Chapter Three - Ella

I had only been to the palace one other time. I was seven and I’d won an essay contest about life in Ladoria. I’d been invited to the palace and there had been photographers and cupcakes and the queen herself had given me a plaque with my name on it. The pictures had been in the paper the next day, and everyone at school had talked about it for weeks.

I remembered being nervous that morning, amazed by the palace, with its large rooms and floors so shiny I’d been able to see myself in them. Those nerves were nothing like the ones I was feeling now, on festival day. The rooms were still big, and the floors were still shiny, but I wasn’t a little girl anymore, and I wasn’t here for a plaque or a cupcake. I was here for the festival, and I thought I might throw up or pass out as I was ushered into a room filled with girls and dresses. A woman with a kind face and glasses perched on top of her head approached me and looked me up and down, consulting a clipboard. Her nametag said Rachel, and she seemed to be in charge.

“Ella?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. Around me girls were being fitted in gowns by an array of servants, zipping them up and pulling them in.

“Very pretty,” she said, taking me in, “slender, but not too skinny. Big eyes, a nice bone structure in your face. You need pale colors for your lovely skin tone and complexion. Greens and pinks will make you pop,” she finished, marking it down on her clipboard as I felt my cheeks flush.

“Thank you,” I said. I wasn’t sure, but those things all sounded complimentary, so thanks seemed appropriate.

“This is no time for modesty, dear,” Rachel said, waving a hand, “it is a time to show off. Sit here. Bethanne is going to bring you over dresses to try on. There is a pink one with gold trim, one of my favorites, and I do hope it fits you. The color has washed out some other girls, but on you? Perfect.”

“Oh, I hope so too,” I said. I didn’t really hold much hopes for the dresses. None of the ones I could see being tried on looked like they were my style at all, but I didn’t want to disappoint her. I sat in the chair she had pointed to and found myself staring at my own face in the mirror. I frowned, trying to see the bone structure she had talked about, but only seeing the same things I always did. I was not unconfident in my looks, but I did not think of them as anything special, either. Around me, just as I’d suspected, were beautiful girls, running their hands over the curves being hugged and highlighted by the dresses and smiling at themselves in the mirror.

“Do you have anything lower cut?” a tall, willowy blonde asked one of the servants, pushing her cleavage up as she talked and tilting her head.

“Any lower cut and they’ll fall out,” said a petite brunette from beside her as the servant left to get more dresses.

“You’re just jealous I have more to work with,” the blonde said. “I hear Prince Tristan loves that.”

“I’m not worried, I have ways to compete,” the other girl said, examining her own dress, running her fingers over the sequins running down the sides.

“I don’t think your particular special skill with men is part of the festival,” the blonde said, “you can’t get on your knees in the middle of the stage.”

I swallowed hard as I listened, feeling myself flush again.

“But I can promise him I’d do it as soon as we’re alone, whenever he wants,” the brunette said, laughing and then making a face in the mirror with her lips and tongue, “like that.”

“Trashy,” the blonde said, shaking her head.

I knew I should probably agree, but mostly I envied the girl’s confidence, her ability to say what she wanted out loud like that.

I’d imagined it. Many times. A strong hand in my hair, warm firm thighs, making a man groan as I took him in my mouth, tasting and sucking and letting--

“Your dresses,” a voice said, snapping me out of my thoughts. I shook my head and stared at the pile that had been brought to me. I stood and reached out for them. The fabric felt nicer than anything I’d ever owned, and the colors were rich and saturated. None of them looked like anything I would ever wear.

I allowed Bethanne to help me into the first one and frowned again, looking in the mirror. The green dress was so tight I could hardly breathe, and if it weren’t for the slit that went almost as high as my hip, I was sure I wouldn't be able to walk in it. I felt awkward and embarrassed in it. I shook my head.

“Not this one,” I said, looking away from my own reflection. A few feet away, the blonde girl had on a new dress, low cut and vibrant against her skin. She looked effortlessly sexy, and I felt even more awkward in my own dress.

The next three dresses were all the same. Tight and exposing, tops cut low and skirts cut high, fabric clinging to my chest and my ass like paint. I couldn’t imagine walking around in them, knowing behind the curtain, staring at me, was the crown prince.

I stepped into another dress, feeling miserable and hardly paying attention.

“I knew it,” a familiar voice said from behind me before I could even look at myself. Rachel, the woman with the kind face and the glasses was back, smiling at me.

“This dress was made for you,” she said. I looked at myself in the mirror, hoping to see what she saw.

I didn’t.

The dress was tight, the pink fabric snug on my thighs, the little of them it covered anyway. It was low cut, and the gold trim she had mentioned plunged into my cleavage. I felt ridiculous and embarrassed.

“You’d be a fool to not use this one,” Bethanne said, nodding, like she agreed. I frowned.

“As I said, today is a day to show off, and this displays you perfectly,” Rachel said, marking something on her clipboard.

“I’m not sure--” I began, tugging on the hemline.

“It’s settled,” Rachel said, “trust me.”

“I’ll get the bikinis now,” Bethanne said, turning to leave.

My heart sank. I stared at myself in the mirror again. I didn’t know how I was ever going to do this. The sick feeling in my stomach was back.

It was just a day, I told myself, one day. One day of embarrassment, and then the crown prince would pick one these other girls, and I could go back to my life and forget all about it.

The thought did nothing to calm my stomach or my racing pulse.