Chapter 8

About two hours later – or at least, that’s how long I think it is, I’m not sure I fully understand how time works here yet – I bunch the folds of fabric in my hand to lift my skirts as I climb the stairs towards the palace entrance. Anton trots at my side in his ghostly wolf form, glancing up at me every other second, as anxious as I am.

“Well, at least I’ve got a pretty dress,” I mutter, looking down at the sweep of dark fabric that trails behind me. The dress – whoever sent it clearly made it just for me. It closely hugs what curves I have before plunging low on my chest and sweeping out into full flowing skirts that ripple on the marble steps behind me.

Anton gives a little huff of agreement and cheerfully snaps at the fabric with his ghostly teeth, making me laugh. He approves of the garment – he made that quite clear with his abundant praise in the room, telling me how much it suits me and sets me off at an advantage.

Still, I have to admit that I feel a little underprepared for