Page 54 of The Faceless Queen

But my clothing was the same outfit I’d conjured days ago to fight the chimera, and it was filthy.

“I better change before my meal arrives,” I said, suddenly feeling a whole host of butterflies in my stomach. I wore her face, I knew her favorite color and song and dessert, but suddenly the idea of pulling this off felt ridiculously impossible. “Who else will I see tonight?”

“Everyone most likely, but not for long. I’ll fill you in as much as I can and remind you when someone comes before you.”

I took a deep breath. It would be hard for him to come between Olivay’s parents and me. My stomach twisted at the thought of how deep this deception was about to become.

The Hermit sauntered over to the wardrobe, his hands wandering across each item until he landed on a blue dress and pulled it out.

The satin sleeves shifted to lace at the elbows, and the skirt’s many panels alternated between lace and satin. He held it up against the fireplace, where the logs were barely more than a few burning embers. Possibly from when Olivay—the real Olivay—had laid down for her nap.

“Well?” he asked, twirling the dress. “Is it to your liking?”

The golden threads of the blue dress gleamed. Just like Jaron’s had. Like they all did. Like they all would until this was over.

“It’s fine.” I swallowed roughly and grabbed it from him before slamming the door of the bathroom shut behind me. Not sure if anyone would be suspicious upon finding my travel clothes, I imagined them gone, leaving me completely naked, save for my mother’s locket which hung between my breasts. And though I knew a rather extensive bath was coming, I expected the real Olivay had most likely bathed fairly recently, so I quickly splashed some water from the basin over my body, and then with a small burst of magic, imagined I was both clean and dry. I hadn’t conjured a dirty body, but smells that might have come from a lack of bathing were not something I could control. Feeling at least somewhat refreshed, I stepped into the dress, but struggled to tighten the laces up my back. Olivay’s arms just didn’t reach.

This was why princesses had ladies-in-waiting.

But I had Azete magic at my fingertips. As long as something was a part of my appearance, like clothing or jewelry, then I could shift it around. It was how I’d conjured my fighting clothes, and how I made them vanish. It took a little more magic from me, but in the end, the action was no different than changing the length and color of my hair.

A few thoughts to guide the strings, and I managed to lace my dress up and tie a neat bow at the top. I smoothed back my dark hair, watching it as it shone in the light, and took in the full effect in the bathing room’s mirror. I was all Olivay now. The transformation was complete.

Except for the locket. I could shift it into something else, but I didn’t want to. It was my mother’s, and I couldn’t bear to alter it in any way. But because Olivay wouldn’t be wearing a necklace etched with the wings of an old witch’s beast, or carrying the likenesses of Orsete and Princess Shamhira, I took it off and tucked it into a small golden vase beside the mirror. No flowers lay within. It was too small to fit nearly anything else, and was most likely just for décor, which meant it would be overlooked.

I pushed the vase back, and stepped back into the room, revealing the dress and effect to the Hermit.

The bastard clapped. “Perfection. I can’t see the difference at all.”

I was ready to snap at him, but his eyes narrowed.

“We have company,” he said.

And right on cue, there was a knock on the door. My heart raced with the approach of my first true test of deception, as I rushed over to the bed, throwing myself across it. I feigned that I’d just woken from a nap as a castle servant entered and set up my meal on a nearby table. I was still hungry, considering I’d only eaten one meal in the last few days, and everything looked delicious. But my enjoyment of the food faded quickly as the Hermit quizzed me endlessly on the names of Olivay’s cousins, and her favorite foods and songs. Every last thing he could think of, and before every bite I could take, he asked.

My heart pounded even harder when Abigail arrived to draw my bath.

“Your Highness,” she said, and curtseyed. “Did you have a nice nap and meal?”

She spoke nervously, like she didn’t know Olivay well, or at the very least, was intimidated by her.

“Very well,” I said, trying my best to hold back my instinct to make her feel at ease.

Then she frowned, taking in my appearance, my hair, my clothes, everything. Something was wrong, she could see it already. Was it the way I was standing? Had part of my glamour fallen away? Or had I gotten a detail wrong? Had I misremembered her?

“You didn’t call for me to change,” Abigail said.

“I, I didn’t I—what?” I asked.

“Your dress, Your Highness. It’s not the one you were wearing this morning.”

Nor was it one I could put on by myself. The one I’d needed my Azete magic to lace up. I glared at the Hermit.

Thought of every fucking detail, hadn’t he? Except for my lady-in-waiting actually taking notice of what I was wearing and when I changed my clothes, because of course I required her services to get in and out of my clothing. Was I wearing my hair wrong, too? Fuck.

“That would be my fault,” Lord Brandon said.

Abigail looked scandalized. “The princess’s meal arrived, and I’m afraid I startled her when I knocked. She spilled a bit of sauce on her dress. I had the queen’s servant help—she was passing by at the right time.”