Elene shifted uncomfortably in her seat, leaning towards the window of the carriage to glance outside. They were near the Prime Minister’s residence, which meant her nightmare was almost over. It had been a while since she had to step into the role of someone else, and she wasn’t particularly ecstatic to be in the shoes of a woman who was obsessed with looking thin.
Taking a deep breath, Elene grimaced as her corset dug into her ribs. Trying to pass for Dena Tarfell, Ramor’s wife, would have been a breeze any other time, but it was more difficult now that she was hurt. She almost regretted not taking Gerrin’s offer when he volunteered to dress as the wife—which, in retrospect, was probably a joke she didn’t get at the time. If he was a head shorter and maybe eighty pounds lighter, he coul
