If I thought the gown yesterday had been bad, I was wrong. So very wrong.
The moment breakfast ended, I was snatched...literally snatched...by a small army of maids.
Maris marched at the front like a general, barking orders in her lyrical old-English while the others tugged, pinned, and prodded me from all sides.
First stop: the wardrobe chamber.
And by wardrobe, I mean war-zone.
Gowns of every color spilled from carved wardrobes. Jewels glimmered like treasure troves.
Shoes with buckles, laces, and heels taller than any human should endure lined the walls.
Maris clapped her hands, and suddenly I was being fitted into dress after dress after dress.
Gold silk. Crimson velvet. Pale green lace that made me look like a frosted cupcake.
"Thou must shine, mine lady," Maris said gravely. "For this eve, all eyes shall fall upon thee."
I rolled my eyes, tugging at a sleeve strangling my arm. "Yeah, well, if 'shine' means not being able to breathe, mission accomplished."
The maids didn't laugh...they didn't get it...but Maris's lips twitched like she almost did.
Almost.
After two exhausting hours, they decided on a gown the color of midnight, embroidered with silver threads that shimmered like stars.
It was stunning, sure...but weighed as much as a full-grown elephant.
Then came the hair ordeal.
Brushes, oils, braids, ribbons...pull, tug, twist, pin. At one point I swear there were six hands in my hair at once, and I nearly screamed.
"Hold still, my lady," Maris scolded gently.
"Hold still? I've got six hands on my hair and you expect me to hold still? I feel like a Christmas turkey being stuffed!"
But no one understood. Again. Figures.
And just when I thought I was free, Maris swept me into the etiquette chamber.
Yes. A chamber dedicated to posture, greetings, and courtly smiles.
A thin, severe woman waited with a long rod in her hand. The first thing she did? Shove a book on my head.
"Walk," she commanded.
So I walked. The book slid. Fell. Thudded on the floor.
"Again," she snapped.
"Woah! Easy mama. You're talking to a princess, okay?" I said dramatically.
She looked at me with eyes that said "I could end you in one minute"
"Fine. Princess life sucks anyway." I muttered, stooping to pick it up.
Three hours later, I could walk without the book falling...but only if I clenched every muscle in my body like I was in a permanent plank exercise.
Finally, the last horror: dance practice.
A court musician struck up a lute as a young nobleman stepped forward to "partner" with me.
The dance involved bows, turns, and delicate steps I absolutely did not have the coordination for.
Within ten minutes, I'd tripped twice, stomped on the poor man's foot, and nearly toppled into the musician.
Maris covered her face with her hands.
By the time they released me, I was sore, aching, and convinced the ball would be a complete disaster.
Still, when I caught my reflection in a tall mirror, gown glittering, hair braided like a crown, I was far from disaster.
Even if inside, I was still just Liana Davis, chef from America, completely in over her head.
By the time the sun had dipped behind the palace walls, I was a wreck.
My back ached from hours of posture drills, my scalp burned from the tug-of-war that passed for hairstyling, and my toes throbbed in shoes clearly invented by a medieval torturer.
Really, I wouldn't blame Ioana for exiting her body and shoving in a replacement.
It was all too much for someone who had just survived a fall. It was all so wrong!
I sat slumped on a velvet stool in my chamber, staring at my reflection.
The gown was perfect. The jewels were dazzling. The hair? A masterpiece.
And yet...behind all the glitter, my face looked pale. My eyes were tired. My smile was missing.
"Breathe, my lady," Maris's voice came softly from behind.
I blinked into the mirror. She stood there, hands folded neatly, but her eyes...those steady hazel eyes...watched me not as a servant watches a princess, but as one human watches another.
"I'm trying," I muttered. "But every time I do, I'm afraid I'll pop a seam."
Her lips twitched. Just barely. Then she moved closer, kneeling so she was level with me. Carefully, she adjusted a strand of hair that had fallen loose.
"Thou art not alone, Princess Ioana," she whispered, almost conspiratorial. "This world, it canst swallow whole those who forget themselves."
Her words stung, because I wasn't Ioana. Not really. But in her tone, there was no judgment...only quiet encouragement.
I swallowed hard. "I don't even know how to survive one dinner without looking like an idiot. And now you're sending me to a ball full of royalty? Princes? Princesses? Kings and queens? That's… insane."
Maris's fingers lingered briefly on my sleeve. "Insane, perhaps. Yet thou survived yesterday. And thou wilt survive tonight."
Something in her calm certainty made the tightness in my chest ease.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint crackle of torches outside my chamber.
Then Maris rose, smoothed her apron, and said gently, "When the trumpets sound, hold thy head high. Not for their sake, but for thine own. Even shouldst thy knees quake, walk as though thou art the sun itself, and all must turn to follow."
I stared at her, surprised.
"Maris, that's the most motivational thing anyone's said to me since I got here."
She gave the faintest smile, bowing her head. "Then remember it, my lady."
And just like that, the stillness was gone...the doors burst open, servants bustling in, announcing that the hour of the ball had come.
But deep down, I knew it.The storm was waiting.