My stomach turns but I force myself to remain calm.
"You're the last one to arrive." River winks and tosses me a gown. Emerald-green, slit high, with golden threading across the bodice. "Everyone's dressed like her."
Her. They mean me.
The dress in my hand is scandalously short and made of fabric so sheer it might as well be mist. I hold it up, trying not to let my expression show how horrified I am.
I could leave. Should leave. But through the thin walls, I hear conversations that root me in place.
"—heard Ironhold fell. Some vampire lord took it in a single night—"
"—supply lines stretched thin. If the elves push now—"
"—Eirik's moving troops to the western pass—"
Information. Real, actionable information flowing as freely as the wine.
This is what I came for. Even if the method of getting it is... unexpected. I grit my teeth and accept the costume.
Petal presses folded silk into my hands. Pale silver, layered with gauze so fine it feels like breath against my skin. Fleur disappears behind a screen and gestures for me to follow. I strip, folding my clothes with care.
Fleur helps fasten the gown on me. The bodice laces tight, narrowing my waist. Someone pins a diadem into my hair. It's cheap metal with glass stones but from a distance it will pass. River adjusts the fall of the fabric at my shoulders, stepping back to assess me critically.
"Chin up," he murmurs.
I lift it without thinking.
The mirror shows someone I almost recognize.
The door curtain parts and I step out.
Conversation in the corridor falters. Petal's mouth falls open and Fleur claps her hands, delighted. "Perfect! You really do look like her."
River circles me once, slowly. "It's unnervingly close," he admits. "If I didn't know better…"
"Times must be hard for elves if you're applying here," Petal says.
I smile tightly. "Something like that. The war must be affecting everyone."
"Affecting?" River laughs bitterly. "Half our regular patrons from Myrkheim are dead or fled. The other half come here to forget they might die tomorrow."
"The Wild Hunt has everyone terrified," Fleur adds. "Though..."
"Though what?" I venture carefully.
She lowers her voice. "It's strange, isn't it? The Hunt was announced weeks ago, but nothing's happened."
"The Fae King isn't known for patience. This quiet feels odd," River agrees.
"Maybe Prince Finnbheara will stop the war," Petal adds lightly.
I hope she's right.
The prayer resounds in my head. If Finnbheara intervenes, if he tempers his father's wrath, then perhaps this war can be avoided.
I force my expression smooth.
"What's wrong?" Petal asks, noticing my hesitation.
