Now, as Gwen stood on the edge of the bonfire grounds, waiting for Isobelle to finish rounding up the girls, her heart was doing a flip-flop in her chest. She’d never been one for pretty garments, or rouges to make her lips redder, or herbal rinses to make her hair shine. Hazily, she remembered her mother occasionally doing her hair or prettying up a dress with a spare bit of ribbon, but by the time she was old enough to learn those strange and arcane rituals of femininity for herself, her mother was too ill to teach her the proper magic.

For the most part, trying to look “pretty” made Gwen uncomfortable. Far more uncomfortable than she felt roasting on a summer’s day in a suit of armor, facing down an opponent over a sharpened bit of stick. At least the worst thing that could happen to her in that situation was gruesome and painful death.

But this dress . . . this dress was doing something to her.

It was a deep, dark green that looked inky in the twilight, except for the way its velvety fibers caught the light and flashed whenever she moved, like verdant lightning. Olivia had cut the neckline low and square, revealing freckles on Gwen’s pale shoulders that she hadn’t even noticed herself before. Despite the veritable army of potions and pots and paints Olivia had brought with her, she’d done very little to Gwen’s face except to darken the lines of her eyelashes and add a deep, dusky rose to her lips. And through her hair she’d tied a ribbon of the same material as the dress, pulling the strands back on one side into a twist and left to fall in heavy waves on the other.

Olivia had shown her a mirror right before she left. Gwen looked like some kind of sorceress, emerging from the forest with magic crackling around her ankles and smoky, sultry promises in her eyes.

As she stood waiting, Gwen could feel eyes on her, though when she turned in a slow circle, she could see no one staring. She tried to dismiss the sensation, and yet something was sending a shiver down her spine—a not altogether unpleasant sensation.

“Céline!”

Isobelle appeared from behind a group of ladies who looked somewhat surprised to find her popping up in their midst. Isobelle’s dress was a brilliant violet blue, cut in her signature style and done up in flounces and layers. Her hair was absolute perfection, eyes sparkling, lips a bright pink and shining softly in the light from the torches. Gwen swallowed, trying to find some other detail to stare at.

Isobelle’s cheeks were pink, much pinker than Olivia ought to have painted them. Closer to her now, Isobelle lowered her voice and murmured, “Gwen, you look so beautiful!”

Gwen shrugged, glancing away to watch the crowd. “Olivia is talented.”