Standing in front of Gustus's tall mirror, I frown at the gown hugging against my body. I pull at the lace tulle skirt, the knife-pleated design falling to the floor and traveling no further. The skirt is not the problem. It's everything else, the boned bodice decorated in small red and purple roses, the sweetheart neckline that doesn't reach farther than my breasts but hides them behind a layer of soft pink fabric. The sleeves attached hang off my shoulders, connecting to the top of my gown and fluttering down in sheer waves to my wrists, cupping them in a tight collar.

I don't much care for it.

Not to say I don't appreciate the prince's efforts to pick out something extravagant for a ceremony as esteemed as this, but the color doesn't quite match with my eyes. The soft pink reminds me more of evening clouds that pair well with deep blue skies fading to night, not the unsettling red of my pupils. I run my hand over the bodice and the flowers stitched on, tiny and delicate, falling like a waterfall down the middle of my chest and sprinkling onto the skirt. Maybe if we have enough time—

"You're frowning," Gustus notices. I glance at him through the mirror. He buttons his black doublet, the color he is forced to wear in honor of his mother's obsession with labeling herself as the Raven Queen. "Do you not care for the gown?"

I hold out my hand before I've said a word. "It's beautiful," I compliment. "But I don't believe the color goes with my features, is all."

He stands at my side, studying my appearance. He clasps the final button and fluffs the tight cuff towards the end of the bishop sleeve. Gustus's ocean blue eyes stick out like a sore thumb against the dark fabric, turning him into a less-princely version of himself. The Raven Queen wishes for intimidation, so her children must follow the same trail.

"I believe you look beautiful. But if you're looking for the color to match, then I suggest shifting back into your normal form. Unless you wish to cause a scene, of course." He smiles wickedly, and my eyes grow wide.

A blush creeps onto my cheeks. "Right." He didn't purchase the dress for my Luminary form, but I've grown accustomed to transforming my appearance when hiding away in his chambers. My magic soothes, resting easily beneath my skin, and I can think without the constant berating of stress or anxiety halting all my attempts at happiness.

I cast the veil of magic and watch my hair shift back to the shade I was born with. Like the smallest of adjustments, my eye color fades to a subtle green. The woman I stare back at is the one I grew up knowing, but she isn't me anymore. At least the gown matches.

Throughout this day, I have gone through the normal motions of life at the palace. More people flood the halls, all from distant lands and all of them unrecognizable, but I don't make conversation for they don't see me as anything other than a palace servant. I even gathered towels for a young woman that couldn't fetch anyone else. Even though I wasn't in uniform, I helped.

I didn't allow myself to feel the nagging nerves rising inside my body every time I opened the gates to allow them in. If there was something else I needed to do, I did it and used my focus to exceed at the current task. Trying on the gown is another, as is waiting out these final moments before the ceremony starts. Now that I'm wearing the gown, I can't do anything else to waste away the minutes turning to hours.

My anxiety has all the right to present itself.

"Brush my hair, will you?" Gustus asks. He sits at his vanity, applying a small layer of cosmetics to accent his high cheekbones. Over his shoulder, he holds the brush.

I grip onto the skirts of my dress and stride across the room, happy to look at someone else in the mirror other than my own reflection. The golden rim holding the mirror in place reflects Gustus's handsome face, his broad shoulders and glossed mouth. I take the long strands of pale blond hair off his shoulders and drape them down his back, brushing gently as to not tear.

"Something troubles you, Marie. Speak," he orders.

The fire of anxiety in my chest doesn't fully quench, and my first instinct isn't to leap at the chance to speak about my troubles. "I'm just nervous," I say.

"The claiming won't hurt. You must relax, and Cloak will handle the rest. He always makes his selection feel comfortable and protected when they're up there on stage." Gustus applies a rosy shade of powder to his cheeks, minutes after he patted the same onto mine. The reflection of myself in the mirror isn't entirely my own, the subtle layer of cosmetics accents my eyes and my cheeks, but gives away the innocence I haven't yet shed.

"I know. Everything with Rylan makes me wonder whether this is a mistake. What if I end up hurting him?"

A convincing cluck leaves him. "Isn't that the point, Marie? He hurt you, so you must do the same."

"He was different when I went back home. He apologized for what happened, and I know he didn't mean to do it, but—"

"Do not give excuses," he interrupts. Gustus sticks his finger in the air, halting anything else I might spew. "Rylan had a chance to think twice about what he did, but he refused. I don't care if alcohol made him behave differently. No person should lay their hand on another without prior reason—that is simply the rule."

I let out a harsh bark of laughter. "The rule? I do not believe that is a rule." Returning the brush to his vanity table, I step back and fold the blond strands back over his shoulders so they hang across his chest. Craning around to kiss his cheek, I say, "You are gorgeous, prince."

He sighs deeply and admires himself in the mirror, tilting his head to the side. "If only my husband was as affectionate as you. I can hardly get him to compliment my outfit, let alone my appearance."

"Theo cares about you, he just isn't the best at displaying his emotions. Unless they're fueled by anger."

Gustus braces his hands against the golden armrests bordering his seat in the carved chair and pushes himself to stand. "That drew me to him in the first place, I'm afraid," he muses while walking over to his closet. He pulls the door open, revealing rows and rows of fine clothing.

Instead of paying attention to any particular piece, he pushes past them all and descends towards the back—his jewelry selection. He pulls a broad golden neck chain from the bottom drawer and drapes it loosely over his shoulders, clamping the lock at the back of his neck.

I rest my shoulder against the doorframe, jutting out my hip against the slacked weight. "Do you have anything in there for me? This type of gown requires more than a bare chest," I say.

"Cloak will have that covered. I saw the pendant myself, and I must say, I'm jealous that you get to sport it around your tiny village."

My eyebrows shoot up in shock. "You saw it? What does it look like?" I demand to know.

He slithers out of my reach before I can grab onto his arm and pin him to the ground so he can't leave without sparing the information first. "Of course I saw it. I'm the one he came to for advice since you're always lounging in my chambers. He figured I knew enough about you to understand your style, and what design would immediately tell others that you are to remain unharmed."

I throw up my hands in exasperation. My focus shifts from one shocking part of this evening to another. Just minutes ago, I had wondered if I could stomach these silent hours of the night to prepare for this celebration, but I couldn't care less now. The pendant; what could it look like? "Tell me," I plead, grasping onto his hands and practically jumping up and down.

"No, I promised I wouldn't." He taps on my nose and I bat his hand away. "You must wait this short time, Marie, and we must be going. The celebration will start soon."

I freeze. Already? The celebration can't start for another few short hours. I could've sworn I had more time before I had to be on stage...

"Don't get cold feet now," Gustus grumbles as he grabs onto my wrist and practically tugs me out the door. For my sake, no one is in the hallway to notice the fear and adrenaline seeping through my features.

The pendant, the celebration, Cloak's claim, Rylan watching...I can't keep up with it all. My stomach drops when I catch a glimpse out the window and notice the hundreds of moving figures in the courtyard, brought to life by the faint candlelight surrounding the celebration. Searching for familiar faces, I find none.

Somewhere amongst them, Chaska and Rylan wait to watch the ceremony. I don't know who I'm more nervous for. The crowd, or my husband. For the wrath he will unleash is nothing compared to what they've ever seen during Claiming's Eve.