Chapter 20: The Mirror's Verdict
The fitting room was a cathedral of vanity.
Mirrors lined every wall, their gilded frames crawling with enchantments that made the glass ripple like water when Violet moved. Each reflection showed her something slightly different—one caught the light on her freckles, another emphasized the curve of her waist, a third seemed to whisper that her eyes looked more green than hazel today. The velvet drapes stirred occasionally, constellations embroidered in silver thread shifting across the fabric like they were mapping new skies.
Violet stood in the center of it all, wearing nothing but her underthings and a growing sense of dread.
"I look ridiculous," she said to no one.
The dress hung on a hook beside her, black silk pooling like spilled ink. It was the fifth one Mira had shoved through the curtain. The first four had been variations on the same theme—elegant, tasteful, the kind of thing a Royal Magical Advisor might wear to a diplomatic function. Safe. Forgettable.
This one was different.
This one was a problem.
Violet reached for it, her fingers brushing the cool fabric. The silk was heavier than it looked, luxurious, the kind of material that cost more than most people made in a month. She'd worn things like this before. Centuries ago. Before Marcus. Before she'd decided that blending into the background was easier than being seen.
The dress slid over her head like water.
It settled against her skin with a whisper, clinging to every curve like it had been sewn specifically for her body. Which, knowing Mira's taste in tailors, it probably had. The neckline plunged in a deep V that made her breasts look—
She stared at her reflection.
The witch in the mirror stared back.
The neckline dipped low enough to show the swell of her breasts, the silk catching the light in a way that made them look like they were made to be touched. Made to be worshipped. The fabric hugged her waist, then flared at the hips, with slits on either side that revealed flashes of thigh with every movement. The color made her skin look like cream, made her hair look like dark chocolate, made her eyes look like they held secrets.
She looked like someone else. Someone confident. Someone who didn't hide.
Someone who could walk into Lupercalia with two kings on her arms and not feel like a fraud.
"I can't wear this," she said.
But she didn't move to take it off.
She turned slightly, watching the way the dress moved with her. The hip slits parted, showing the curve of her upper thigh. The silk rippled like it was alive. One of the mirrors caught her profile, and she saw herself the way others might see her—tall, curved, powerful.
They're going to worship every inch of you.
Mira's voice echoed in her head, warm and certain.
Violet pressed a hand to her stomach. The dress didn't allow for much room to hide. Every breath made the silk shift, every heartbeat made the fabric seem to pulse against her skin. She felt exposed. Vulnerable.
She also felt something else. Something she hadn't felt in decades.
Beautiful.
The word felt foreign, like a language she'd forgotten how to speak. But standing here, in this dress, with her hair falling in waves around her shoulders and her skin glowing in the enchanted light, she couldn't deny it. She looked beautiful. She looked like a woman who deserved to be looked at.
"Vi?" Mira's voice drifted through the curtain. "You alive in there?"
"I'm thinking."
"You've been thinking for ten minutes. Aneara's starting to worry you climbed out a window."
"Fae windows don't open," Aneara said, her voice dry. "I checked."
Violet laughed despite herself. The sound surprised her—lighter than she expected, almost giddy. She smoothed her hands down the front of the dress, feeling the silk slide under her palms.
"You should see her," she murmured to her reflection. "She'd probably say something sarcastic."
Her reflection didn't answer. But it did smile.
"Okay," she called out. "I'm coming out. But if either of you laughs, I'm turning you both into toads."
"Noted," Mira said.
"I've been a toad before," Aneara added. "It's not as bad as it sounds."
Violet took a breath. Then another. Then she pushed the curtain aside.
The fitting room went silent.
Mira was sitting on a velvet chaise, her burgundy dress pooled around her like a pool of wine. She'd been mid-sentence, probably complaining about something, but the words died in her throat. Her jaw actually dropped. It was the most unguarded expression Violet had ever seen on her friend's face.
Aneara stood by the window, her powder-blue gown catching the light like a fragment of morning sky. Her expression was harder to read—but only for a moment. Then the cool composure cracked, and something else peeked through. Something sharp. Something hungry.
"Holy shit," Mira breathed.
"Language," Aneara said automatically. But she didn't look away from Violet. Couldn't seem to.
Violet's face heated. She could feel the blush spreading down her neck, toward the neckline that already felt dangerously low. "It's too much. I knew it was too much. I'm going to change—"
"Don't you dare." Mira was on her feet, crossing the room in three quick strides. She circled Violet like a predator, her light brown eyes taking in every detail. "Turn."
"What?"
"Turn. I need to see the back."
Violet turned, slowly, feeling ridiculous and powerful in equal measure. The silk whispered against her skin. The hip slits parted, showing a flash of thigh. She heard Mira's sharp intake of breath.
"The back," Mira said, her voice strangled. "Vi. The back is open."
"I know."
"It's open to your waist."
"I know."
"You have dimples. On your lower back. Actual dimples. How have you been hiding these for fifty years?"
"The same way I've been hiding everything else," Violet said, turning back around. "High necklines. Loose fits. The usual."
Aneara finally moved. She glided across the room like she was walking on water, her pearl-white hair catching the light. When she stopped in front of Violet, her green eyes were glowing—not with magic, but with something older. Something that made Violet's stomach flip.
"You look," Aneara said slowly, "like a goddess who has decided to grace the mortal realm with her presence."
Violet's blush deepened. "That's—that's very poetic."
"I'm a fae. We're required to be poetic. It's in our contract." Aneara reached out, her fingers hovering just above Violet's shoulder. "May I?"
Violet nodded.
Aneara's touch was feather-light, tracing the line of the dress where it met Violet's skin. The contact sent a shiver down her spine. "The neckline is perfect. It draws the eye without being vulgar. And the color—" She tilted her head. "Black is traditionally a color of mourning. But on you, it looks like the night sky. Full of stars waiting to be discovered."
"You're making me blush harder."
"Good. You should blush. It's charming."
Mira appeared at Violet's other side, her expression still slightly dazed. "I've seen you naked. I've known you for three hundred years. How am I just now realizing you have the body of a fertility goddess?"
"I don't—"
"You do." Mira's voice was firm. "You absolutely do. And Marcus the Moron spent a year making you feel like you should hide it. I'm going to find him and turn him into a worm."
"He's probably already dead."
"Then I'll resurrect him and turn him into a worm. Then I'll step on him."
Aneara's lips twitched. "I'll help."
Violet laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest. "You're both insane."
"We're supportive. There's a difference." Mira caught Violet's hands, squeezing them. "Look at yourself, Vi. Really look."
Violet turned toward the nearest mirror. The glass rippled, then settled, showing her the full picture. The dress. The curves. The freckles scattered across her cheeks like someone had flicked a paintbrush at her face. Her hair, usually pinned back or braided out of the way, fell in thick waves around her shoulders.
She looked like someone who belonged at Lupercalia. Someone who belonged on the arm of a king. Two kings.
"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered.
"Do what?"
"Be this person. The one who wears dresses like this. The one who doesn't hide." She met Mira's eyes in the mirror. "I spent fifty years building walls. What if I don't know how to live without them?"
Mira was quiet for a moment. Then she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around Violet from behind, her chin resting on Violet's shoulder. Their reflections stood side by side—one tall and silver-haired, one curved and dark-haired, both of them ancient and immortal and utterly human in their fears.
"You don't have to live without walls," Mira said softly. "You just have to build doors. Let people in. Let yourself out."
"That sounds terrifying."
"It is. But you're a witch who's faced down demons and diplomats and me on a bad day." Mira's reflection grinned. "You can handle two wolf shifters who are completely, pathetically in love with you."
"They're not—"
"Cassian looked at you like you hung the moon. Evander looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole." Mira's eyebrows wiggled. "In a romantic way."
"In a deeply inappropriate way," Aneara added. "I was there. I saw his face. He was calculating exactly how many layers of clothing you were wearing."
Violet groaned. "You're both terrible."
"We're honest." Aneara moved to stand beside Mira, her hand finding her wife's waist. Together, they framed Violet's reflection like two sides of a coin—silver and gold, sharp and soft, fire and ice.
"The dress is perfect," Aneara said. "You're perfect. All you have to do is decide whether you're brave enough to believe it."
Violet stared at her reflection. The witch in the mirror stared back. She looked powerful. She looked desired. She looked like someone who could walk into a festival of immortals and not flinch.
She looked like someone who might deserve two kings.
"Okay," she said.
Mira's eyebrows shot up."Okay?"
"Okay, I'll wear the dress." Violet turned away from the mirror, facing her friends. "But I reserve the right to change my mind at least six times before Lupercalia."
"Seven," Aneara said. "I give her seven."
"Deal."
Mira laughed, pulling Violet into a hug that smelled like earth magic and expensive perfume. "That's my girl. Now let's find you some shoes. And jewelry. And maybe a cloak, because it gets cold at night."
"I'm not wearing heels."
"You're absolutely wearing heels."
"I'm a witch. I can float."
"You're not floating. You're walking. Like a normal person. In heels."
Aneara watched them bicker with a small, satisfied smile. When Violet caught her eye, the fae inclined her head—a gesture of respect, of approval, of something that felt almost like sisterhood.
"You're going to be magnificent," Aneara said.
Violet snorted. "I'm going to be terrified."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
The curtains rustled. The mirrors shimmered. And somewhere, beyond the fitting room, the castle hummed with preparations for the festival—the scent of roasting meat, the sound of laughter, the promise of something new.
Violet looked down at the dress. At the way it made her feel. At the way her reflection had looked back at her like she was finally whole.
She was still afraid. That hadn't changed.
But for the first time in fifty years, she didn't want to hide.
She wanted to be seen.
"You know," she said, reaching for the next dress Mira was already pulling off a rack, "if this is what shopping feels like with you two, I might actually enjoy Lupercalia."
Mira's grin was sharp enough to cut glass. "Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea."
Aneara's eyes glittered. "None at all."
Violet let them fuss over her—let them drape her in silks and chains and ribbons, let them argue over colors and cuts, let them treat her like a doll they were determined to dress to perfection. And she let herself enjoy it.
The fear was still there. The doubt was still there.
But underneath it, something else was growing.
Excitement.
She was going to Lupercalia.
She was going to wear this dress.
And she was going to walk into that festival like she belonged.
Because maybe—just maybe—she did.
The last dress slid over her head. The mirror caught a glimpse of her—neckline, hip slits, freckles, everything—and Violet didn't look away.
She looked back.
And she smiled.