If the capital had a favourite hobby, it would be dressing wolves up like dolls and calling it tradition. By late afternoon, the dormitory is a storm of fabric and perfume and sharp laughter that means nothing good. Girls crowd mirrors, curl hair, pin jewelled clips like they’re fastening armour. The air hums with frantic energy, hope wrapped around desperation, tied off with silk. I sit on my bed and stare at my schedule like it might spontaneously combust. DINNER BANQUET — 19:00. ATTENDANCE MANDATORY. Mandatory. Like my stomach hasn’t already made its opinion clear. Tessa flits around the room, practically vibrating. “Okay, Abby, we need to do something with your hair,” she announces, hands on hips like she’s a general preparing for war. “If we’re going to be forced into a royal meat market, we might as well look like we bite.” “I do bite,” I mutter. “Then we’ll make you look l
Last Updated : 2025-12-23 Read more