It takes hours of treatments, naps—which I refuse to take—and pampering before we’re finally led into a different chamber. The room is bright and warm, its mirrored walls shimmering like moonlight on water. Enchanted racks hover in the air, slowly rotating as they display a myriad of fine gowns as delicate as if they were woven from some sort of celestial thread. The ceiling arches high, and glowing orbs float in each corner, casting soft light without shadow. Fairies busily flit in and out of cupboards, fetching combs, ribbons, and pins.
“This way, darling,” Marb says, tugging my wrist. “I’ve already picked a gown out just for you.”
My dress is the color of emeralds and starlight—a vibrant green dappled with gold constellations. Marb combs and braids my fiery hair, weaving in tiny pearl pins and whispering spells to hold it all in place.
“You clean up nice,” she says proudly as she fastens the final pearl near my temple. “A little cursed, a little celestial. I love it.”
I glance down at the gown, then toward the mirrors lining the room. “What’s the point of dressing us up like this if the ball isn’t until tomorrow night?”
Marb blinks at me, then grins. “Oh! This is just a fitting,” she chirps. “Tomorrow night, we’ll make it perfect.”
Around me, the others have transformed.
Vivian preens herself, adorned in crimson silk threaded with gold, her lips painted to match. Seraphina’s shadow-winged attendant hovers near her like a silent warden. The rest of the fairies move between us, all pins and ribbons and quiet spells. Marb floats at my elbow, still chattering away about her work.
Elena’s gown is sapphire with sharp silver embroidery, regal and cold down to every last detail. Her hair is twisted into a polished braid ringed with jeweled pins.
Mariel’s gown flows like water under moonlight, silver with a faint green sheen. A calm fairy is perched on her shoulder, sitting cross-legged and concentrating as she braids a tiny strand as if it’s a sacred ritual.
Cassy’s pale green is simpler than the rest, soft and delicate, like something that should be kept far away from fire.
Seraphina’s gown is of the purest obsidian, sleek, with massive slits exposing her long legs, making her look ethereal. A silver chain rests at her throat like a collar.
“They say the king is ageless,” Vivian hums almost to herself, looking in the mirror. “Cursed, maybe, but beautiful.” She smiles alluringly. “I wouldn’t mind being the one to break his spell.”
Mariel snorts softly and catches my eye. “Do you think they’re all like that where she’s from?” she whispers with the tiniest smirk.
“I hope not,” I whisper back.
Seraphina glances our way. “She’s not wrong to hope,” she says matter-of-factly. “The king is said to be cursed, untouched by time. That kind of power leaves a mark.”
“I’d rather see a man’s soul than his face,” Mariel mutters.
Standing at the window, Cassy’s voice sounds far away. She’s quiet, but when someone who speaks so rarely has something to say, we all listen. “In Korran Vale, we’re told he only comes out once a year—to choose the final bride. They say if you make eye contact with him, your fate is sealed—if the curse doesn’t take you first.”
“That’s just a superstition,” Elena says, smoothing her skirt. “He chooses his bride based on merit.”
“Merit?” I scoff. “What merit? We were thrown into a cursed lake.”
“Survival is a kind of merit,” Seraphina replies coolly.
As the room quiets, I turn toward the mirror—and stop in my tracks.
The girl staring back is not me. She’s taller somehow, fierce and sharpened like a knife. My rich red hair is gleaming like fire. And my eyes—gods, my eyes look hollow, not their usual vibrant green. Like someone else is wearing my skin.
“I don’t even recognize myself…” I only realize I said the words aloud when Mariel meets my gaze in the mirror.
“Maybe that’s the point,” she says quietly. “They want to dress us up so we forget who we are.”
I run a hand down the gown, and the starlit thread catches against my fingers like tiny teeth.
But I don’t forget. I’ll never forget. The mist, the dragon, the song, Awnya’s scream… They can wrap us in silk and gold, but underneath it, we’re still marked for death.
After we’re dressed, Mayverius glides in again, regal and unreadable. Her gaze sweeps over each of us in turn, and I standup straighter. The weight of a stare like that could mean life or death.
“This way,” she finally says. “Your rooms await. Rest there for the night. We will bring you meals in the morning, and you will be summoned tomorrow evening to be presented to the king.”
We follow her down a long corridor, our fairies flitting excitedly ahead, guiding each girl with wingbeats like soft chimes, silken ribbons of light in their wake. Vivian disappears behind a silver-handled door, then Mariel, Cassy, Elena, and Seraphina, until finally, it’s my turn.
