Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“I wouldn’t dare mute your wild beauty. It’s what will draw the prince’s eye to you.” She gathers my curls into a crystal barrette on top of my head and arranges them carefully around my face.
I try to smile like a girl who’s anxious to have a faerie prince’s attention. The truth is, once I’m finally inside, I want the opposite.
When she’s done fussing with my hair, she steps back and cocks her head to the side. “Now the dress?”
The line is slowly creeping forward, and the moon is making its way across the sky. At this rate we’ll be in line until the sun rises. Maybe even after. “I suppose you have a needle and thread in those pockets, and you’ll be sewing this into something fancier?”
“Pssh.” She waves a hand. “I’m no seamstress.”
The word is a punch to the gut, a reminder that makes my smile fall away. “Me neither.”
She frowns, not missing the change in my mood. “Did I say something?”
“No, it’s nothing. My sister was . . . is a seamstress. That’s all.”
Her eyes soften. “I’m so sorry. What happened to her?”
“She’s been sold into slavery.”
Something flashes in her eyes, and for a second I think she might roar in rage on my behalf, but then she blinks and it’s gone. “And is that why you’re here?”
I sigh. I need a friend, but I can’t risk telling this stranger my plans. “I imagine every girl in this line has dreams of what she could accomplish with the power and privilege of a faerie princess.”
“Hmm.” She opens her palm and shows me a fistful of pins. “May I?”
“I thought you said you weren’t a seamstress.” I watch as she places the pins side by side around my waist. I turn slowly, allowing her to continue behind my back.
“I’m not, but the woman who enchanted these pins is.” She slips a final pin in place, closing the circle, then snaps her fingers.
Just like that, the dress isn’t the one I slipped into in the forest. This is a ball gown, lovelier than anything I’ve ever worn, maybe even lovelier than anything Jas ever created. The full skirt sweeps the grass as I walk. Rosebuds are sewn into it along the hem and up one side, as if the skirt itself were some sort of magical trellis. The fitted bodice has boning that makes my nonexistent chest swell above the sweetheart neckline. It just barely covers my amulet.
I’m busy admiring my new gown, so it’s not until Pretha taps me on the shoulder that I realize we’ve crossed the bridge. We’ve finally made it to the castle gates.
I don’t know what I expected to see, but there’s a party on the lush green lawn. Creatures of all kinds meander around the grounds. Faeries that look like butterflies with translucent wings and tiny, humanoid bodies flit through the crowd, their wings humming like a flute on the breeze. Red-skinned fire fae with glowing eyes dance around a bonfire, spinning human partners between each other so fast my eyes can hardly track their movements. The elven fae nobility meander throughout the crowd, and were it not for their pointed ears and ethereal grace, they could almost blend in with the humans—not that they’d want to.
“Getting closer.” Pretha squeezes my hand, and I feel an unexpected rush of affection.
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Maybe I need a friend too.”
How does she know I need a friend? No one has ever thought that about me. If anything, I come across as cold and standoffish. A loner with no desire to change her stripes. “Well . . . thank you. For everything.” I bite the inside of my lip as I study my dress again. It’s beautiful, and with any luck it’ll help me get inside, but what about after that? I can’t sneak through dark hallways in this skirt.
“You don’t like it,” she says. She’s not defensive or pouting, just observing, almost curious.
“I’m not used to clothes that restrict my movement. I mean, I’ve been taught all my life to be on my guard in Faerie, and if I need to run or something . . .”
She lifts her chin. “A smart girl.”
I cringe. “Or an ungrateful wretch?”
“The pins are still at the top of the skirt. Remove a single pin, and the spell is undone. The dress will take on its original form.”
I graze the top of my skirt with my fingertips until I feel one of the pins. “Perfect. Thank you.”
We make idle conversation for hours as the line inches closer and closer to the castle doors. The whole time, I take in as much detail as I can about my surroundings, ignoring my aching feet and growling stomach to study the fae in the yard and the sentries on patrol around the perimeter.