"Drink it." The hand that shoved the cup to her lips was too familiar. Cool silk at the wrist. A ring that caught the light. Hanna flinched but did not bend. "Drink," Lady Dunn repeated, voice honey-thin and urgent. "For the blessing. For the family." Hanna let the cup hover where the servants could see. She tasted sweetness at the rim. Honey, maybe. Or the ghost of it. Her tongue pressed against her teeth. Her throat remembered another mouth, another order. Her memory was sharp as a blade today. "Is there a problem?" Lady Dunn's smile was practiced. Too much of the city life clung to it—banquets, favor, the dance of titles. Behind it, panic. Hanna set the cup back on the tray. The silver caught the light and threw it into the room like a tiny accusation. "There's a problem," she said. Her voice was quiet but steady. "I will not marry Grayson Evans." For a second the chamber held its breath. Silk rustled. A chandelier ticked. A maid dropped a linen napkin as if the air itself had bitten her fingers. "You're jesting." Lady Dunn's eyes widened. "Hanna—this is nonsense. The banns have been published. The dowry is arranged. The Evans are the best match—" "Good enough for you," Hanna cut in, "but not for me." A gasp. Gemma's hand flew to her mouth. The maid's face was pale, but her eyes were the only face in the room