VALMIRA
"This is… white."
"I cannot wear this, I look like the bride."
"No, no, what nonsense. It's cream. This is the one the princess chose."
A cold, creeping dread settled in Valmira's stomach.
She knew, knew the dress they had forced her into wasn't cream. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, the truth undeniable. The gown was white. A stark, unmistakable white.
Simple, yet undeniably beautiful. The square neckline was modest enough, the satin bodice hugging her ribs before cascading from her hips in a waterfall of delicate fabric that left little to the imagination. On a noblewoman, it might have looked elegant. But on her, with her sun-touched skin and arms too muscular for courtly standards, it looked… wrong, so wrong.
But it was pretty.
They had taken her to a back room nearly as lavish as the princess's own chambers. The bed in the corner looked untouched, the velvet drapes too rich for dust to dare settle. The scent of fresh strawberries clung to the air—unnaturally sweet, as if conjured by magic.
The maid beside her tsked."It needs more lace."
Valmira frowned. "Why? I'm just standing beside the princess. Shouldn't I look… plain?"
The maid's snicker cut through her words like a knife.
Ah.
No one was worried Valmira would outshine the princess. Not that she was, either, but wearing white beside the bride? That wasn't just odd. It was suspicious and she had a bad feeling about this but she didn't let the voice in her head get to her.
She should say something. Demand answers. But the words lodged in her throat.
The royal family wouldn't cancel the flower contract now—not an hour before the wedding. And if they did? The scandal would haunt the court for a decade.
So she swallowed her protests. Even as the warning bells in her mind screamed.
Even as they brought out the veil.
"Oh, no." Valmira backed away from the mirror, hands raised. "I don't need that. That's—"
"What the princess requested." The maid's voice was smooth, rehearsed. "When the trolls arrive, they should see her face—not yours."
But it wasn't just a covering. It was a bridal veil.
White dress. A veil.
This wasn't just wrong. It was a trap.
She needed to think—needed to breathe—but the maids were watching, their expressions unreadable. They weren't nobility. They were like her. Surely they'd tell the truth if she asked right?
The maid sighed. "What do you think is happening, flower girl? You're lucky the princess even looked at you. Who wouldn't want this?"
Valmira bit her lip. "I suppose…"
But she didn't step forward.
The maid's pity twisted into impatience. "Rude. You're ridiculously rude. Want a lifetime contract with the castle? Put on the veil."
A lifetime of security. Wealth. No more hauling carts like a beast of burden.
Her stomach growled, loud and traitorous.
The maid's lips thinned. "We'll feed you after. And fix that hair."
Valmira opened her mouth—
And said nothing.
They curled her wild hair into submission, pinned it high atop her head. Winged liner sharpened her gaze; rouge stained her lips crimson. When they finished, the mirror showed a stranger.
She barely recognized herself.
"Stop that," a maid snapped, smacking her shoulder. "Now we'll have to fix your teeth."
Valmira bared them—streaked red. An omen, a bad one.
They scrubbed the stain away, then draped the veil over her head.
Why now?
Before she could ask, they dragged her into the hall. The clack of heels on stone echoed around her. The veil blurred the world into shadows.
Then—silence.
The maids' grip vanished.
She was alone.
Her fingers twitched toward the veil—
"I wouldn't do that."
A voice like gravel.
Valmira froze.
A fawn before the hunter.
Her breath fogged the veil, a fleeting glimpse of scuffed floors before it settled back. She forced her hands to her sides. "They worked hard."
"I should thank you." A pause. "My daughter was pleased you arrived."
His daughter?
Valmira's knees buckled.
The king.
Rumours flooded her mind—beheaded trolls, missing women, a hedge maze that swallowed men whole.
And now his hand trailed her neck.
This was very, very bad.
"I just arranged the flowers, Your Highness." Her voice barely trembled.
A humourless chuckle. "I heard you hauled the cart yourself. Like a beast."
She had no horse. No choice.
He'd never understand.
"But that's not why I'm thanking you." His shadow loomed. "My daughter doesn't make friends. Yet she chose you."
Valmira swallowed. "I don't know why."
"She sees souls." His breath ghosted her ear. "If she says you're brave… you are."
The princess's icy grip on her mind—had that been sight?
"I… haven't had many chances to be brave."
A lie. She'd been brave every damn day of her life.
The king's grip tightened. "Today, you'll be braver than ever."
"What do you—"
The veil dropped. His hand shoved her forward.
Light. Noise. A crowd.
The king's voice boomed: "Steel yourselves. The trolls arrive."
Silence.
Then—
A guttural cry. A chorus of snarls.
The trolls were here.
And Valmira stood directly in their path.