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At last, the witch was satisfied with her efforts.

She turned me back to the mirror. I’d expected to be painted like an autumn tree.

Instead, I found I still looked like myself.

My lips were lined and slightly darker, my eyes more attention-grabbing, but since I was among the few in Damerel who didn’t have red eyes, it hardly mattered.

She turned her arsenal on herself, plucking fresh brushes and covering her face in quick strokes. In what seemed to be a matter of seconds, she had given herself light blue eyeshadow and a matching navy lip.

“If you can do it that fast, why did it take so long for me?”

She grinned. “Because I was having fun.”

It seemed indulgent, but it was hard to judge when Amalthea seemed so giddy.

Despite the hardship she’d seen in her life, Amalthea had a certain gaiety that seemed utterly natural.

Her smiles were quick, and complemented by crinkled eyes.

In contrast, each time I returned her smile I felt like a fraud.

“Let me slip something on for the evening and then we’ll sort out your gown. You’re going to be spectacular, Sam.”

She ducked from the mirror and began searching the floor. Heaps of fabric were lifted and quickly discarded until she was three-quarters across the room and appeared satisfied at last. She disappeared behind the silk screen, her previous dress falling over the screen to the ground in a pile.

Since the use of the screen was no doubt for my benefit, the state of the room made more sense.

When she reemerged, everything above her clavicle was bare.

Her dress began above her breasts, and midnight blue fabric pooled down, cinched only at the waist. Like all her clothes, it was ornately embroidered with long billowing sleeves that ran from mid-shoulder down below her hands.

“How did you decide?” I asked, curious. Well, curious and desperate to delay our attendance at the ball.

“It’s been at least a season since I was seen in this gown,” she explained.

“The exposed neck is the fashion of the court among the powerful and the flirtatious. It can be an invitation for a bite. Or it can be a declaration that no one would be able to take from you and challenging any to try. The color is simply because I look wonderful in this shade of blue. ”

I swallowed, unable to focus on the blue while her neck and shoulders were exposed. “How do you know which is which?”

“Attitude,” she chirped. She strode over to me as if the floor wasn’t littered by uneven mountains of clothes.

“Now, our proportions are too different for me to lend you anything. First thing tomorrow, I’ll ensure a fresh wardrobe is started for you.

But tonight, it’s a special enough occasion we can use this. ”

Another flourish and Amalthea revealed her stack of cards from another drawer.

It was easily a hundred cards thick, exponentially larger than my own paltry deck.

She thumbed through them haphazardly. “No, no… where is it… no… ah! Here we are.” She slid the deck back into its hiding place and lifted a card triumphantly between her fingers.

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 decidedly not the 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 I would 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!”