Seraphine POV
That morning was a conspiracy. I knew it the moment I opened my eyes and saw three familiar maids standing at the foot of my bed like they were about to perform a ritual sacrifice—except the victim was me, and the altar was fashion.
"No," I said immediately, rolling onto my side and clutching my pillow. "Whatever this is, the answer is no."
Coffi ignored me. Latte ignored me harder. "Maids," Coffi said briskly, clapping once like a general calling troops to attention, "Her Grace has a royal audience today. She will be dressed accordingly."
I cracked one eye open. "I am dressed accordingly. I am wearing confidence."
Latte beamed. "And pajamas."
"Comfortable pajamas."
"Not duchess pajamas," Latte replied sweetly, already pulling open my wardrobe.
I groaned. Somewhere in the palace, the Queen probably smiled—she knew. She had warned me.
Dress nicely, she'd said. And nicely, apparently, meant gown.
