Nanna’s brows scrunched. ‘You aretheprized wrangler of Grinstad,’ she said, clucking her tongue. ‘You are important, and as such, peoplewillbe looking at you. And your scuffed boots.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘No. This will not do.’
‘But I—’
‘Go back to your bedchamber,’ she said, shooing her away. ‘I’ll return shortly.’
She scuttled off. Duly chastened, Greta slinked back into her bedroom and waited for the head servant to come back. Nanna kept her word, returning in short order with an armful of dresses.
‘One of these should work,’ she said, laying them on the bed. Greta’s breath caught as she stared at the gowns, which were made from velvet and fur, each one rendered in a different jewel tone. There were five in total, all as beautiful as the next. ‘You’re shorter than she was but if we’re quick, I can take up the hem.’
‘Shorter than who was?’ said Greta, with a prickle of unease.
‘Ansel’s bride.’ Nanna sighed, her brown eyes softening.‘Before he died, Prince Ansel was engaged to Queen Rose of Eana. The dowager queen had her measurements sent over ahead of the wedding and arranged a wardrobe of Gevran gowns for her honeymoon …’ She trailed off. ‘But it was not to be.’
Greta’s heart clenched as she recalled how poor Prince Ansel had been murdered on his wedding day. She knew all too well of the pain and regret that had come after. Her own brother had been assigned to guard the prince, but when the sword flew, Tor had leaped in front of Queen Wren instead, protecting his beloved on instinct. Ansel had died, grasping at the blade in his chest.
And Alarik Felsing had watched it all, powerless to save his little brother.
‘So, the dresses have never been worn,’ she said, quietly.
‘Not these ones,’ said Nanna. ‘Though your brother’s beloved Queen Wren did … visit us … for a time last year. She was a hopelessly clumsy creature with little regard for grace and elegance.’ Greta couldn’t help but smirk. Her brother had clearly made a fine choice. ‘Thankfully, I saved my favourite dresses from being destroyed.’
Greta hummed as she looked over them, trailing her fingers along the delicate embroidery. Nanna was far less reverent about the whole affair, tugging off her frock coat and urging her to undress, so they could get to work.
After trying on every gown – and enduring countless unnecessary critiques from Nanna – Greta settled on a sweeping dress of midnight blue. It had a boned corset tied with silk ribbons and the entire bodice was brocaded with delicate silver snowflakes. The skirts tumbled to the floor in gossamer waves that swayed with every step, making it feel as though she was moving through the snowy night sky.
Nanna insisted on taking the hem up by three inches in case she fell flat on her face,but she was nimble with a needle and thread, making quick work of the task. Greta used the time to stuff the pair of silver slippers Nanna had brought down with handkerchiefs, until they fit snugly on her feet. Nanna helped her dress, then, tightly lacing the corset until Greta could feel every single one of her suffering ribs.
‘Why are you scowling?’ said Nanna, twirling her by the shoulders. ‘You look like a princess.’
But I am not a princess.
I am a wrangler.
I belong to the wild.
And yet … when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Greta’s breath hitched. She did not often feel beautiful. Not in the craggy forests of Carrig, wearing furs that were too big for her, worn boots and threadbare clothing. No one ever looked twice at her – except to linger over her scars – and Greta had never minded. She did not want to be looked at, to be noticed and judged.
But tonight … tonight, her eyes were bright and shining, and her smile was full. For the first time in her life, she felt truly beautiful, and it was a strangely empowering feeling. She was still smiling at herself in the mirror, swishing her skirts to and fro and wishing her sisters were here to see her, when Nanna produced a vine of midnight lilies. She threaded them through her braided hair, making a crown of flowers.
Greta’s heart swelled.
Perhaps I can be a princess, just for tonight.
Nanna stood back, grinning as she beheld her. ‘You might be hideously late, but at least you look the part.’
‘Thank you, Nanna,’ said Greta.
‘Go on, then,’ she said, nudging her out into the hallway. ‘Forget your beasts for tonight and find a nice soldier to dance with.’
Greta followed the swell of music up through the palace and into the east wing, her slippers feather-soft on the carpet. She had never felt so graceful, gliding like a swan on still water, and yet when she reached the doorway to the grand ballroom, she paused.
The ballroom was dripping with opulence and teeming with so many finely dressed nobles, she felt dwarfed by it all, like a child playing dress-up in their mother’s closet. Her fingers dug into the door frame as she scanned the room, looking for a friendly face.
As if tugged by an invisible string, her gaze fell on the king. Or perhaps it was the way he waltzed that drew her attention to him. With a flicker of surprise, she noticed that he danced the same way he fought – with effortless skill and leonine grace. Tonight, dressed in a resplendent ivory frock coat and with his hair swept back beneath a crown of golden branches, he looked more striking than ever, like a stag standing guard over his forest.
The king was dancing with Princess Elva, who looked breathtaking in a high-necked amber gown, with her hair arranged in artful ringlets. One hand held her tiered skirts as he spun her, round and round. She moved like a spinning top, her gown glowing under the flickering lights. They were as perfect as a painting, and though the sight of them together stirred an aching sadness inside her, Greta couldn’t tear her gaze away.She could have watched them all night.
She could have watched him forever.
