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I smile a very confused, very overwhelmed smile. While I’m glad it seems like they’ve put what I said downstairs behind them, it’s strange that they know more about the man I’m supposed to marry than I do.
“I prefer Roark,” says Kadene.
“Kadene!” whispers Niera, who subtly kicks at Kadene’s leg. When the attention shifts to the shy woman, she tugs on her red hair self-consciously, looking away.
“What?” asks Kadene. “I just prefer dark hair on a man. And Roark has something about him. Like he’s dangerous. It’s sexy.”
Dark hair… So that means Prince Titus doesn’t have dark hair. If the two men I saw at the restaurant were the Prince I’m betrothed to and his older brother, that means Titus was the blonde one, the cold one. I shouldn’t fixate on that. Of all the things going through my mind right now, the last thing I need to be doing is trying to figure out what a man is like by dissecting my first impression of him.
“And Titus isn’t dangerous?” asks Marcella, who seems to be so absorbed in her conversation that she has forgotten to take it slow with me. She reaches and unhooks my bra unceremoniously.
I let out a noise like a mouse that has just been stepped on, scrambling to cover my breasts, but the women hardly notice. Niera is already browsing a closet by the stairs full of clothes that glimmer like they are made of stars.
“Oh don’t fuss,” says Kadene. “We’ve seen tits before. And hey, these are very nice. Titus will be pleased.”
I grip myself tighter. Trying to take a step back but I have nowhere to go. I know these women mean well, but the sudden attention is as overwhelming as being tossed into a pool of ice water for me. It’s like my brain is freezing under the scrutiny, and I can do nothing but sit through it while my thoughts play catch up.
“Titus is a national champion in the dueling circles,” says Marcella, resuming the conversation as if nothing interrupted it.]
“Only because Roark doesn’t waste his time with competitions,” snaps Kadene, who tugs on my hair a little too hard as she speaks, ripping the pins I had in place free.
“I don’t think the Princess wants to hear this argument,” says Niera quietly.
Marcella huffs. “It’s good that she knows what people are saying about the princes. She has a lifetime of gossip to catch up on, after all.”
“A little privacy would be--” I start.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” snaps Marcella. “Now give me that dress. Yes, yes,” she says irritably when Niera makes a confused gesture toward a gray dress with flecks of reflective white in the fabric. “Bring it here.”
“I need my bra,” I say, feeling weak and exposed as I stand between the three women in nothing but my panties--my panties that have little Hello Kitties on them, of all things.
“With breasts like these,” says Marcella, who makes me gasp with surprise as she reaches out to prod one of my breasts, “wearing a bra might as well be high treason. No, no. A bra will not do at all.”
They pull the dress over my head, ushering me in front of a full length mirror seconds later. Kadene is doing something with my hair, but even half a mess, I feel like I’m looking at a stranger. The dress is more provocative than anything I’ve ever worn, and it’s like I’m seeing my body for the first time--a woman’s body, not a silly girl who dresses to stay invisible. The mirror reflects a woman who is dressed to demand attention. I look sexy, but I could never go out in public like this. I can clearly see the points of my nipples through the thin fabric, and everybody within a hundred yards will be able to as well.
The neckline of the dress plunges below the bottom of my breasts, showing more cleavage than it hides, but the slight puff of shape at the shoulders and the way it flares out past my waist makes me look like some fairytale princess--albeit one who is showing way more boob than Disney would ever allow.
“Yes,” says Marella, who puts her face beside mine and admires me in the mirror. “This will do for now. We don’t have time to wash you up and get things perfect, but there will be time for that tomorrow. Right now… It’s time for you to meet your future husband.”4RoarkTitus stands to the side of the throne room, leaning into a mirror and checking his teeth. He runs a hand through his hair before stepping back to flex, turning fractions of an inch until he’s satisfied with the angle. He practices the grin he only uses when pretty women are around, and nods slightly.
Two thrones sit at the end of the chamber--one slightly larger and more embellished than the other. My mother, Queen Korinthia, sits in the smaller of the two. I lean into the uncomfortable monstrosity that was my father’s seat. He always did worry more about appearing impressive than being practical. But the discomfort of the throne is nothing next to watching my preening brother, who my mother admires with a smile.
