*Ella*
The next morning I sleep late, after a confused and mostly sleepless night in which I alternately toss with fiery humiliation at the memory of Gabriel laughing down at my wax breasts, and flush red at the memory of his kisses.
I am wakened by Rosalie, who tells me that Miss Starck’s maid is inquiring whether her mistress might join me for breakfast.
“Luna Wrethe says you’re not to leave this room all day,” Rosalie says importantly. “You’re quite the heroine of the hour, I must say. Those youngbloods who caused your boat to capsize are properly ashamed of themselves and planning some sort of gift.”
“No!” I say. “Surely not.”
“Yes, because you were the only one who wasn’t plucked out immediately, but actually had to swim across the lake. Like a mermaid, that’s what everyone is sa
