Chapter 9
Mentors
You know I’m going to break an ankle in these, right?”
“Better a broken ankle than bruised pride. Besides, His Majesty prefers grace,” Marb says cheerfully.
“Then he can wear them,” I mutter.
If Marb hears me, she doesn’t acknowledge it. She just continues fussing over my dress and fastening the last hook along the back of my gown.
The rose is still resting on the bedside table. It hasn’t moved or withered in the slightest. It just glows faintly under the morning sun.
“It’s a softer color than yesterday’s,” Marb says, stepping back to inspect me. “You look less like a ghost. Good. Don’t want theothers thinking you’re about to faint at the sight of your own reflection.”
“Thanks.”
The gown is a muted seafoam trimmed in silver, delicate at the shoulders and snug at the waist. I can’t decide if I feel like a princess or a prisoner being made presentable. Sighing, I run a comb through my hair before Marb can insist on braiding it.
“Ready?” she asks brightly, wings fluttering behind her like champagne lace.
No. “Yes.”
She opens the door with a flick of her hand. “The others are gathering in the east wing for a castle tour. Keep close, and don’t touch anything that hums.”
“Why would something hum?” I ask, startled.
She grins over her shoulder. “You’ll see.”
The hallway outside is flooded with light as morning pours through stained-glass windows the size of sails, casting colorful patterns across the dark stone floor.
The keep feels different in daylight. Not less haunted, just less honest, as though the shadows that whispered their secrets last night are now hiding behind polished marble and perfumed air.
I spot the other girls gathered near a vine-covered archway. Mariel is chatting with Cassy, who smiles shyly as I approach. Vivian leans against the banister nearby, arms folded. She gives me a look that might be curiosity—or maybe calculation. It’s hard to tell with her.
“Lovely dress,” Cassy says. “Very soft on the eyes. Dainty.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say begrudgingly.Dainty. It’s exactly the kind of thing I could never wear on the ranch; the cattle would have muddied it instantly. It’s as far from practical as clothes can get.
“It was.” Cassy tugs nervously at the hem of her gown.
“Do we really have to wear these?” I say. “I feel like I’m drowning in curtains.”
Vivian rolls her eyes toward a tarnished mirror. “At least yours fits. Mine looks like it was stitched in the dark by fairies with a grudge.”
I stifle a smile—until Seraphina turns, her gaze cutting into mine.
“If the dress offends you,Fireling, perhaps you’re not meant to be here.” Her eyes sweep from my head to my shoes and back again, colder than ever.
I say nothing. I don’t need to; the thorns in my blood speak loudly enough.
Cassy’s eyes dart to mine. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yes, thank you,” I lie.
Mariel gives my arm a soft squeeze. “You don’t have to pretend,” she says, but I know I do.
I only shoot her a smile.
