I’m still marveling over Zane’s hooves. “May I ask…is this your seelie form or unseelie form?”
“Seelie,” Zane says as they return to the rack of varied clothing and rifle through the articles again. “I’m a deer in my unseelie form. I only take that form when I visit extended family who live in the forest, though.”
Zane pauses over a cream lace gown, then removes its hanger from the rack. The style favors fae conventions, with loose lines, a dropped waist, and what appears to be an open back. They hold it out for me and angle their head toward one of the free-standing dressing screens around us. “Try this on.”
I blink at them, then at the gown. “You…want me to wear that?”
“And if you like it, keep it.”
I wave my hands. “I couldn’t.”
“You can. It’s going to waste here. Think of it as payment for staying at my place.”
My lips quirk. “You want me to take a dress from you…as payment for staying at your place.”
Their grin widens. “Correct. Trust me, in that dress, you’ll fit right in once we’re out on the town. You’ll regret it if you wear what you’re wearing now.” There’s no taunting or judgment in their tone, which makes me believe they might be right.
My gaze drops back to the gown. Even at a glance, I know the lace is finer than any I’ve worn, and my earlier yearning returns. I want to know what it feels like to wear something so elegant. So different from the style I normally favor. Slowly, I reach for it. “If you insist.”
“I do,” Zane says, shoving the hanger into my hand and practically forcing me behind the screen. As I begin to undress, Zane adds to Daphne, “You can try something on too. Do you like that yellow silk?”
Daphne’s monotone replies with a wary, “Kind of.”
“Here, take that behind the other screen.”
I’m curious what Zane sent Daphne away with. Do they have anything small enough to fit the pine marten? How adorable would that be?
I manage to change into the lace gown all on my own. With its open back, it’s obviously meant to be worn sans corset. That gives me some pause, though it won’t be the first time I’ve gone without a corset in public since arriving in Faerwyvae. I wore nothing but my chemise as a top when we arrived in the Solar Court, after all. This, at least, was meant to be worn this way.
Once dressed, I emerge from behind the screen. Zane brings their hands together, beaming at me. They take me by the shoulders and angle me toward a mirror. “I knew it would be perfect.”
I worry my lip as I assess my reflection. The dress is every inch the gorgeous confection I thought it to be on the hanger, and seeing it grace my figure makes me equal parts anxious and elated. It does suit me well, the cream lace complementing my blushing complexion and auburn hair. Even my spectacles manage not to look out of place, as the dress’ unique features and flared hem draw the eye most. The front of the gown boasts a high neck, like the everyday blouses I wear, but my shoulders are bare. I shift to the side, where the gown takes another departure from the norm, the sides dropping away to reveal bare flesh. The front is wide enough to drape elegantly over my small breasts, but the sides show off the barest curve. It’s a play on cleavage I’ve never seen before—side cleavage.
I turn further around to assess my back and nearly blanch. The high neck of the gown ties at my nape, but there’s nothing beneath that aside from the trailing ends of the bow until my waist.
I dart a glance at Zane. “Am I showing too much skin? Is it perhaps missing a portion?”
“No,” they say, unable to hide their laughter. “That’s how it’s supposed to be worn. Don’t fret. You look incredible.”
I smooth the front of the dress, then give my shoulders a shake. Thankfully, everything stays in place.
Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn?—
A yelp leaves my lips as an unfamiliar female strides out from behind the other dressing screen. She freezes at my reaction, her shoulders rising to her ears. She’s not much taller than me with shoulder-length black hair, dark eyes, and a tan complexion. Then I see the gown she’s wearing, one of yellow silk with pink-and-white flowers. The top half is modest and bordering on plain, with cap sleeves, an empire waist, and a straight neckline. It reminds me of fashions from the last decade, a style still popular in Bretton. Then the bottom half ends above her knees, spreading out wide with layers upon layers of cream lace beneath the yellow skirt. This would be a shocking sight, for one rarely shows their legs in public—certainly not back home in Bretton—if I wasn’t starting to understand who I’m looking at.
I take in her hunched posture, the curl of her fingers that she holds near her waist as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.
“Daphne?” Her name comes out with a gasp. “Is…is that your seelie form?”
She grimaces. “Yeah.” It’s the first time I’ve heard her words while seeing her mouth move. In her pine marten form, her voice simply emanates from her.
I assess her all over again, admiring the points of her ears, her dark eyes, and her long black lashes. Unlike Zane, Daphne’s humanoid form reveals no hint of her animal manifestation. She looks slightly younger than me, but with fae aging the way it is, she could be older. I resist the urge to ask—because even I can hold my tongue for the sake of not being rude—and instead say, “You’re stunning.”
Another grimace, then a sigh. “Yeah.”
“You don’t seem to think that’s a compliment,” Zane says, tone curious.
Daphne shifts from foot to foot. “I haven’t taken this form often, and when I do…well, people expect things of me. Poise. Accomplishments. They usually end up disappointed.”
