The stylist’s hands moved through my hair one last time, pinning a final curl into place.
I sat perfectly still, not daring to move as I did not want to ruin whatever magic she was working.
Through the mirror, I watched her step back, tilting her head to assess her work. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.
“Perfect,” she murmured.
She gestured to the gown hanging nearby—the moon-silk one Zane had chosen. The one that had made that noblewoman’s face go white with envy.
Two other attendants helped me into it. The fabric slid over my skin like water, and carefully, they fastened the back, adjusting the drape at my hips to smooth out invisible wrinkles.
When they finally stepped away, one of them wheeled a full-length mirror in front of me.
“Luna,” she said softly. “Look.”
I looked
