Gold Weaver | ✓

neun

Inside, there was a piece of paper I hadn't noticed before. I unfolded it, reading the neat scrawl.

Looks better on you. — R

I shook my head, chastising myself for finding amusement in having a number of guards and the King see these. With a huff, I shoved them under my pillow, the note included.

Just in time, too, because Isabella came gliding in, a blush coating her cheeks. Through the small opening of the door, I could see a small smile on Jack's face.

"I've come to help you get ready," she told me, clothes draped on her arm.

"For what?" I asked, brow furrowed.

I wasn't the most capable girl in the world but I was sure I could manage getting dressed by myself.

"The King is hosting a garden party," she said, going into the bathroom, where I heard the running of the tap. The scent of lavender wafted through to me. "And you're the main event."

"What?"

"He wants you to—" she waved her hands around. "— turn something to gold. In front of his special guests."

Fuck fuck fuck. "Just wondering," I said as I slipped out of my night dress. "But how many guests will there be?"

"Not that many," she said. "Two or three hundred, give or take."

I swayed on my feet.

This can't be happening.

"When was he going to tell me about this?"

"I did just tell you."

"He's giving me a few hours to prepare to do magic in front of hundreds of people?"

"No, don't be silly," she said, laughing to herself. "He only wants you to perform in front of like twenty people."

Wow, that makes it so much better.

. . .

After god knows how many tries, Isabella finally got me into the tub and cleaned up. I just couldn't move properly, fear rendering me immobile. She was patient enough, but I knew me being difficult must have been grating on her nerves.

In the end, she put me in a beautiful flowing dress. It was white— which probably wasn't the best idea for a garden party with grass being involved but I didn't tell her that— with tiny yellow flowers scattered all over it.

"You and Jack, huh?" I asked, innocently, as she buttoned up my dress.

She seemed to struggle with the button she was on, fingers fumbling over it. "I don't know what you mean."

I turned round to her as she finished doing me up, after several failed attempts.

"I won't tell anyone," I told her. Who could I possibly tell? I wanted to say but fearing I'd sound sadder than this whole situation already was.