I grinned, feeling a surge of excitement as I dashed to my closet. Moments later, I came back, holding a carefully wrapped parcel tied with a delicate white ribbon. I placed it on the small table between the two chairs near the hearth and looked at herexpectantly. “Go on, open it!” I encouraged, unable to contain my smile, as Cynthia’s eyes lit up with curiosity. She eagerly tore into the parcel, peeling back the wrapping excitedly.
She gasped as the paper fell away, revealing the stunning red chiffon ball gown nestled inside.
The fabric shimmered in the light. It was delicate and flowy, with intricate embroidery along the neckline. Cynthia’s eyes widened as she traced her fingers across the material, her attention snapping back to mine.
She flung herself at me, enveloping me in a tight, crushing hug.
“Zara, this is way too much. I- I can’t accept this,” she said, her voice wavering as she glanced back at the gown with gratitude. “It’s beautiful, but… it’s too much.”
I laughed softly. “You deserve it. Consider it an early solstice or birthday gift, whichever you prefer.” I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “You are going to look stunning in it for the ball.”
Cynthia looked at the dress again, her fingers brushing lightly against the fabric. “I don’t know what to say, Zara. This is just… it’s perfect. Thank you.” Cynthia squealed and hugged me again. “Let me see yours!”
When I pulled my gown from the closet, Cynthia gasped—the same reaction I had when the maid brought it in the other day.
The emerald dress flowed like liquid, its delicate sheen shimmering in the light. Intricate white lace, meticulously stitched into delicate leafy patterns, danced across the fabric. The bodice, crafted from a silk-like material, was corseted and layered gracefully with thin transparent fabric. It seamlessly blended into the sheer, weightless material of the skirt, which was layered with the same thin material.
I draped my dress over Cynthia’s on the chair, and we settled on the floor in front of the hearth and started in on the cheese and wine the maid had brought earlier.
Cynthia glanced up at me with a piece of cheese halfway to her mouth. “Have you thought about who you want to bring to the ball? I feel like your mother is leaving it to the last minute.”
I sighed. “At this point, she can choose for me. I’ll just suffer through whomever it is, as always. It’s only for one night anyway.”
I would’ve preferred to choose for myself, but with everything going on, my mind was already overloaded.
“Unless she forces you to marry them,” Cynthia said with one brow raised.
I snorted, shaking my head. “She wouldn’t force me to marry anyone,” I said, though I couldn’t fully convince myself. My mother might well insist on it when that time came, but I didn’t want to give it any thought now.
Cynthia must have read the worry in my expression, because she swiftly changed the subject. “Do you think you’ll tell her about what’s happening?” she asked, concern lacing her tone.
“No, not yet,” I replied, draining my wine glass. The rich, smooth liquid did little to calm the unease in my chest.
Cynthia’s brow furrowed.
“And what is it that is happening, dear?” Winnie's voice came from behind us, making us jump and spin around in surprise. How long had she been standing there?
No one spoke, and Winnie fixed them with a pointed stare before continuing, “I passed the maid in the hall and came to see your dress for the ball,” she said, her gaze flicking expectantly between us.
“Of course,” I replied nervously, standing and walking over to where I had laid my dress over the chair. I held it up with a practiced flourish for my mother to see.
Winnie’s eyes lit up as she took in the gown’s details. “Oh, this will look utterly stunning on you, dear,” she said warmly, turning her gaze to Cynthia. “Don’t you think, Cynthia?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cynthia replied, avoiding the queen’s gaze. She stood stiffly next to me, her discomfort evident. I didn’t blame her. My mother had always disapproved of our friendship.
“How are you and your father doing? I trust everything is well?” Winnie asked, her voice holding a sharp undertone as she continued to stare at my friend.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Cynthia replied anxiously. “We’re doing very well, thank you for asking. I hope you’re doing well as well, Your Majesty.” She side-eyed me nervously, the tension palpable.
Winnie waved her hand dismissively, a hint of annoyance in her tone. “I’ll be better after this ball. I had forgotten how tedious it all is.” Winnie seemed to grumble, and the room fell into an awkward silence again, my stomach twisting with discomfort.
“Anyway,” Winnie finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I need to speak with my daughter privately.” Her gaze shifted back to me, and her sharp yellow eyes, both cold and fiery, made it clear that this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Cynthia replied, trembling slightly. She hurried towards the door, casting one last anxious look in my direction before slipping out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her, and the echo of Cynthia’s footsteps faded down the corridor.
My mother stepped further into the room and sat on one of the winged chairs by the fire. She wore yet another pastel yellow gown, her red amulet stark against the pale skin around her neck.
“How did the tonic treat you?” she asked coolly. “Have any further nightmares?”
