I peeked at him from between my fingers, dreading what came next.
“I must prepare you for your presentation… before the masses.”
My head dropped to the table with a groan.
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a sharp pang of mental anguish. The maid’s hands brushed against the hem of my dress, rustling the fabric as she arranged it around the stool beneath me. The soft swish of the material filled the room, contrasting with the tightness in my chest. Each adjustment she made sent a shiver down my spine, the cool touch of the wooden stool grounding me in the moment.
The seamstress’s fingers, deft and cool, hemmed the sleeves tightly against my wrists. I stood stiff as a statue, each breath shallow. The scent of fresh fabric and sewing thread filled the air, churning my anxious stomach. The dress needed minor adjustments, yet the urgency from the council added a hurried tension. They wanted me presented with the handprints still vivid on my face.
The material, a rich green, shimmered with gold as I shifted. Inside the skirt and bodice, a thin fleece layer added unexpected warmth to the sheer fabric. The seamstress had explained its origin—a wild sheep from the Great Iceland, whose wool lined most of the elegant winter dresses I would wear throughout the season.
“I’ll never be able to run in this.” My voice trembled with frustration.
“A princess would not run, Your Highness. You would simply walk with considerable speed.”
I scoffed, my eyes darting to Anderz seated nearby. He lounged, exuding a relaxed calmness as he watched the seamstress embroider gold thread into the fabric at my wrists.
My gaze shifted to Sainte. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, hands pressed together with fingertips touching his lips. He studied me intently, and a thrill coursed through me when his eyes traveled down my figure.
“Be still now, Your Highness!” the seamstress pleaded.
I turned back to the polished silver mirror propped before us. The dress’s high collar wrapped snugly around my throat, its fabric cascading in heavy swaths that covered me from neck to toes. I cringed at the excess, imagining how many garments could be made from the wasted material.
Not that there was anything to be spared from neck to hip.
The dress clung to me—a second skin. It was uncomfortable to see my feminine curves on display after endless years spent hiding them. I took shallow breaths, anxiety twisting in my chest, fearful that breathing deep might tear the seam.
“I look like a fool,” I muttered.
“You look like a princess,” Anderz cut in. “Thank you for your time and effort,Master SeamstressFloria.”
Panic surged as I glanced down at her, the sharp needle poised near my wrist. Her frown deepened, reflecting her offense.
“My apologies,” I blurted out before she could stab me. “I’m just used to loose tunics and trousers.”
Her fierce gaze met mine and a smile bloomed on her rosy lips. “Then it is time you learn how a proper lady dresses. Beg your pardon, Princess, but tonight you will catch the eye of every soul this side of the Veil. You’ve brought hope to the people. Now, it’s my turn to bring their eyes to you.”
“Thank you,” I sighed, checking my reflection.
“Hope in the gods, Your Highness—”
I caught her worried expression in the mirror as she tied off the thread.
“—that they still care for us mere mortals.”
Adastrus’ dark mood had quite the reach when staff in my own chambers were careful with their words.
The hairdressers had combed and styled my hair, transforming the short strands into soft waves adorned with peridots and opals. Despite their pleas to cut the long braid, I refused. I couldn’t lose my identity. After much discussion and negotiation involving Anderz, we compromised. They pinned the braid underneath, keeping it hidden but intact.
“There,” Floria stepped back to admire her work, “I’ve done my best, Your Highness.”
“Many thanks.”
I shifted slightly to get a better view. The lantern light danced across the fabric, turning it into a shimmering tapestry of gold against green.
“Allow me a few moments to ready the nobles,” Anderz said to Sainte, rising from his seat with a sigh.
He remained in his dark robes, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he ever changed his attire for different occasions.
