CHAPTER 7 Sep 24, 2025 The ball was all anyone could talk about. The palace staff had been setting up since dawn-flower garlands, harpists, trays of sugared fruit and honey-glazed meat. Servants darted through the halls in a frenzy, while the girls floated around in clouds of lace and perfume, giggling over imagined first dances and future titles. Sarah and I sat in our corner of the West Wing, the air sharp with lavender soap and a hint of nervous sweat. "You've never been to a ball, have you?" she asked gently, watching me wrestle with the borrowed comb. I shook my head. "Have you?" "Only the kind with foot-stomping and spilled cider," she said with a smirk. "Not silk gloves and crystal chandeliers." I tried to smile, but my stomach was too tight. My dress-if you could call it that-hung from the wardrobe hook like a wet sigh. It was pale blue, plain, wrinkled from the trunk, the hem uneven. Still, it was the best I had. I had just slipped it over my shoulders when the knock came. Clarissa. And two of her favorites, all polished lips and curling ironed hair, trailed behind her. "Well, well," Clarissa said sweetly, folding her arms. "Isn't this... precious?" I turned. "What do you want?" She clicked her tongue. "Honestly, Marianne, you could try harder. That dress is-what? Cotton? Did they run out of curtains?" "She probably stole it from the laundry," one of the girls added. "I didn't steal anything," I said through gritted teeth. Clarissa stepped forward, all softness and menace. "You shouldn't even be here. Do you think he'll look at you twice tonight? You're a maid, Marianne. A mistake the palace hasn't noticed yet." I clenched my fists. "Maybe he'll prefer someone real." That made her pause. Then smile. "Oh, I hope he does," she whispered. "It'll make it more satisfying when I take him from you, too." And then she knocked over the jug on the dresser. It didn't look like an accident. The water spilled everywhere-in a single breathless second it soaked the front of my dress, clinging to the fabric like shame. Cold. Damp. Ruined. Sarah gasped. Clarissa didn't even blink. "Oops." And then she was gone. The door shut behind her with a quiet thud that somehow echoed louder than anything she'd said. I stood there frozen. Water dripping down my legs. My dress clinging like skin. My cheeks burning. "I'm sorry," Sarah whispered, moving to help. "I didn't see it coming-" "I did," I said hollowly. She tried to wring the hem gently. "Maybe if we hang it by the fire-" "There's no fire," I snapped. Silence. I sank onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. "I shouldn't have come here. I don't belong. I'm not like them, Sarah. I'll never be like them." She didn't answer right away. Then: "Good." I looked up. She was already digging through the storage trunk. "If you were like them, you'd have rolled over years ago. You'd have let her win." "She did win." "No," Sarah said firmly. "Not yet." She tugged something out and held it up. Curtains. Thick velvet. Faded gold with silver lining. I stared at her. "Are you serious?" She shrugged. "When we were poor, my mother made festival dresses out of tablecloths. I've worked with worse." "But we don't have a pattern. Or a form. Or-" "Then you'll be my form. Stand up." I stood. She gathered pins, thread, scissors she probably wasn't supposed to have. We worked by candlelight. The curtain fabric scratched against my skin as she cut, stitched, knotted, and pulled. Her fingers moved fast-furious and delicate all at once. "No corset," she muttered. "You'll be able to breathe. That'll set you apart already." I laughed-a small sound, raw and startled. "What if I trip? What if I fall?" "Then fall beautifully," she said. "Make it look like you meant to." The dress came together faster than I expected. The velvet shimmered where the light hit it, catching hints of gold that hadn't been there before. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be. It was wild and regal and stitched from rebellion. When she finished, Sarah stepped back and let out a breath. "There." I turned toward the cracked mirror. The girl staring back didn't look royal. The gown still hung a little unevenly, and my hair had a few stubborn waves no pin could tame. But she looked steady. Like she belonged in the room. Like she might be hard to forget. I swallowed. "Is that really me?" Sarah grinned. "Damn right it is." She reached out and gently fixed a loose strand near my ear, her fingers surprisingly careful. "They want you to break before you even begin," she said softly. "Don't let them." I turned and pulled her into a quick hug before she could pretend to be too cool for it. "Thanks," I mumbled into her shoulder. She patted my back. "Don't get mushy on me now. I still have to pin Clarissa's gown later, and I need emotional reserves." I laughed, and for a second, I felt brave.