the saucer of cream. Only when I was done did I notice the nick was bleeding, and small droplets of blood were on the bowl. I hoped none had dropped in the milk, for that might attract the wrong help.
Pru watched quietly, not daring to interrupt me. When I was finished, I dusted off my hands and turned to her. “Okay, that should do it.”
“Do what, miss?”
“Take care of my lack of help.” I waved her back into the room.
Pru entered and closed the door but didn’t pass farther past the area rug. I went to my one trunk and pulled out my sewing basket, placing it on the table.
“Lay out the dresses, please.” I pointed to the wardrobe, and the young girl obeyed.
When she pulled out the first dress, she turned with it still in her hands and her mouth popped open. “Oh, I see. These would never have fit you.” She held it up to my neck and saw how far it was from touching the floor.
“Yes,” I scolded. “Which is why we will have to alter them.” I pulled my shears out of my basket and some white glamoured thread.
Pru cocked her head to the side and separated the dresses by color. “I don’t think the pastels would complement your skin tone or hair, being it’s such an unusual color.”
I glanced up from threading my needle and gave her a blank stare.
“I mean, your hair is beautiful. You don’t find your particular shade this far west.” My facial expression didn’t change, and she became even more unsettled. “All right. I suggest we use the fabric from these two.” She held up two deep emerald green dresses, and I frowned. Even though green looked beautiful on me, I always compared myself to a prickly thorn when wearing it.
“Very well,” I sighed, not hiding my disappointment at the only salvageable dresses being my least favorite color. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, though I never thought I’d be in this spot where I’d have to beg for help.
We laid out the dresses along the table, and I tried them both on, selecting the one that fit my shoulders the best. Cutting the other dress into pieces, we added flowy sleeves starting from the elbows and more layers to the bottom. I whispered as I sewed, weaving magic into the thread that would hide the seams and create the illusion that the dress was made from one fabric.
Pru kept glancing over at me while I worked, and after two full marks, we had a presentable dress.
We didn’t speak much, considering whatever I said could send her running for the hills, but she stayed to help me into the dress.
“You look beautiful, miss.”
“Why do you address me so?” I asked, confused that she would forgo my title and name. “I would rather you address me by my name.”
“Which is?”
“You really don’t know it?” I asked.
Her head shook. “Once it was announced that Prince Xander was no longer marrying Yasmin, the castle was….” She blushed. “They did everything in secrecy. Even the staff are unsure of who you are, other than the attendants for your wedding who helped prepare you.”
I sighed and turned, giving the young woman a nod to thank her for her truthfulness. “I’m Rosalie, daughter of Lady Eville from the town of Nihill.”
Pru’s eyes widened. “Rosalie.” She tested the title on her tongue and quickly cleared her throat. “I mean Princess Rosalie. It is a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
As she cleaned up the scraps, I made my way to the door to leave, but Pru caught up. “Princess, wait.” I stopped. “You’re not allowed to leave your rooms,” she whispered. “When I returned, guards were put in place.”
My hand was inches away from touching the handle, curled in a fist, but I hid it amongst my skirt. “Not allowed? Who gave the order?” I asked coldly.
“The prince again,” she mumbled. “He has no wish….” She struggled to speak his order.
“You can relay the message without fear of reprimand,” I assured.
She took a deep breath and started again. “The prince has ordered that he never lay eyes on you for fear you will put a spell on him.”
“From my ugliness, I dare say.” Pursing my lips, I held back a smile. “Is he even still alive? I could have sworn I was supposed to have murdered him in the night,” I answered cynically.
Pru paled, her hand going to her chest. “Surely you don’t mean—”
“That was a jest.” I waved her off. “I, too,