I hand our dozing princess to Dair. With a few brisk steps and a hard yank, I tug a set of deep blue sheets from the bottom drawer of the antique. When I shake them loose, my scent sours with a distinct edge of chagrin. “Stars?” Bast asks, half-grinning at the pattern. “Seriously?” They’re clearly sheets for a kid, leftover from my many summers here as an adolescent. When I see their quizzical looks, I clear my throat. “I had these when I was young. One of the housekeepers tried to get rid of them when I got older, but… the stars reminded me of Ivy and how she liked to make wishes. I couldn’t
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