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Camilla runs forward and douses them.
“Urgh!”
The girl’s mask shrivels and curls away. Her hands fly to her face as pinkish water drips from her chin. I can already see her dress thinning, the green fading.
Cyrus lunges at Camilla, yanking the jug from her hand and turning her bloody palm upward. “Are you out of your mind?”
She shoves back. “She’s enchanting you—”
“Of course she is! She’s my true love!”
“No,literally,you toad-brain!”
“She’s getting away!” someone yells.
The ballroom doors rattle. The girl dashes through, her dress weeping magic behind her.
A wetness seeps onto my leg. I look down and my mask droops. I press it back to my face.
My glamours are falling apart, too.
Someone grabs me by my shoulder. I spin around and meet Cyrus’s glare.
“It’s always you, isn’t it?” he snarls.
“I didn’t—it was Camilla—” I twist away—easier than I thought, as some mix of enchantment and wine addles him. Diving into the crowd, I look for something to hide behind, but the crush of people propels me toward the exit as they give chase after the girl.
I need to get away.
So I run. Like a girl on the streets again, near-barefoot as one slipper melts.
My dress turns to rags, freeing my legs. I run even faster.
Clinging on to what’s left of my mask, I burst out into the night. A sprinkling of raindrops catches on my lashes, blurring my vision. I can barely see more than the mystery girl’s profile against the bright lights spinning beyond the palace gates behind her. Squinting, I make out the glowing shapes of fairies. One, two—three—
In rare instances, multiple fairies can favor the same ward, though having two fairies is often worse than having one—twice the magical firepower, but they’ll bicker more than help. Having three fairies is the stuff of tales. The palace has three fairies, but those are bought with a hefty amount of ambrosia and shared among the royal family. According to rumor, it was a nightmare trying to find three fairieswillingto work together. Nothing short of a miracle.
Any more than three is unheard of.
There are five fairies behind her.
The din of the crowd nears. I run behind the gatehouse, crouching in its shadow. When I look back, the girl is gone and Cyrus stands alone at the palace gates, looking out toward the quiet streets.
He calls for his guards and for horses. Minutes later, he rides into the city, Dante and guards beside him, and much of the crowd as well.
In the chaos, I scramble across the gardens, back to my tower. No one follows me. I strip off the sopping silk as soon as I enter my rooms, and climb into bed still damp.
Only then do I realize that I lost my other shoe.
Someone is pounding on the door.
I roll over on my bed, waiting for it to stop. My shift is cold, sticking to me like a second skin. It’s still dark out, barely sunrise.
The door downstairs rattles. And rattles. And rattles.
I curl my pillow around my head. Whisper a little swear-filled prayer to the Fates who blessed this tower before throwing the covers off. Pulling my robe on, I pinch the fabric tightly to hide my shift from view.
Last night is a blur I’m too happy to relegate to the threads of my past. I managed to piss off our future king by bragging that I used him. Then I pissed him off again by driving away the girl who he thought was his true love, which will also piss off our current king. Also, no one likes me in the first place.
