My room had descended into beautiful chaos.
Servants fluttered around me like well-trained butterflies, one scrubbing my arms, another working some kind of floral-scented oil into my hair, a third holding up fabric swatches against my skin while debating undertones.
It was like that scene from Mulan where they're preparing her for the matchmaker, except with more silk and fewer crickets.
"Hold still, Your Highness—"
"The water's getting cold, should I—"
"Pass me the rose oil—"
"Your hair is so beautiful, like spun gold—"
I sat in the bath, simultaneously pampered and overwhelmed, while Lady Clarissa perched on a nearby chair, already dressed and looking absolutely stunning.
She wore a deep green gown that brought out her eyes, with matching jewelry that caught the candlelight. Her mask was elegant, silver filigree shaped like delicate vines.
"You look beautiful, Clarissa," I said, trying not to move while someone scrubbed behind my ears with alarming vigor.
