Kate crouches near the edge of the bed, a flick of wind and dust magic trailing behind her. "Alright, tiny terror," she mutters, "if the King wants to see you, we're not showing up with your bandages poking out from under a blanket. We're dressing you properly."
I tilt my head toward her. "I am dressed."
She makes a sympathetic sound. "You're in a clinic shift. That barely qualifies as clothing. The King's requested an audience, and we are not sending you in there looking like you just crawled out of a battlefield."
"I did pretty much crawl out of a battlefield."
"Exactly," she says brightly. "Now you'll look like you won."
I groan.
Dr. Lorre walks over with the bundle. I feel the threads in it pulsing—neatly interwoven enchantments, subtle but intricate. Each strand of mana sings with purpose. Defensive, ornamental, even illusory. The edges of the fabric brush against my skin with too much intent.
My stomach sinks.
Kate sets the bundle beside me. I can feel the thick weight of it shift the mattress, the mana in it far too composed to be anything practical.
And then something structured and rigid presses into my lap, humming faintly like held breath.
"What is that?"
"The corset," she says.
"Why does it feel like it's glaring at me?"
"Because it is," she replies. "But it makes the dress fall right."
"I'm seven."
"Seven and meeting a king."
I scowl. "Seven-year-olds don't wear rib traps."
"Court girls do."
Dr. Lorre tries not to laugh. Her mana ripples with something soft—humor, restrained and affectionate. "We had it made for you. Soft steel, nothing sharp. Just enough to shape."
"To shape what? I'm built like a stick."
Kate snorts. "An angry, magical stick. But this is tradition."
"This is punishment."
Before they start, Kate turns toward the mana heat Julius is radiating just outside my mana-sense's edge. "Alright, turn around."
"Huh?"
"Turn around, Julius. Spying on little girls getting dressed is not proper mage behavior."
"I wasn't—!" His mana flares—mildly offended. "I'm not spying, I'm guarding."
"Guard from the hallway."
He mutters something under his breath but I feel him shift away. His presence steps back, fading to just outside the doorframe, steady and smoldering.
"Still guarding," he calls faintly.
Despite everything, I don't resist when they start fitting me in. Dr. Lorre's fingers are sure and practiced, her magic calm and calculated. Kate, meanwhile, hums something under her breath and pulls the stays until I feel like I've been folded into a box.
"I can't breathe," I mutter, grimacing.
"You'll adjust."
"I think I'm dying."
"You survived a demon. You can survive this."
I grimace. "Can I fight in this?"
"Absolutely not."
"Then what's the point of—ow—fashion if I can't drop-kick anyone?"
Kate clicks her tongue. "Welcome to femininity."
I groan again, my hand clawing at the edge of the corset. "You're monsters."
She pats me like she's proud. "If this goes well, I'll teach you more. About all this girl stuff."
"Why would I agree to that?"
"Because the alternative is getting shredded in court by women who fight with gossip and jewelry."
I hate how true that sounds.
Once the dress is finally on, I shift slightly. The weight of it changes everything—the way I move, how the air drags against the layers. It's heavy and enchanted and slightly terrifying. The mana hums constantly, like a net woven too tight around my ribs.
"Wait," Kate says. "We're not done."
She rummages for something—her mana dips briefly—and then she presses something against my hands. Thick. Smooth. Leather, polished and taut.
Not soft.
Not slippers.
Boots.
I run my fingers along the contour. Buckles. A slight ridge beneath the heel. Mana-charged threading sewn up to the top.
"What are these."
Kate's tone is delighted. "Traditional noble-standard boots. Same model I wear for duty. Just your size."
"They squeak."
"Only a little."
"They've got heels."
"Which elongate your silhouette."
"I don't even know what that means."
"Exactly. The nobles won't either. But they'll pretend to, and that's what matters."
I groan again and let them slide the boots on. The enchantments around the soles react immediately, balancing weight—but not well. I feel like I'm about to tip over sideways.
Once both boots are strapped, Kate brushes her hands off. "Now you look the part."
"My thighs feel bare," I grumble. "Your traditions feel perverted."
Kate just snorts and keeps adjusting the buckles.
"I feel like a possessed scarecrow."
"You look like someone who'll make an entrance."
"I can't see the entrance."
"But you'll hear the gasps."
Dr. Lorre's mana shifts—composed, amused. "You'll make the impression you need."
I push upright, swaying immediately.
Kate's hands catch my elbow. "Whoa—okay, baby steps." I groan "Heels on a recovering child. Brilliant idea."
"You're the one who's going to pull them off in front of a king."
Outside the door, Julius's mana stirs. A soft knock.
"You decent?"
Kate replies, "Yes, come in. And no judging."
Julius steps back into the room, his presence re-centering beside me in a heartbeat. I feel him pause.
He says nothing.
That's somehow worse.
"Say something," I mutter, wobbling slightly.
He shifts closer, his mana wrapping around me like warm firelight. "You're standing."
"Barely."
"You're in heels."
"I hate them."
"You look like you're about to stage a coup."
Kate beams. "High praise."
I scowl. "I hate all of you."
Julius slides his arm under mine again—supporting without smothering. His mana steadies against mine, calm and grounding. I lean into it, letting my knees adjust to the weight and angle of the boots.
"I'm going to fall."
"You won't."
"I'll slip and take out a court mage."
"I'd pay to see that."
Kate pats my shoulder. "If you survive this, we'll burn the outfit together."
A tiny laugh escapes me. Just one. But it's real.
Breathing shallowly against the corset, I nod once and take a small step forward. Unsteady. Ridiculous. But upright.
"Alright," I mutter. "Let's go meet a King."