YENA
The next few days flew by in a flurry of exercise and etiquette training. By the end of the week, I’d never been so exhausted in my life. I was on a diet, too, and just fatigued.
I was lying in bed staring up at the gold ceiling tiles, missing Tina’s house. It was always warm in there. The oven was always on, marking up something that filled the house with a smell of spice.
The palace was always cold. It was the marble floors and all the windows. And the elevation.
The deaconess knocked lightly and entered. I’d already been to dinner, but Rafaela was bringing in the fold-out table and a few dishes.
I opened a cloche and found a platter of chocolate covered strawberries.
Rafaela disappeared and then returned, this time carrying a stack of books that she set down on my bed.
The
