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I want Prince Charming to fall from grace.
Raya officially moves into the palace today. If she won’t come to me, I will go to her.
I pull out a dress from the back of my wardrobe. The blue is a dark hue for summer, but I’m fond of the embroidery—sunflowers all along the bodice and hem. I shape my braid into a crown, tucking it in with pearly pins.
At the corner of my mirror, something glimmers.
I check my open window, where a golden choker rests on the sill. It’s shaped like a wreath of leaves—a common design of conjured ornaments—and when I pick it up, it’s featherlight, not the weight of real gold. I peer outside, but whatever fairy made this has gone.
Camilla must have sent it. It isn’t my style at all and too glamorous for my outfit, but it’s also too pretty to go unworn, so I slide it around my neck. It fits perfectly.
Raya’s arrival is supposed to be informal, but people gather at the gates early and much of the court weasels their way into the halls one way or another. Cyrus and Raya’s outings have fanned excitement, and those who think she’s evil incarnate want front-row seats to observe her.
A small party is set up in one of the atria. Attendees fight for space among the plants and chairs and gifts, and lapdogs run amok underneath skirts. Fairies who arrived with their wards are overhead, drunk from their thimbles of ambrosia. The air tickles with their dust, tempting a sneeze.
I spot Camilla in the entrance hall, three rooms over. Her dress is a garish pink-and-gray checkerboard print; I could probably pick her out from the outskirts of the city if I tried. I go to her.
As soon as she sees me, she snaps her fan shut and loops her arm through mine. “Violet! Are you here for the party?”
I can’t hold in my sigh. “Thought I should get out of my shell.” Not entirely untrue. Doubt it’ll help, but faced with imminent expulsion, it can’thurtto be friendly.
Camilla hums, nodding. “Whatever your ulterior motive is, I don’t need to know. As long as you’re here. You’re just in time!”
All attention in the main courtyard is focused on a carriage stopped at the gates. Guards form two lines to part a path outside its doors. Raya steps out in an emerald gown with a skirt split down the middle, its two halves parted like petals. The lower portion of her face is covered by a veil and dark ringlets obscure the rest.
“She’s always hiding her face,” I murmur.
“Apparently, she’s so beautiful that she does it for our own good.” Camilla barely muffles an ugly snort. “Or what happened at the ball will happen again with everyone getting enchanted.That’s the story they’re going with: her greatest flaw is she’stoo pretty.”
“Prettier than you?” I bite into a custard bun I tucked away in a pocket.
“Let’s not get carried away.” She takes a second glance at my neck. “Oh! I like that.”
I press my fingers to the choker. “I thoughtyousent this.”
She shakes her head. “One of the fairies probably just decided to bless you.”
“Me? It’s a sad day ifI’mkind enough to earn their favor.”
“Maybe they needed a pet project. They’re staying away from me right now because of this.” Camilla taps at herown neck, where a tiny scent bottle hangs, filled with a dark red liquid. “A touch scandalous, like all the best things in the world.”
During the ball, I’d seen this bottle in her threads, but I hadn’t thought about it further. Up close, I immediately see what makes it startling. “Is thatbloodinside?”
She grins with all her teeth. “Clever, isn’t it? I can’t go around dumping blood on Raya every chance I get, but Icanmake wearing these a trend. It negates nearby fairy enchantments quite well—I tested it on the chambermaids. Fairies don’t like them either, but that’s all right. I don’t need their glamour to be interesting. Can’t say that about everyone else.”
She throws a pointed look ahead, where Cyrus, sleek in a purple-plum coat, is escorting Raya the rest of the way across the grounds, hand in hand. Raya looks anxious. Not in a devious, secretly plotting way—mostly in an afraid-of-large-crowds way.
“Welcome, Lady Raya,” Camilla says, when the couple arrive at the entrance hall. “So when does the curse-breaking start?”
Raya chuckles haltingly, glancing at Cyrus as if hoping for a cue. “I have, ah, learned a lot about the prophecy these past few days, Your Highness. I did not know there was this responsibility on my shoulders.” A Southern accent inflects her words, drawing them out.
“Hopefully no more outbreaks ofhives,” I say, recalling the excuse she used with Dante. Raya flinches. I don’t expect Raya to be as exuberant as Camilla, but, well, I expectsomething.So far she’s quick as a brick. “You know, as Seer,I’m familiar with all kinds of prophecy. We should schedule another reading for this afternoon.”
She chuckles again. “Oh, that sounds…”
“Like an excellent idea,” Cyrus finishes.
I arch a brow. The prince wears his own false smile, the dimpled one he used to practice when his voice first changed and everyone thought he would marry quick. His face looks fully healed. I hope my slap stung for days.
