"Get up!" The maid's voice is a blade. I snatch the robe, kick one slipper on, and stumble into the sitting room before I can think about how my hands look smaller than they did yesterday. "Lady—" Kamilah's breath comes sharp. "You're late." I aim a grin at her and test the room with a single question. "Who is in the east tower today?" "Grandmother Millicent, Lord Dane will arrive for the feast, and the Cunningham boy—Garrett—is due before dinner," Kamilah says. Her eyes flick to my hands and then to my face as if checking the body's cache of memories against mine. "Good." I sit up straighter. "Pour me tea." Kamilah hesitates for one heartbeat, then moves. The hesitation tells me everything I need: this body has authority. The world obeys if I act like it does. Millicent Dillon sits by the window, knitting needles paused. The old woman looks every inch the matriarch—soft face, sharp eyes. She doesn't flinch when I enter. She has seen girls thrown at her feet and raised up for fifty years. She appraises me with a single tap of her needles. "You walked in like you'd owned the place five years," she says. "Either you mean to command or you're possessed." "I'm awake," I say. "Command, then." Two words. Clear. Kamilah freezes for a fraction too long, then calls over a footman. "Tea for Mistress Leighton. Strong." The footman bows, the boy