Bera nods. “I think we have something.” She waddles over to a large trunk along the back wall of the tent. Cissy follows her and releases my arm. Bera pulls up the trunk’s heavy wooden lid and sorts through layers of fabric. She pulls out what can only be described as a big pile of white pouf. “Here you go.”

Cissy grabs the garment. “Thank you.”

Bera bends into the trunk again, pulling out a pair of white heels. She eyes my feet. “These should fit.”

Cissy holds up the gown. It’s a huge marshmallow of a dress covered in layers of puffy lace.

My upper lip curls. “I am not wearing this.”

“You have no one to blame but yourself, Myla.”

A voice sounds from outside the tent. “I am a warrior for the House of Rixa. May I enter?”

My body freezes. Damn. I’d know that voice anywhere: Lincoln. The tension-bands cinch around my spine and creep their way up my neck.

Wearing sweats today? Officially my least-most awesome plan, ever.

Bera waddles over to the tent entrance. “Just a moment, your Highness.” She holds the flaps of fabric together and turns to me. “Be quick about it now. The tournament’s about to begin.”

There’s no point arguing. If I’d done a little research, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I whip off my sweats and slip on the marshmallow monstrosity. My tail quickly punches a hole through the back and whips around the dress, patting the fabric like it’s a strange beast. I slip my feet into the white heels and shoot a glance at Cissy. “I’m not even going to ask you how I look.”

She winces. “Don’t.”

I wave to Bera. “I’m all set. Is there another way out of here?”

“No.” Bera releases the flap of fabric and whips open the tent door. She holds up her hand. “Just one moment, your Highness. A few maidens need to leave first.”

I’ve only one option: smile and work the gown like it’s the best thing ever. I plaster on a huge grin, saunter up to the tent flap, and step outside. Lincoln stands there wearing black body armor with an eagle crest insignia on his chest. Our eyes meet; the air around us crackles with some kind of energy. He looks me over from head to foot, his face unreadable.

“Miss Lewis.” He bows slightly.

“Your Highness.” I try to curtsey and end up dragging the gown through the mud. Behind me, Cissy steps outside.

“Excuse me.” Lincoln disappears into the tent, closing the flap behind him.

Cissy links her arm with mine. We walk forward a few paces, then she leans in, her voice barely a whisper. “So, how did it go back there? Any yelling, kicking, spitting?” She doesn’t need to add ‘with the Prince.’

“No, we said hello and that was it.”

Cissy frowns. “Humph.”