“I cannot see any honor here,” Charming grumbles. He’s sad he’s not the center of attention.
“Oh my, I did not realize you were mid coitus,” Eron gasps. Mid what? “I shall return in a turn.”
The genie snorts. “I’m also out.” He grabs my broom, and they disappear.
I elbow Nash, encouraging him to get off me. This isn’t fun with clothes.
Gwyneth pinches the bridge of her nose, pushes Charming out of the room, and slams the door, leaving me with the knights once more.
“So Twister is a no?” I ask.
Chess’s eyes appear as we scramble to our feet.
I narrow my gaze. “How long have you been there?”
His head forms first, his body following as he twists through the air. “Long enough to know you won’t win with a game of balance and limbs.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“Always, little chaos. It’s time to play hide and seek.” He winks and vanishes.
“I really don’t like that cat,” Theo snaps.
“But the game is ingenious,” Nash decides. “We can all play, and it gives us an excuse to search the palace without suspicion.”
A knock hammers on the door. “Gowns for the ladies,” someone bellows.
I glance around, looking for these ladies.
Malachi chuckles. “He means you, Daphne.”
I’m a lady? Who knew? Time to face the Red Queen and best her in a game of cat and mouse.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
My dress is gorgeous—a deep crimson masterpiece of feather-light red silk embroidered with gold thread. The full skirts whisper against the floor as I walk in the matching red boots. Gwyneth strides out of the bathing chamber in a dress similar to mine, except hers is black with gold thread. She looks stunning, like a princess.
“Charming is going to lose his shit,” I observe.
The genie floats between us, stroking his chin. “Something’s missing,” he says, tilting his head. He twirls his hand, and my hat lifts into the air.
“Hey,” I protest, jumping up to grab it.
Genie rolls his eyes. “I’ll store it for later. It hardly matches your dress.”
My hair lifts and twists into an intricate hairdo, a gold ribbon threading through it. He snaps his fingers, and a ruby crown materialises in the air before settling onto my head.
After he’s finished with me, he twirls a finger, and an onyx crown appears on Gwyneth’s head, her golden hair twisting into an elegant plait around it.
“I feel like an imposter,” I grumble. Enormous dresses, heels, and crowns aren’t me. I’m not royalty, no matter what finery someone dresses me in.
“You deserve to be valued just as much as the next maiden,” Gwyneth states with a firm nod. “Hold your head high, Daphne. Those who wear crowns don’t ask for permission.”
Eron appears in the large mirror. “Wow,” he breathes. “You look?—”
“Most fair, I know,” I interrupt.
