. Gliding across the room as if she was walking on silk, Linnea stopped in front of Aislynn. “I assume you’re my new fairy godmother.” Her voice was as light and high as a little bird’s.
    â€œI am, Your Majesty.” Aislynn bowed again, thinking how odd those words felt in her mouth.
    â€œYou’re very tall,” Linnea said, coming closer. The young princess barely reached Aislynn’s shoulder, her diminutive height only adding to her doll-like appearance.
    â€œThank you,” Aislynn stammered, unsure what the proper response should be. The monarch princess merely lifted an eyebrow and moved to sit at her vanity, where Brigid joined her and began unwinding the ties from her brilliant red locks. Aislynn stood awkwardly next to the tall dresser against the wall.
    Madame Moira cleared her throat. “I’ll take my leave,” she said.
    When the door closed behind the headmistress, Linnea’s chin popped up like the lid of a pocket watch, and she swung around to face Aislynn, her eyes narrow.
    Aislynn shouldn’t have been surprised by the monarch princess’s suspicious gaze. Most young ladies kept their fairy godmothers at arm’s length, and with good reason. Their loyalty was not to their ward, but to the leader of the household, whether that be a girl’s father, an academy’s headmistress, or a spouse.
    Once a girl was married, it was the responsibility of the fairy godmother to report any occurrences, and while some instances of magic before matrimony were tolerated, any indication that a married woman was stumbling along her Path was taken very seriously. Under the guidance of his adviser, a husband could revoke his vows and have his wife Redirected.
    â€œWhat have you heard about me?” Linnea demanded.
    â€œI . . . uh . . . ,” Aislynn stammered.
    â€œI’m sure you’ve heard something,” the monarch princess said. “Everyone has.”
    Aislynn’s mind seemed to spin away from her, a top without a string. The story of Queen Morganne and King Dominick was one so tragic and beautiful that people couldn’t help but bring it up when conversations turned to such topics. Aislynn’s mother had a