Three days before the bonding ceremony, Seren could not sleep.

Not from nerves; not entirely. The weight of the past months pressed down on her like the winter snows that had finally begun to melt. Vesper was exiled. Thorne was dead. The north was healing. The charter was law. And in three days, she would walk into the sacred grove and marry three princes.

But tonight, she lay awake in her chambers, staring at the ceiling. Three rings glittered on her finger, catching the firelight. Kael’s silver. Theron’s white gold. Aeron’s black steel.

A soft knock came at the door.

Seren sat up. "Come in."

Lysa entered, carrying a large bundle wrapped in brown cloth. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, smudged with fatigue. She looked like she had been crying—or perhaps she had been sewing. Her fingers were covered in small bandages, and there was a thread caught in her hair.

"You should be asleep," Seren said.

"So should you." Lysa sat on the edge of the bed without waiting for an invitation. "But I wanted to give you this. Before everything gets... bigger. Before the palace fills with nobles and the kitchens go insane and you’re too busy being queen to sit still for five minutes."

She unwrapped the bundle with careful, almost reverent hands.

It was a quilt.

Seren’s breath caught in her throat.

The quilt was made of mismatched fabric: scraps of wool, linen, even silk that Lysa must have salvaged from discarded gowns. The stitching was uneven in places, the colours clashing in ways that would have made Lady Ashworth faint. But the images stitched into the squares were unmistakable. They were memories.

The first square showed the servant quarters. Narrow beds. Bare stone floors. A young girl with dark hair, sitting on a cot, reading by candlelight. Another girl, younger, with flour on her apron, peeking through the doorway.

"That’s where we met," Lysa said softly. "You were reading. I was hiding from the kitchen master. You didn’t tell him where I was."

Seren traced the stitches with her fingertip. "You ate my bread ration."

"I was hungry."

"You were always hungry."

"We were both always hungry."

***

The second square showed the garden. Moonlight. A stone bench. Two women sitting close together, their heads bent toward each other. One was crying. The other was holding her hand.

"The night you told me about your father," Seren said. "The night you said you were afraid of never mattering."

"I was afraid of never being seen." Lysa’s voice cracked. "You said you would always see me. You kept that promise."

The third square showed the palace gates. A woman in servant’s clothes, standing alone, looking up at the stone archway. Beyond the gates, the city sprawled. The woman’s back was straight, but her hands were shaking.

"The day I left for the north," Seren said. "You stood at the gates and watched me go."

"I thought you might not come back."

"I thought so too."

Lysa pointed to the next square. The royal chamber. A young girl, kneeling and crying.

"You saved my life that day." Lysa said. "If you hadn’t pleaded for me, maybe I would have been long dead—"

"But you were innocent. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you."

"No." Lysa shook her head. "My innocence was not enough. Other innocent servants had died. I escaped death because of you, Seren."

Their eyes were filled with tears.

***

The quilt had many squares. Too many to name. The school. The charter signing. The moment in the corridor when Seren had told Lysa about the bond.

And one square that made Seren stop breathing.

It showed four figures standing in the sacred grove. Three in dark coats. One in a white dress. Their hands were joined. Above them, the stars blazed.

"That’s tomorrow," Lysa whispered. "I don’t know exactly what it will look like. But I wanted you to have it. So you remember."

"Remember what?"

"That you’re not invisible anymore. That you never will be again. That there are people who see you. Who loves you. Who will always be there."

Seren’s tears fell onto the quilt.

"Lysa—I don’t—this is—"

"It’s ugly." Lysa laughed through her sobs. "My stitches slipped in a dozen places. The colours clash. I ran out of thread and had to use three different kinds. The garden square is crooked because I couldn’t get the proportions right. The palace gates are lopsided."

"It’s the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me."

Lysa’s laugh turned into a sob. "I wanted to give you jewels. Pearls. Something you could wear at the celebration. Something that would make the nobles stare. But I don’t have that kind of money, and I didn’t want to ask the princes—"

"I don’t want jewels." Seren clutched the quilt so tightly her knuckles went white. "I want this. I want *you*. I want to sleep under this quilt every night and remember that I was never alone. Not really. Not even when I was scrubbing floors and hiding in shadows and pretending I didn’t exist."

Lysa threw her arms around her.

They held each other in the candlelight, two women who had started as servants and ended as sisters. The quilt lay between them, soft and warm and imperfect.

"I’m going to sleep under this tonight," Seren said. "And tomorrow night. And the night after. And every night after that."

"You can’t sleep under it on your wedding night. You’ll be in the grove. Or the royal chambers. Or—"

"Then I’ll keep it on my bed. So it’s there when I come back."

Lysa pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "You’re going to make me cry again."

"Good. You deserve to cry. You made me cry first."

"That’s fair."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Outside, the wind stirred the first green shoots pushing through the melting snow.

"Three days," Lysa said.

"Are you scared?"

"Terrified. But not of the wedding. Of what comes after."

"The wedding *is* the after. Everything before was a prologue." Lysa squeezed her hand. "You’re ready. You’ve been ready. You just don’t know it yet."

Seren laughed. "When did you get so wise?"

"When I started sleeping more than four hours a night. Amazing what a full night’s rest can do."

"You haven’t slept in weeks. Look at your eyes."

"I’m running on spite and embroidery thread." Lysa stood. "I should go. The kitchen master will have my head if I’m late for the morning prep."

"Tell him I’ll have *his* head if he touches yours."

"That’s not how queens are supposed to talk."

"I’m not a normal queen."

Lysa grinned. "No. You’re not." She walked to the door, then paused. "Seren?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For being my friend. For not forgetting. For letting me sit in your room that first night when I was just a scared girl with flour on her apron."

Seren held up the quilt. "How could I forget? You stitched it into this."

Lysa laughed and disappeared into the corridor.

The door closed.

Seren lay back on her bed and spread the quilt over herself. It smelled like Lysa’s room—beeswax, linen, a hint of lavender. The stitches were uneven. The squares were crooked. The colors clashed.

She loved it more than any jewel.

*The girl in the portrait would have hidden this quilt away,* she thought. *Afraid of being caught with something so fine. Afraid of being accused of stealing.*

But she was not that girl anymore.

In three days, she would walk into the sacred grove and marry three princes.