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One of the maids put a brush to her cheeks. After a swipe of the powder clinging to it, her freckles started to vanish. Thicket rubbed at it with the back of her hand.

“Highness!” the maid protested, grabbing her arm.

“You missed,” Thicket said.

“Missed?” the maid echoed.

“The powder. It was covering my freckles.”

“It was supposed to, Highness. Imagine how much more beautiful you would be without them.”

The maid smiled but Thicket’s nose scrunched. “But I like my freckles. I think I look good with them.”

The maid’s lips pursed. She shared a look with the other maid behind her before saying, “Of course, Your Highness. I must be mistaken.” She set the powder away, allowing the second maid to take her place. She grabbed a comb and began brushing. Thicket’s head jerked back as the comb got stuck halfway down, latching onto her unruly locks. The maid pulled and tugged but the brush wouldn’t surrender its grip.

“Ow, ow, ow,” Thicket protested, reaching up to stop the comb.

“Sit still, Your Highness,” one of the maids said but Thicket continued to squirm. “You’re hurting me.”

“Apologies, Highness, but your hair…”

Blinking back pained tears, Thicket said, “Dylir.” It had been an incantation her sister had taught her, one meant to help detangle her curls. However, since Lavender was getting ready for the ball, she couldn’t help Thicket this time. Despite the presence of the maids assigned to her, Thicket couldn’t help but wish for her sister instead.

“There,” Thicket said. “That should help.”

The maids gaped as the comb went straight through. They finished brushing without difficulty, but as they went to style it, her coiling springs kept springing free.

“There you are, Your Highness!” the maid said, grinning too broadly as she patted Thicket’s shoulders. “You are all ready for the ball.”

Thicket stood and approached the floor length mirror perched in the corner of her room. Her velvety green dress was stunning. She twirled, watching it billow around her. Something about the image felt… off. Her hair didn’t bounce around her like usual. It fanned out around her face like a mane, the individual strands isolated instead of coiling tightly together.

“Such power for a child her age,” one of the maids whispered as they cleared the vanity. Thicket’s chest surged with pride. Her parents had always said she was blessed with magic. Their little wildfire, they called her. Thicket kept twirling in the mirror, pretending she couldn’t hear as she eagerly awaited what they would say next.

“If only she was a bit more like her sister.”

Thicket’s smile froze.

“In what way?” the other maid asked. “Her looks or temperament?”

“Both.”

The maid sighed. “If only she were a bit more refined. What an extraordinary queen she could have been.” Raising her voice, she said, “Your Highness. We will take our leave now.” With a bow, they swept from the room.

Thicket’s brows wrinkled as she twisted her body in front of the mirror. She had always liked her features. Were they not considered beautiful?

In the mirror’s reflection, she caught a glimpse of the door across the hall. Bunching her fists in the fabric of her dress, she crossed the distance between the rooms and came to stand at the threshold. Her sister’s bedroom door was cracked. She peered through it.

Lavender sat in front of a vanity, her long, sleek hair cascading around the back of her chair as she applied blush to the corners of her cheeks.

Oh… The maids were right. Her sister, without freckles or her uncooperative hair, was beautiful.

Sharp, light brown eyes met hers. A jolt of surprise stunned Thicket for a brief moment before she stepped inside and darkness claimed her again.

“Princess? Princess. Please wake up.” A warm hand filled hers, squeezing tightly. Beside her heart, her phoenix cooed, a pinch of concern lingering in the note.

Thicket stirred. The world blurred together, slowly realigning. Then, she saw his face.

Marcellus’ shoulders sagged, relief pouring from every line of his body. “Oh, thank all twelve of the golden chalices.”