My brows drew together. “You can’t be serious.”

It was a creation card. Creation magic was extremely rare and coveted, because unlike most temporary enchantments, that which it created was permanent. At its purest, the power enabled the caster to create whatever was in their mind. Like all cards, they came in different strengths and assortments. Prince Marcel the Bountiful had a kind of creation magic. It only allowed him to multiply that which he already had, but even that was considered an incredible feat. Reading the symbols on this card, this card was limited, but even still, it was outrageous to propose using it for something as mundane as a dress.

I pulled back, trying to reason with Amalthea. “It’s too much. Better for me to skip or wear what I am now if I really must attend.”

“It’s imperative you send the right message. Wearing some ill-fitted castoff or thrown-together day dress—sorry—is decidedly not the right message.”

“Amalthea, families would work for years to afford a card half that powerful.”

“You know, you can call me Thea,” she replied as if that was the only part she heard.

“Thea,” I echoed, trying out the nickname. “Be sensible. This extravagance is beyond anything a void should dream of, let alone do.”

She cocked a hip out, the dark fabric swaying with the movement. “You’re the king’s Chosen. The only thing you need to dream of is your dress. Or, if you prefer, I can conjure it for you.”

The gleam in her eyes said she liked that idea more by the second. I yanked the card from her fingers, which she let go easily with a triumphant grin.

“Only because I’m afraid of what you’d put me in,” I grumbled.

She huffed. “I have excellent taste, I’ll have you know.”

I left my position in front of the mirror and carefully pulled my current dress off, casting a mournful look at the comfortable fabric. I’d never used a creation card before, never even held one, but magic was always intuitive. I shut my eyes and tried to think of what I would wear. I didn’t have a clue what the fashions were these days, let alone the vampire styles beyond what little Amalthea had told me. I pushed a general idea to the card, hoping like with disguise magic it would fill in the blanks. I am not one of them. The magic traced over my body, wrapping around me. I am not prey. Fabric appeared with a sparkle of light, unformed yet as the magic read my intentions.

I don’t want them to touch me.

When the dress finally materialized, I stepped out for Thea to see.

She blinked at me, for the first time slightly off-kilter.

“Well, that’s definitely sending a message.” She recovered and drew closer, offering me a hand. “I’d daresay you’re as ready as you’ll ever be. Won’t Raphael be surprised to see you!”

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Chapter Thirty-One

It took nearly half an hour to navigate the winding maze of the mountain castle’s halls, to say nothing of the added complication of the shoes Amalthea had lent me. After years going barefoot and wishing for proper footwear, I found myself wishing I could kick the pointy-heeled torture devices off. The thick calluses of my feet weren’t made for such fine things. I tried to map the castle in my mind as Amalthea led me, arm linked with mine. The halls were almost entirely empty, and as we approached the ballroom, I realized why.

When Amalthea declared we had three hours to get ready, she clearly had no intention for us to arrive on time.

“It sounds like the ball started hours ago,” I whispered to her.

She gave me an amused look, gray eye twinkling with mirth. “But of course. You couldn’t be seen arriving first, after all. That dress deserves an audience.”

I wasn’t so sure.

The dress was exactly what I’d wanted, but I never would have been able to picture it. Now that the magic had taken the essence of my thoughts and made it physical, I was unsure if it had been such a wise idea to let those feelings guide the creation magic.

The skirts flowed around me, the bodice and sleeves heavy. I’d seen myself in the mirror before leaving.

If Raphael hates it, perhaps I’ll get to leave the ball immediately.

A servant opened the door, and with no further instruction, the herald announced our arrival. “Presenting the seer of the court and adviser to King Raphael, Lady Amalthea, and King Raphael’s claimed human, Lady Samara!”

A hush fell over the space. Or perhaps there was no silence, but rather no noise that could surmount the roaring in my ears as hundreds of pairs of eyes stared up at me.

Prey. To them, I was prey.

My vision swam, bouncing from group to group, a sea of white hair, pale skin, and red eyes surrounding me.

Then my gaze landed on one particular figure.

Raphael.

At once, he became all I could see. He was dressed in more finery than I’d ever seen. Like Amalthea, his neck was exposed—and there was no doubt in my mind this was not an invitation, but a threat. The fashion was unlike anything I’d ever seen in the Witch Kingdom. He was dressed entirely in black, with rich silk stretching from his shoulders down to billowing cuff sleeves. The garment was inlaid with rubies that glinted under the chandelier’s light, a large one pinning a matching cape to his back. A fearsome crown sat atop his head. Severe silver spikes went unadorned, marking him as a king who needed no such finery.

He looked more like himself than I’d ever seen him, yet at the same time he was unrecognizable from the vampire I’d slept next to in the woods.

When I first saw him, I thought he looked shocked to see me. All traces of surprise were gone now, and instead the slightest glint of satisfaction shone on his face, from the light of his eyes to the slight upturn of his lips.

He strode to the base of the stairs, expectant.

“Oh good, I was worried he might be angry I brought you,” Amalthea whispered.

Her words gave me enough of a jolt to ground me back in the moment. Yes, I was in a ballroom with vampires, but damn me to the eighth hell, I was already in a castle surrounded by them. I’d known what I was walking into, even if the sight was discomfiting. We began to descend the stairs.

My gaze remained trained on Raphael.

When we reached him, he turned his attention to Amalthea.

“You and I will speak later.” The barest threat underlaid the words, but it was enough that Amalthea quickly excused herself as she was “utterly parched.”

He extended a hand to me, and I grabbed it like a lifeline.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said so quietly I had to strain to hear.

“I gathered as much. I can go,” I said quickly, but Raphael shook his head before I finished.

“No. Better that they see you for what you are.”

“A weak human?” My skepticism was plain.

“Untouchable.” He cocked his head slightly to the side. “This is quite the dress. It suits you.”

I was instantly flustered. Who was this Raphael? He was direct and ferocious, as he’d ever been. There was a silkiness to his words—that, and the way he was dressed not as a disheveled ex-prisoner but as royalty—that made me feel strange.

My dress was utterly opposite to vampire fashion. I’d begged the creation card for one thing: I don’t want vampires to touch me.

The magic translated that into a dress that was closer to armor than the flowing form Amalthea wore. A metal collar covered my neck, winding down into chains that held up the bodice, which was made of metal sheets that molded to my form. The sleeves and skirt were still feminine, covering my body in a way that let me move freely. The entire piece was copper of varying shades. It wouldn’t actually hurt vampires—creation magic couldn’t create enchanted items—but just as Amalthea had wanted, it sent a message.