*Insurrection hit 12 in Science Fiction! Thank you guys so much!*

My eyes don't open when I wake up. I rub them, crust feeling rough against my hands. As gross as it sounds, I pick the crust away to open my eyes to darkness-- so dark I think my eyes might still be closed. I wonder if they have Drens here in Quill. I feel for the button along the railing of the bed. My fingers press down on a button. Nothing appears, but that button is a Dren one. That means I needed to wake up to nothing, just darkness. Because seeing a starry sky or a sunrise would only be depressing right now. Nate. He can't be dead. He can't be over.

I wipe away more crust. I must have cried while I was asleep.

Someone knocks on the door. Josie? If it is, then the perfect princess is about to grace me with her presence, and my hair is tangled, my eyes crusty, and I'm sure my breath smells like garbage as I have a horrible taste in my mouth. We princesses aren't all Sleeping Beauties. Even we snore. Though I'm convinced that Josie would be the Sleeping Beauty.

"Come in," I say. What time is it anyway? Maybe it's my dinner and not her? Maybe it's not morning yet.

The lights snap on and I squeeze my eyes shut. One. Two. Three. I open them. Josie walks in front of my bed, her maroon dress gliding behind her. A tiara sparkles on top of her black hair that falls in artificial curls down her back. I didn't need to unlock the door for her. She did that herself. That means that any royal family member of Quill who wants to get in my room has access. Maybe I should drag the chair from the vanity and barricade it against the door.

Sitting up, I run a hand through my hair, trying to tousle it, trying to do something with it. Jocelyn smiles at me, the perfect picture of grace at. . . what time is it? I'd really like to know. A glance at the window is all it takes to see that the curtains aren't closed and that it's dark outside. This could still be the same night. She's not holding dinner though so maybe it is morning. My stomach grumbles. I hope she didn't hear that.

"Good morning, Princess Raksana." It's morning.

"Princess Josie."

She takes a seat at the edge of my bed near my covered feet. "Jocelyn, not Josie, please."

I nod. Informalities are a thing of the past.

"It's so odd to see you," she says.

"How did you know I was awake?"

She pats my leg. "Your Dren sent off an alert you had woken." They're monitoring my sleep habits too.

"What time is it?"

"Six-thirty. Breakfast is in an hour." She rises, smoothing out her dress. "While you're in the shower, I'll bring in your dress for today."

I peel back the covers and enter the bathroom. I find it to be stocked with towels. Even though it is a private bathroom and I don't need to dry off as there's a fan in the shower, there are still towels.

I brush my teeth, removing that horrid dry feeling from my mouth and start the shower, watching as the water falls on my new life, however long this new life may be.

After my shower and after the dryer has stopped, I hear Josie knock on the door. "I have the dress."

I wrap a towel around myself. My goodness, this towel feels like heaven. If I make it out of Quill, I have to bring some of these back. I open the door enough for her to pass the dress, I mean lime, through. Shutting the door, I hold it up in front of the mirror that's already clear thanks to a defogger. I make a face. The dress is green and sleeveless. I'm going to look like fruit. The upper layer of the fabric is bunched up at the waist. The bodice reminds me of a corset with little raised bumps. What in Quill am I about to put on?

I drop my towel and step into the dress, working it up and over my hips by shimmying. Pulling it up my torso, I squeeze the top between my fingers and suck my stomach in. I wheeze once I get it in place. The dress is tight, and it's not even zipped yet. I stare at myself in the mirror. Nate would keel over laughing. A smile forms on my face. That's something he would do. Maybe he's not fully dead. He's still here—in my mind. Why should I even care so much? I haven't known him for long. I was locked in that cell in the prison longer than I actually saw him.

I step out of the bathroom, not even bothering to hold the bust up since it's zipped. The bust isn't going to move.

Josie clasps her hands over her mouth. "Stunning. Absolutely stunning." If by stunning she means for fruit standards then sure, I look stunning. For human standards there will have to be some debate first. Her maroon dress is much more appealing than lime, though I'm biased because that's a Lumierian color. I wonder if she did that on purpose as a friendly gesture. "Turn so I can zip you."

I do so reluctantly. "This is awfully tight. Don't you have something a little bigger?  You and I are not the same size." I'm not a twig. I have muscles. Which speaking of, I should be working out so I don't lose them. Strength is important to have around the enemy.

"Nonsense." She presses her palm into my back and tugs the zipper up. I feel it inch upward. A few squeezes and pulls later, the zipper suddenly reaches the top, and I can't breathe.

I place a hand on my stomach and suck it in. "How am I supposed to eat?"

She pats the chair of the vanity. After I sit down, my back stiff as a corset (and there isn't even a corset built in), she gathers my damp hair in one hand and in the other a brush. "You don't need to eat like an ox. You could have eaten all you wanted if you had woken up for dinner."

She begins to brush out my hair. When she's done she crouches down so she's at my level and we both are looking in the mirror. "I think we'll pass on makeup today?"

I haven't worn it in so long that my skin would probably have a breakout fest from how much Josie would cake on my face. Princesses get zits too. "Sounds good." My scars are still there. I don't know if they're something I should wear with pride or shame.

She divides my hair into four pieces and begins to wrap the back two into a bun. "So how are you?"

"I'm not sure."

She sticks a bobby pin in my hair. "Understandable. Every would hardly tell me anything about you yesterday."

"There's not much to tell. My father is sadistic and put me in your capitol prison."

Twisting a strand of my hair she reaches for another pin. "I heard that part, you poor thing."

"You do know I'm older than you?" Poor thing sounds like I'm a baby to her.

"Only by a year."

"I'm sure Prince Every loves it when you use that logic on him."

She smiles. "Of course he does."

When she's finished with my hair, the two back pieces are in a bun, and the sides sweep over my ears. The two front strands are braided along the sides of my head and into the bun. "I can't lend you a tiara. Our crowns are for royalty of Quill, not Lumiere."

"I don't need a tiara to be a princess." I sit up straighter and try to inhale. I twist slightly toward her, the dress not offering much freedom to move. "And neither do you."

"They help." She bites her lip and passes me a pair of flats.

I squeeze my feet inside them, my feet squishing in ways they shouldn't.

"Are you ready?" She holds out her hand to help me stand. The dress stiffens on the top but loosens on the bottom as I do so.

I'm forgetting something. Right. "One last thing." I return to the bathroom and begin shuffling through the drawers. In the fourth one I find the can I'm looking for. Deodorant. This is a luxury not provided back in the prison. The stench of everyone's sweat was astounding.

Even my brothers—so called Prince Charmings—wouldn't use deodorant for the first three months after hitting puberty. Their smell was anything but charming.

I walk out of the bathroom trying not to focus on the blistering pain coming from my toes. After this, I should look into glass shoes. They can't be much worse than these leather ones. In fact I'd like to see them be worse. I challenge you, Glass Slippers, to kill my feet.

I force my hands to remain at my sides rather than twisting them. I can't let her see just how nervous I am. "Your whole family will be there?"

"Yes."

Jareth, Maxon, and Every. I'm not worried about Every. He didn't smash my head into a marble table.

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