Brigida fussed over me like I was a porcelain doll someone had dropped and hastily glued back together. Her weathered hands smoothed the golden fabric of the borrowed gown over my hips, tugging at seams that weren’t quite meant to contain the curves my body had reclaimed with alarming speed.
Magic, it turned out, was good for more than drawing poison from dying men. It had rebuilt me from the inside out, flesh filling in hollows that had marked me as death’s neighbor justweeks ago. The woman in the mirror was a stranger with flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and light tan skin that glowed as if lit from within. I hardly recognized myself without desperation etched into every line.
“Hold still, miss,” Brigida muttered, pins clenched between her teeth as she made final adjustments to the bodice. “This gown was meant for someone taller and thinner. Your...” She gestured vaguely at my chest, “...assets are making my job difficult.”
I bit back a smile. “I apologize for my inconvenient recovery.”
She huffed but I caught the affection beneath her gruff exterior. Since the night I’d confessed Gaspard’s name to her, she’d appointed herself my guardian in this gilded cage. More than a maid, less than a friend, but fiercely protective in ways I hadn’t experienced since my mother died and what scraps Margaret could throw me in Gaspard’s home.
“The prince will be here any moment,” she said, stepping back to assess her work. “And their Majesties don’t like to be kept waiting.”
My stomach twisted at the reminder. Dinner with the royal family. The very people whose ancestors had hunted and executed those with magic in their veins. The irony wasn’t lost on me, They’d unwittingly invited a witch to break bread at their table, dressed her in their finery, and were about to toast her healing abilities.
If they knew what I truly was, they’d be preparing a pyre instead of a feast.
“Are you certain this choker has to stay?” she asked.
I swallowed hard. “Yes. It feels like an extra layer of protection. Even though Gaspard was the one to put it on me to mask the bruises he left, it was gentler than what else he did. It hid the harm from my own eyes.”
The choker was pretty with a gothic flare, fingers brushing the intricacy of the threads with the gems encircling my throat.
Brigida nodded, her eyes softening in understanding before believing the same of my other mark. “The neckline sits low, so I’m sorry it shows your scar. As long as you don’t tilt your head back too far, no one will see how large it is.”
My reflection stared back at me, amber eyes too bright, too inhuman to truly pass for normal. At least in this light, with carefully arranged cosmetics, they might be mistaken for a rare but natural shade.
The rest of me looked almost... royal. The yellow-gold of the gown brought warmth to my skin, and Brigida had woven tiny white flowers into the front sections of my hair, which she’d braided back while letting the rest fall in waves down my back.
I looked like a woman worthy of sitting at a prince’s table. Like someone who belonged in this castle of white stone and ancient bloodlines. The deception was perfect, and perfectly false.
A knock at the door sent my heart racing. Brigida gave me a final once-over before hurrying to answer it.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” she said, dropping into a deep curtsy. “The lady is ready.”
And there he was, Prince Alain Legrand, second son of Durand, looking like he’d stepped out of the heroic tales he’d read to me during my fever. His dark hair was neatly styled away from his forehead, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw. The deep blue of his formal attire made his eyes look like chips of ice, startling against his olive skin.
Those eyes widened when they landed on me, his lips parting slightly in an expression I couldn’t quite interpret. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Something electric passed between us, a current of recognition or possibility that made my skin prickle with awareness.
“Isabeau,” he said finally, my name emerging rough at the edges as if he’d had to force it past some obstruction. “You look...”
He didn’t finish, but the heat in his gaze completed the thought for him. I felt myself flush under the intensity of his stare, hating how my body responded to his appreciation. The claiming mark throbbed along my shoulder, a sharp reminder of where my loyalties should lie. Of who I belonged to, who I needed to return to.
Yet I couldn’t deny the flutter in my chest when he looked at me like that. Like I was the moon finally emerging after a long, dark night.
“Thank you,” I said, filling the silence when it became clear he wouldn’t. “Brigida worked miracles with what she had.”
Alain cleared his throat, extending his arm to me. “Shall we? My mother has been quite insistent about meeting you properly.”
I placed my hand on his forearm, feeling the solid strength beneath the fine fabric of his sleeve. He’d carried me when I was too weak to walk, held my hair back when poison wracked my body, read to me when consciousness wavered like a flame in the wind. This man who had every reason to fear what I was had shown me nothing but kindness, and it terrified me more than hatred would have.
Kindness made it harder to leave. Harder to remember that I didn’t belong here, that my princes were suffering while I dined with royalty. Their agony pressed against the edges of my awareness, a constant reminder of my failure to return to them.
“You’re frowning,” Alain observed as we walked through corridors I’d only glimpsed during my brief outings to the infirmary and our hallway walk yesterday. “Are you still feeling unwell?”
“No,” I lied, forcing a smile that felt brittle around the edges. “Just nervous. I’ve never dined with a king and queen before.”
His laugh was warm, genuine in a way that few things in this castle were. “My father puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like every other man. Besides, after saving Thibaut’s life, you could probably demand the royal treasury and he’d consider it.”
I doubted that very much, but kept the thought to myself. Instead, I focused on our surroundings, trying to memorize the path we took through the castle’s winding corridors. Knowledge was power, and when I needed to escape, every detail would matter.
