Tonight is the night of Killian's sixteenth birthday ball.
The palace had been bustling since morning, grand halls adorned in gold, flowers blooming from every corner, and servants dashing through corridors with trays and fabrics and endless to-do lists.
And yet, I found myself elbow-deep in flour and heat, laboring over another Tarte de Bry at the insistent request of the younger brother belonging to this body I now inhabit.
Apparently, he wasn't satisfied with the half-eaten tart from yesterday. He demanded a new one, whole and untouched.
Such a demanding brat.
Once I'd finished the tart and passed it off to the servants, I rushed back to my chambers to prepare for tonight's ball.
Since arriving in this world, this would be my first formal event. The first time I'd appear publicly as Davina — wearing her skin, her name — facing the scrutinizing gazes of nobles who watched like hawks, ever ready to swoop.
