I snorted. They could dress me up like a doll, but making a proper impression? There wasn’t a lacy frock in the world that would guarantee that.
After much yanking and manipulation, they pulled the dress down into place. It was sleeveless, and the arm openings were so tight they bit into my skin.
“She’s very muscular. Look at her arms,” one of the assistants remarked, speaking about me as if I weren’t standing right there. A slight crease of worry formed across her forehead. “Lord Lothlorien failed to mention it.”
I scowled. I had no shame about my body, but it irritated me that Maxen hadn’t told them I was fit.
Vera had stepped back and was squinting at me, one arm wrapped around her narrow waist and the other index finger pressed to her lips.
“The color is all wrong, anyway,” she said crisply. “Take it off. We need to try a cooler palette.”
“Thank Oberon,” I grumbled.
Off came the orange sherbet dress, and I let out a sigh of relief. Not even my sexy alter-ego, Penelope, would want to wear that mess. Penelope was more ripped micro-minis and off-shoulder tops, not ice-cream-colored taffeta.
One of the assistants rifled through a rack of gowns and pulled out an aquamarine one. It was simple, with a wraparound design that created a V neckline. The hem was higher in the front and cascaded to floor-length in the back. It completely lacked any frilly nonsense.
They worked me into it, and when I faced the mirror, I found the color perfectly complemented my sand-toned skin and tawny eyes.
All the stylists were nodding.
“There’s a similar one in brown,” one of the assistants said. “I’ll pull that one, too, and also pack some riding pants and blouses.”
In court, women were expected to wear dresses at all times, with the one exception of riding pants. The riding pants were intended, of course, for horseback activities. Regardless of the intent of the rule, I planned to take a very liberal interpretation of the pants allowance and make good use of the loophole.
Off came the dress and over my underwear went a bathrobe. Under the direction of the ladies, I sat down in the chair at the styling station while a new trio came in—a man and two women this time—and set to work filing my fingernails, doing various manipulations on my hair, smearing things on my skin, and brushing makeup over my face. After a while, I just closed my eyes and tried to send my mind to a more pleasant place.
Thoughts of my sister, Nicole, crept in. I couldn’t help thinking of my mother, too, with two newborn girls and terrified that they would be killed to fulfill a prophecy. Oliver had told me she’d been unstable long before I was born, but had there been any merit to her fear? Apparently, there could be, if Oliver didn’t want Marisol to know about Nicole.
Another large question loomed in my mind: Why had the Duergar King Periclase taken Nicole?
I had no idea why Nicole was valuable to him. At twenty-seven, she was very old for a changeling to be brought back to the Faerie side of the hedge. Usually it happened well before the seventeenth birthday, sometimes quite young, because a person was still malleable in the right ways at that age. Much older than that, and it was too hard on the mind to try to integrate into Faerie, not to mention almost impossible to effectively learn to use and control magic. And a Fae without magic would never be fully accepted on this side of the hedge.
I honestly couldn’t even imagine what was going through Nicole’s mind. Humans were aware of the Fae, but knowing about something was very different than being yanked from your life and into a world you’d never seen and didn’t know how to navigate. And who knew what Periclase’s people were filling her head with. At their worst, the Unseelie were ruthless manipulators with grudges and jealousies that ran deep and sometimes spanned generations. And King Periclase . . . he was on an altogether different level. He actually cared less for the usual Unseelie manipulations than he did for calculated power plays. I’d met him once when I was a child, and the memory was enough to send a little shiver down my spine, even twenty years later.
“Yes, I believe she’s ready,” the male stylist said. I opened my eyes as he reached out to touch my hair, arranging it over my shoulder.
After what had seemed like hours of primpage, the team of stylists stepped back to scrutinize me. As they shifted, making small adjustments, I caught a look at myself in the mirror. I let out a surprised laugh, I couldn’t help it. Leaning forward, I turned my face from side to side.
They’d managed to curl my long, stubbornly straight hair into gentle waves that somehow looked polished and natural at the same time. A simple off-center part and a silver clip held back my long bangs, which were swept to the side. My makeup was expertly done to emphasize my eyes, cheekbones, and lips, but thankfully in neutral shades. They’d stuck a bit of false lash on the outer upper corners of my lids. It remained to be seen if I could manage to get through the evening without accidentally pulling them off.
I didn’t like getting all made up, and within the hour I’d probably be itching to wash my face and throw my hair into a ponytail, but I could appreciate anyone who excelled at their chosen craft, regardless of what that craft was.
“Wow,” I said appreciatively. “You people are magicians.”
The stylists left, and the wardrobe ladies returned to get me into my blue dress, some matching shoes with heels that were only about two inches, thank Oberon, and some opal jewelry that complemented the dress.
When one of the assistants came at me with a mister bottle of perfume, I held up a hand to stop her.
“Sorry, I have to draw the line there,” I said. “I can’t stand the smell of that stuff.”
She inclined her head, giving in. “I’ll add it to your trunk in case you change your mind later.”
As if he’d been waiting for a signal, a young page came in from a side doorway with a large piece of luggage, which he set down near the main door. When the stylist tipped back the lid of the trunk to add the perfume bottle to the toiletry tray that sat on top, I caught a glimpse of the clothing carefully folded within it.
“At least one pair of riding pants in there?” I asked, craning my neck.
“Khaki and navy,” Vera confirmed.
“Boots?”
Vera nodded. “Riding boots to match.”
As I took a few steps to test out the high heels, I tried to console myself with the prospect of being able to change clothes and shoes later.
I got the sense the ladies were waiting for me to dismiss them.
“Your services were performed with skill,” I said. I winked at Vera. “I’m sure my impression in court will be a worthy one.”
I didn’t even want to think about how much the services that had just been performed and the items packed in the trunk had cost, but as part of Maxen’s royal contingent, I wouldn’t have to foot the bill.
The ladies filed out through one of the doorways into one of the side rooms, and the page opened the door that led into the hallway.