At the fourth floor, Vinca turned to Khamsin and announced the end of the tour. “What about the rest of the palace?” Kham gestured to the gilded stairways twining up to floors they hadn’t visited yet.

“Naught that would be of interest to Your Grace,” Vinca said. “Mostly just rooms used by the nobles and visiting dignitaries and their servants when they are at court, and most of those are empty now.”

“How many more floors are there?”

“Another ten, not counting the towers, but three of those are servants’ quarters.”

Kham gasped. “So many?” She’d realized Gildenheim was massive. She just hadn’t realized how massive.

“There was talk of building an upper palace before the war.” Vinca smiled with pride before she caught herself and marshaled her expression back into a cool mask. “Things are much quieter here these last three years.”

Kham shook her head. “If Gildenheim got any larger, you would need a horse to ride from one end of the palace to the other.”

“Winterfolk are a hardy breed, and walking does the body good,” Vinca replied crisply. Then she sighed, and admitted, “But an expansion is unlikely to happen anytime soon. Wars are costly, and not just to the treasury.”

A brief, tense silence fell between them at the reminder of the terrible price of war.

Vinca cleared her throat. “If there won’t be anything else, Your Grace? Dinner will be served in less than two hours, and I have a number of duties yet to attend to.”

“Of course. Thank you very much for the tour, Vinca.”

“My pleasure, Your Grace. Shall I escort you back to your chambers?”

Kham wasn’t ready to go back to her rooms. She wanted to explore a little more. “No, you go on. I’ll find my way there.”

Vinca made no move to leave. She gnawed on her bottom lip, then said, “The king would not be pleased if I were to abandon you here alone.”

“If I tell you to go, you aren’t abandoning me.” Kham’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “Believe me, if the king doesn’t like it, he’ll know where the blame lies.” When Vinca still remained where she was, Kham arched a brow. A flicker of irritation stirred in her breast. “I’ll be fine, Vinca. I need to learn my way around. Now is as good a time as any.”

Left with no alternative but to leave or directly disobey the woman who was—however temporarily—her queen, Vinca dipped a curtsy and made her way back downstairs.

Once she was gone, Kham turned and started down the wide corridor that led to another set of stairs. Ten more levels? Plus all those towers and turrets? Her pulse quickened. She was an explorer at heart. Quiet, abandoned places with their musty old secrets had been her home for years, and she’d spent a lifetime ferreting through forgotten treasures, imagining where they’d come from, who had left them there.

True to Vinca’s word, however, the fifth floor was nothing more than living quarters for palace guests—many of those rooms unoccupied, and utterly disappointing on the hidden-treasure front. Still, she opened every door that wasn’t locked and peered inside.

The rooms were graciously appointed, luxurious without the sometimes garish opulence of the palace at Vera Sola. Kham didn’t want to admit it, but the restrained elegance of these rooms appealed to her. And every one of the rooms, occupied or not, was maintained in a perfect state of readiness.

She was inspecting a small study, admiring the cream brocade couches and the beaded embroidery of ice blue velvet drapes, when a young maid approached and bobbed a quick curtsy.

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace. It’s half past six, and the king sent me to escort you to your chambers to change for the evening meal.”

Had Vinca reported that she’d left Kham unattended in the upper levels of the palace? Or had one of the servants on this floor taken exception to her poking her nose in all the rooms?

Kham considered sending the maid back without her, then discarded the notion. If she defied him, Wynter’s next emissary would likely be one of his White Guard, and she had no desire to be marched back downstairs like a wayward prisoner. Her exploring for the day had come to an end.

“What’s your name?” she asked the maid, as they made their way to the main staircase.

The girl looked surprised. “Greta, Your Grace.”

“Have you worked here long—at the palace, I mean?”

“Since I was eight, Your Grace.”

Kham frowned. “Eight seems awfully young to go into service. Is it customary for Wintercraig children to work at so young an age?”

Greta lifted her chin. “My father died in a Great Hunt not long after Prince Wynter became king. My mum had four children and a fifth on the way. The king saw to it that we had a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and work, because Winterfolk don’t take charity. Mum works in the kitchens. I started doing top-floor work until I was old enough to move downstairs.”

“Top-floor work?”

“Keeping the upstairs tidy. Seventh floor and higher.” She bit her lip. “No one really uses those rooms anymore,” she admitted, “but the king wouldn’t let Mistress Vinca close them up even during the war. Said it was important to keep the palace ready for whatever the future holds. It’s mostly the little ones who tend the unused rooms.”

“The little ones?”

“Too old to stay in the nursery but too young to do heavy work. Mostly they just dust and sweep and change the linens. Like I did when I first came here. My sister Fenna still does top-floor work. But she’s ten next year, and she’ll be training with the seamstress.”