Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [69]
Poppy glared at the gowns all while she was being dressed in peacock blue satin. There was a great fan of peacock feathers standing behind her head, and feathers trailed from her sleeves and skirt. When she was finally laced and tucked into the gown, she looked at herself in the multiple mirrors and made a face of disgust.
“What a ridiculous gown,” she remarked, even though she knew none of the servants would—or could—answer. “How precisely am I supposed to dance with anyone?”
“You aren’t supposed to dance with anyone,” the Corley said. “You are supposed to dance with Prince Christian!”
Poppy snatched the feathered mask from the dressing table and held it to her face. The mask that matched the peacock gown covered even more of her face than the one she had brought. Now if she could just keep her eyes down and her Westfalian accent in check.
“You look so beautiful, my dear,” the Corley simpered. “Like a princess … no, a queen!” The old witch put her hands on Poppy’s shoulders and smiled at her in the mirror, her mouth stretching wider than a human mouth should have been able to.
Poppy shuddered and kept her attention on the maid applying her cosmetics. There was gold and green powder around her eyes already, making them look more blue than violet. Now rouge was added to her cheeks and lips, and a design of green and gilt that curled up the left side of her face from her jaw to her cheekbone. It looked like a peacock’s plume, and Poppy found it pleasingly exotic.
Her hair was fastened high with gold combs that sported more plumes, and the blue feathered mask tied in place with a ribbon that was hidden in her hair.
“Come, my darling! It’s time for the final touch!”
Poppy tried not to shiver as she walked barefoot down the passageway in the Corley’s wake, to a chamber that smelled of magic and strangeness, and sat down in a large chair with an attached footrest. On a table to the side were bubbling pots of thick liquids, and Poppy broke out in a cold sweat. She thought of Eleanora’s feet and reminded herself that it would only be for one night, and Christian and the others would help her.
Unclenching her hands from the armrests, she sat up straight and watched the Corley with her face impassive. She was a princess, after all, and refused to give this creature the satisfaction of seeing her flinch. It helped that a mask hid the upper part of her face and shadowed her eyes, however.
The Corley swept aside Poppy’s abundant skirts to expose her bare feet. She snapped her fingers, and a servant brought her a shallow pan of molten blue glass.
The Corley looked directly into Poppy’s eyes and without saying a word poured the boiling glass over the girl’s feet.
Emperor
Wigs itched, Christian was discovering. His emperor’s costume was topped with a long black wig, and it felt like a hot compress draped across his head. But even worse than the warmth was the itching along the edges where the mesh foundation of the abominable thing touched his face and neck, and it was held in place with clips that jabbed his scalp.
Were it not for the wig, the costume otherwise would have been very comfortable, since it was rather like a loose dressing gown of silk over billowing trousers. Even the pointed slippers were light and flexible, and the heavy ivory-and-silk fan that hung from his waist was much more manageable than the cumbersome fake swords that many of the other gentlemen wore.
He had already turned down several offers to dance with various young women. King Rupert, unsubtly dressed as his ancestor, Horcha the Magnificent, smiled benignly at this from his position on the dais at the far end of the ballroom. He was looking forward to announcing Christian’s betrothal after the unmasking at midnight, and no longer felt the need to throw every young