Page 25 of A Dagger in the Ivy

Indira takes the towel from me, leaving me as naked as the day I was born. I have no time to feel embarrassed, however, because Indira’s efficiency borders on impatience. I steel myself and let the maidservants do their work. Whether I like it or not, tonight I am to play the part of a proper princess—a role I’m not entirely sure I’m prepared for.

The maidservants assist me with my attire, and I find myself taking short, shallow breaths as they tighten the corset around my waist. The familiar sensation of constriction feels oddly reminiscent of preparing for battle, where every movement is calculated and every breath counts. Despite my discomfort, I remain silent, knowing that this is just anotheraspect of the elaborate dance I must perform as royalty.

As the laces are pulled taut, I can’t help but marvel at the skill with which the women maneuver the fabric, transforming me into something resembling a proper princess. Yet beneath the layers of silk and satin, I feel as though I’m suffocating, trapped within the confines of expectation and tradition. I struggle to draw in a full breath, but the soldier in me won’t allow me to give in.

I will persevere.

Indira tells me to sit at the vanity as she and the maidservants scurry off to retrieve more things to prepare me for the ball. I take my time moving onto the stool, afraid to wrinkle the dress, or worse, rip it.

Nadya’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I watch her reflection as she enters the room. “Someone’s in a hurry.” She shoots Indira an exasperated look. “Stop pushing me.”

“I’m notpushingyou,” Indira bites back. “We need to tend to your face.”

“I’m going to tend toyourface,” Nadya mumbles, but her expression changes when she spots me. Her eyes widen in admiration, her breath catching in a soft gasp of wonder. “Oh, Celeste, it’s stunning!”

“You look gorgeous!”

Nadya giggles as she twirls in her gown, and I can’t help but smile at the sight. Her dress, though not as lavish as mine, is still elegant in its simplicity. The soft fabric drapes gracefully around her figure, the delicate embroidery adding a touch of charm, and the pale yellow makes a lovely contrast with her dark skin. It’s a subtle yet beautiful choice, fitting for her role as my lady-in-waiting.

A maidservant brings a stool over for Nadya to sit on. While I have full access to the vanity mirror, Nadya sits a bit farther behind. One of the maidservants applies creams and rouge to Nadya’s face, while the others attend to me. I find myself entranced by the meticulous care they bestow upon me. Their nimble fingers weave through my locks, deftly braiding and pinning them into an elegant coiffure fit for a ball. Each strand is treated with reverence, as if they were crafting a masterpiece out of the humble canvas of my hair.

I close my eyes, surrendering myself to their expertise, as they brush and style with gentle precision. The sensation of their hands against my scalp is oddly soothing, a fleeting moment of respite from the chaos that swirls around me. With each stroke of the brush, I feel myself being transformed, shedding the weight of duty and responsibility in favor of the simple pleasure of being pampered.

As they move on to my face, I can’t help but marvel at the array of cosmetics laid out before me. Powders and paints, brushes and creams—all carefully selected to enhance my natural beauty and mask any imperfections. With practiced skill, they apply the makeup, accentuating my features and imparting a delicate glow to my skin.

Watching the mirror, I am struck by the transformation that has taken place. Gone is the soldier, replaced by a vision of elegance and grace. It’s a strange sensation, seeing myself through the eyes of others, but in this moment, I can’t help but feel a sense of wonder at the woman staring back at me.

At long last, Indira steps back and nods. “That should do it.”

“Thank you, Indira.” I flash her a smile.

She nods, a curt but respectful gesture, and turns to leave. As she walks away, there’s a grace in her step, the way she moves with purpose and poise. There’s no doubt in my mind that Indira is someone to be reckoned with, and though she might be abrupt, I feel she has our best interests at heart.

“Take a look at us.” Nadya is giddy, staring at herself in the mirror and then twirling in her gown.

I stand, and we admire each other’s attire.

A ripple of laughter escapes her lips. “You clean up nicely, Celeste.”

I chuckle in response, the sound muffled by the constriction of my corset. “Careful,” I warn, wincing slightly as the tight bindings pinch against my ribs. “I might just split my seams.”

Nadya’s laughter rings out again, echoing through the room. “Wouldn’t want that to happen. We’d never hear the end of it from Indira.”

When I glance out the balcony doors, the sky has become amasterpiece of colors, with hues of pink, orange, and gold blending seamlessly into one another, painting the horizon in a radiant display. The setting sun casts a warm, amber glow over the landscape, illuminating the treetops and casting long shadows across the courtyard below. Wisps of clouds are tinged with a soft, rosy hue, drifting lazily across the sky. The distant mountains are silhouetted against the vibrant backdrop, their peaks bathed in a gentle, purple twilight.

The call of nightfeathers echoes through the air as a flock travels from the castle’s high turret out into different directions. My stomach tightens knowing the messenger birds carry the news to the other realms of my betrothal to Torbin, as well as the king’s plan to cease the rescues of Dulcamaran refugees until further notice. I question whether this plan will truly work.

“Our first ball!” Nadya practically bounces with excitement. “Did you ever think we’d see the day?”

Despite the gleam in her eye, I can’t help but feel a flutter of nerves in the pit of my stomach. When I was a child, refusing to be present at the balls my parents threw was an act of defiance and selfishness, a protest against needing to act like someone I didn’t feel I was. But now, it feels like the stakes are higher. “I don’t want to attend.”

“What?”

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Celeste, the queen is throwing this ball for you. You can’t be absent from it.” She presses her lips together and tilts her head. “Besides, your uncle will be insufferably disappointed.”

I take a deep breath—or as deep as I’m able to, considering the tight fit of the gown. “Fine. But you are not to leave me. Even if you are desperate to get back to reading your books. Even if a devilishly handsome nobleman wants to sweep you away, which he will when he lays his eyes on you.”

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