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My brows drew together. “You can’t be serious.”

It was a creation card. Creation magic was extremely rare and coveted, because unlike most temporary enchantments, that which it created was permanent. At its purest, the power enabled the caster to create whatever was in their mind. Like all cards, they came in different strengths and assortments. Prince Marcel the Bountiful had a kind of creation magic. It only allowed him to multiply that which he already had, but even that was considered an incredible feat. Reading the symbols on this card, this card was limited, but even still, it was outrageous to propose using it for something as mundane as a dress.

I pulled back, trying to reason with Amalthea. “It’s too much. Better for me to skip or wear what I am now if I really must attend.”

“It’s imperative you send the right message. Wearing some ill-fitted castoff or thrown-together day dress—sorry—is decidedlynotthe right message.”

“Amalthea, families would work for years to afford a card half that powerful.”

“You know, you can call me Thea,” she replied as if that was the only part she heard.

“Thea,” I echoed, trying out the nickname. “Be sensible. This extravagance is beyond anything a void should dream of, let alone do.”

She cocked a hip out, the dark fabric swaying with the movement. “You’re the king’s Chosen. The only thing you need to dream of is your dress. Or, if you prefer, I can conjure it for you.”

The gleam in her eyes said she liked that idea more by the second. I yanked the card from her fingers, which she let go easily with a triumphant grin.

“Only because I’m afraid of what you’d put me in,” I grumbled.

She huffed. “I have excellent taste, I’ll have you know.”

I left my position in front of the mirror and carefully pulled my current dress off, casting a mournful look at the comfortable fabric. I’d never used a creation card before, never even held one, but magic was always intuitive. I shut my eyes and tried to think of what Iwould wear. I didn’t have a clue what the fashions were these days, let alone the vampire styles beyond what little Amalthea had told me. I pushed a general idea to the card, hoping like with disguise magic it would fill in the blanks.I am not one of them. The magic traced over my body, wrapping around me.I am not prey.Fabric appeared with a sparkle of light, unformed yet as the magic read my intentions.

I don’t want them to touch me.

When the dress finally materialized, I stepped out for Thea to see.

She blinked at me, for the first time slightly off-kilter.

“Well, that’s definitely sending a message.” She recovered and drew closer, offering me a hand. “I’d daresay you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. Won’t Raphael be surprised to see you!”

Chapter Thirty-One

It took nearly halfan hour to navigate the winding maze of the mountain castle’s halls, to say nothing of the added complication of the shoes Amalthea had lent me. After years going barefoot and wishing for proper footwear, I found myself wishing I could kick the pointy-heeled torture devices off. The thick calluses of my feet weren’t made for such fine things. I tried to map the castle in my mind as Amalthea led me, arm linked with mine. The halls were almost entirely empty, and as we approached the ballroom, I realized why.

When Amalthea declared we had three hours to get ready, she clearly had no intention for us to arrive on time.

“It sounds like the ball started hours ago,” I whispered to her.

She gave me an amused look, gray eye twinkling with mirth. “But of course. You couldn’t be seen arriving first, after all. That dress deserves an audience.”

I wasn’t so sure.

The dress was exactly what I’d wanted, but I never would have been able to picture it. Now that the magic had taken the essence of my thoughts and made it physical, I was unsure if it had been such a wise idea to let those feelings guide the creation magic.

The skirts flowed around me, the bodice and sleeves heavy. I’d seen myself in the mirror before leaving.

If Raphael hates it, perhaps I’ll get to leave the ball immediately.

A servant opened the door, and with no further instruction, the herald announced our arrival. “Presenting the seer of the court and adviser to King Raphael, Lady Amalthea, and King Raphael’s claimed human, Lady Samara!”

A hush fell over the space. Or perhaps there was no silence, but rather no noise that could surmount the roaring in my ears as hundreds of pairs of eyes stared up at me.

Prey. To them, I was prey.

My vision swam, bouncing from group to group, a sea of white hair, pale skin, and red eyes surrounding me.

Then my gaze landed on one particular figure.