When I’m finished getting ready, I observe the full effect. I’ve always been unsure of my appearance, have always questioned whether my curves made me beautiful or blemished. Thorne’s own father had found me wanting, claiming I wasn’t half as beautiful as his first wife, Thorne’s mother. Would that impact Thorne’s view of me?

I’ve seen depictions of the former Queen of Velmara. She was flawless, tall and lithe like so many fae females. Delicate features, elegant and airy in appearance, with dewy skin that practically glowed from the inside out. Her long, toned and tan legs are on display in every picture I’ve ever encountered of her, peeking through high slits on her clothing. And I couldn’t be more different—shorter than most fae, with wide hips, full breasts, and thick thighs. Even my stark white skin, that won’t tan no matter how long I’m in the sun, is unique. For so long, it didn’t matter to me, because the Witch Queen is supposed to be different, exuding confidence and a sensual demeanor, not bothered by things as petty as appearances. But Laurel—I’m not exactly sure how the female beneath the cold mask feels about not being the right body type to be beautiful.

A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts. I take one last look in the mirror, smoothing the chiffon and pulling the neckline of the dress lower to show more cleavage. I know my breasts affect Thorne, so I rely on that feature, hoping he’ll overlook everything else about me that’s different from how females are supposed to look. I cross the room and open the door.

Thorne leans against the doorframe, arms confidently crossed, the very picture of a debonair prince. Not for the first time, I’m reminded of how different we truly are. My mate is effortlessly casual, suave, and comfortable in his own skin. I could never pull off the grace he so easily embodies, nor am I naturally likeable. He’s dressed more formally than usual, a crisp navy suit with cream accents—his signature colors. No gold, no tie to Mazus and Velmara. His hair is slicked back, though pieces fall in his face as always. Those eyes, that I once thought defined Mazus and the entire kingdom of Velmara, openly drift up and down my body, taking in every part of me. I immediately feel the need to look away, to suppress my attraction to him and hide how his assessing gaze affects me, but he catches the movement and lifts my chin so I’m forced to meet his eyes.