Later – before the ball.
Martha guided Elissa gently toward the washroom. "Quick bath," she said. "No arguments. You'll feel human again."
The warm water washed away most of the heaviness, leaving Elissa clearer, though still a little fragile. She wrapped herself in a robe, slipped into her inner petticoat, and had just finished tying the last ribbon when a knock came.
It's me," Kestrel's voice called. "Can I come in?"
Elissa pulled the door open. Kestrel was already dressed in her chemise and petticoats, carrying her gown over one arm.
"Good," Kestrel said, slipping inside. "We'll get ready together. It's less terrifying in company."
Martha appeared behind her a moment later, two younger maids trailing with careful arms full of fabric.
They hung both gowns carefully—Elissa's soft beige dress and Kestrel's bold maroon one. The colors made the room look suddenly warmer.
One of the maids moved behind Elissa with a towel, gently drying her long black hair, combing through the tangles with careful fingers. On the other side, Martha and another maid began on Kestrel's.
Kestrel caught Elissa's eye in the mirror and gave her a quick, conspiratorial smile. "If I cry, it will be from the hairpins," she murmured. "Not emotion."
"You're very brave," Elissa answered, lips twitching.
When Kestrel's hair was mostly dry and smoothed, Martha moved to her fully, nimble fingers parting and braiding.
Martha left most of Kestrel's dark hair loose, flowing over her shoulders and back, but took two small sections from the sides, braided them neatly, and joined them at the back of her head. A few deliberate strands were left free around her face, softening the look.
"There," Martha said. "Bold, but not wild."
"It's my favorite combination," Kestrel said.
By then, Elissa's hair had been dried and lightly brushed. Martha shifted behind her.
"Your turn," she said more softly.
Elissa watched in the mirror as Martha gathered her dark hair, fingers gentle but sure, twisting it into a loose, elegant bun at the back of her head. It wasn't severe; a few soft strands were allowed to fall and curve naturally around her face.
Martha reached to the table and picked up a small sprig of tiny pink flower buds.
"You stole those from the garden," Kestrel said.
"I borrowed them," Martha corrected. "The garden has more." She began tucking the buds into Elissa's hair, some nestled into the bun, some along the loose strands in front, turning the simple style into something quietly magical.
The soft beige of Elissa's gown waited on the screen nearby, its fabric catching the candlelight like warm cream. Against her pale skin and dark hair, the pink buds made her look almost like she'd stepped out of an old painting.
Once their hair was done, the maids helped them both into their gowns. Kestrel's bright maroon dress hugged her figure, the color daring and rich, making her look every inch the future queen—sharp, confident, impossible to ignore.
Elissa's beige gown slipped over her head and settled around her like a sigh. The fabric flowed smoothly over her curves, the skirt full but not heavy, the bodice fitting snugly. The back dipped low—deeper than anything she'd worn before here—leaving the upper half of her back bare, only delicate lacing and fabric holding the dress in place.
When Martha fastened the last hook, Elissa caught sight of herself in the mirror and went very still.
For a moment, she didn't quite recognize the girl staring back. Pale skin, dark hair pinned up with flowers, the gentle slope of her bare back, the soft line of her waist, the way the gown hinted at every curve without shouting it.
Her hand rose, almost on its own, to touch the edge of the open back.
"It's…too much," she murmured. "My back is almost completely out. They'll all be staring."
Martha stepped around to look at her fully, arms folding, head tilting in assessment. Kestrel moved closer too, eyes sweeping up and down.
"They will be staring," Kestrel said plainly. "Because you look beautiful."
Elissa's cheeks heated. "That's not— I mean, it feels…bare. Wrong. Like I forgot half my clothes."
Martha's voice softened, losing some of its briskness. "Princess. Look at me."
Elissa tore her gaze from the mirror and met Martha's eyes in the reflection.
"There is nothing improper about you," Martha said. "Not in this dress, not in this room, not in this castle. That gown fits you exactly as it should. It was made to honour you, not shame you."
Kestrel nodded, stepping to Elissa's side. "You're not uncovered," she added. "You're dressed like you belong in every portrait in the great hall. If anything, they'll wonder why you weren't here years ago."
Elissa swallowed. "It's just… they're used to looking at you. At queens and future queens. Not at me."
"You look right," Martha said firmly. "Like yourself, but clearer. If anyone in that hall thinks otherwise, they can take it up with me." She paused, then added dryly, "And with your wolf."
That pulled a small, real smile from Elissa.
Martha shook her head but smiled, stepping back to look at them both together.
"Now then," she said, a hint of pride in her voice. "Look at you. One in maroon like a warning bell, one in beige like the calm before the storm." She glanced at Elissa. "You are perfect, child. Stop arguing with the mirror."
Elissa took a breath, let it out slowly, and forced herself to look again.
The nerves were still there—but so was something else. A quiet strength under the softness. A girl who had survived the morning and chosen to stand tonight anyway.
"All right," she said quietly. "I'll trust you."
"That's the smartest decision you've made all day," Martha replied.
Kestrel looped her arm through Elissa's. "Come on," she said. "Let's go make the great hall gossip."
They walked together toward the great hall, the music growing clearer with every step. Laughter, clinking glasses, the low hum of voices—all of it drifted down the corridor like a living thing.
Elissa's pulse beat too fast, thudding in her ears.
How will I survive this?
And underneath that, darker: How long can I survive anything at all?