Everly smiled, the expression softening the fine lines on her face. She looked genuinely pleased. “Maybe later, Miss Maddie. But I’m sorry, Elira, it’s time to come and get ready.”
“Now? It's mid-afternoon!” I complained, groaning.
She shook her head at me, her expression patient but firm. “It will take a while to ready you for His Majesty, sorry child,” she said, her voice gentle, like she hated being the bearer of bad news.
“No shit, you have to dine with the king tonight?” Maddie hissed under her breath, her face a mix of awe and horror.
“Not by choice,” I muttered back, gritting my teeth.
Maddie pulled a dramatic face, mouthinggood luckas Everly ushered me toward the door. I threw her a look over my shoulder, part amused, part panicked, before following Everly into the hall.
We walked in silence for a few minutes, my boots clicking softly against the polished floors. The deeper we went into thekeep, the heavier the air seemed to get. I could feel it settling over my skin like a second layer, prickling, unwelcome.
That damn dress was laid out on the bed in my new room the moment I walked in. I glared at it, like it might bite me.
“I don’t need help to put a dress on,” I grumbled, reaching for it.
But Everly batted my hand away, firm but still somehow gentle.
“You’ve been training today,” she said, wrinkling her nose slightly.
“So?” I crossed my arms, scowling.
“So, you need to bathe first,” she said primly, already steering me toward the adjoining bathroom as if the matter was settled.
The bath had already been drawn and the heady aroma of bath salt and roses surrounded me. The water itself was tinted pink and full of bubbles. I grumbled and undressed, before sliding under.
Before I could stop her, Everly had set up behind me to wash my hair. When she touched me, I flinched.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. She firmly pressed my shoulder down.
“It’s ok. I’m just helping you get ready.”
Her firm and warm fingers were soon massaging my scalp as she washed the dirt from my hair.
“You need to cut this.” She said, holding the heavy weight of hair in her palm. “There is too much here.”
“I haven’t had a haircut in six years. What do you expect.”
“I could help with that too.” She said.
“I’ll think about it,” I mumbled.
Soon, once declared clean enough, Everly had me sit on a stool in front of the mirror while she fussed over me.
By the time Everly was finished, my makeup was flawless, my hair was damp and gleaming. She sat me down in front of a mirror and began braiding with careful, skilled fingers, pulling and weaving the strands into something intricate. I watched, stunned, as my wild hair was tamed into a thick crown braid that circled my head like something out of an old painting. Loose tendrils framed my face, softening the sharpness of my cheekbones and the hard line of my jaw.
When Everly was done, she stepped back, nodding once with satisfaction.
"Beautiful," she murmured.
I stood, hesitantly, and reached for the dress again. This time, Everly helped me into it.
The gown fell elegantly down my body, the midnight fabric brushing my skin with every breath. It skimmed my shape without clinging, powerful in its simplicity.
I swallowed hard, shifting my weight.
This wasn’t me. This was an illusion.
