#Chapter 7 – The Palace

Anton murmurs. “Whatever this is, you agreed to it – you should have gotten more details.” I glare over my shoulder at Anton and see him obligingly covering his eyes with his hand, intuiting that I’m going to get out. I hesitate for a second because…I mean, his hand is transparent. So, what the hell is covering his eyes going to do? But Anton’s eyes are shut, so I sigh and turn, climbing out of the tub, trusting his intent more than the details of his physical form. “Tricked or not,” Anton sighs, “you’re in a competition to marry a guy and you don’t even know who he is?” I wrap my towel around me as I step out of the tub and knotting it high above my breasts before I reach for another one and start to dry my hair. “But that’s all I’ve got. I mean, you’re dead – doesn’t that give you insider information or something?” “No really,” Anton says, dropping his hand and looking up at me as I continue to towel off. “I think the Goddess kind of…snatched me before I got to wherever dead people go and learned about my sovereign or whatever. So, I’m not going to be a great resource for whatever it is that dead people are supposed to know.” I sigh, finishing with my hair and putting the towel aside, looking around for a hairbrush. “What time do you have to go to the palace!?” “I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “What time even is it? Does time exist here without a sun to measure it by?” He dismisses the point, scrambling to his feet. “What are you going to wear?” “Oh, I don’t know, I figured I’d go in this!” I say, gesturing sarcastically to the towel wrapped around my body. “You didn’t bring any clothes!?” Anton storms over to glare down into my face, making me tilt my head back to look up at him. “I was at a funeral, Anton,” I sigh, not letting his anger rile me. “I wasn’t precisely given time to pack a suitcase.” Anton goes a bit still at that information, staring at me, but then he shakes himself and starts to look around the room. “Come on,” he snaps, storming towards the archway that leads to the bedroom. “We have to figure this out.” The rebellious part of me that wishes to reject every order I’m given – no matter what it is – rankles at the idea of being told to follow him, and I grit my teeth, stubbornly standing alone in the bathroom. “Juniper!” he shouts. “Come on!” I feel a ridiculous little tug deep in my belly, pulling me forward. I gasp, but stumble forward a few steps before I huff a sigh and storm after him into the room. “Don’t boss me around, Anton,” I snap, my face a thunder cloud. “What do you mean you don’t have clothes?” he asks, standing by the gigantic bed and gesturing at it. “Then what the hell is this?” I pause mid-step, peering at the messy bed over which a gorgeous black diaphanous gown is spread. I glance at Anton for a split second before hurrying over to it. “I have no idea,” I whisper, reaching out for it, my hand stilling before I can brush my fingers over the gorgeous fabric. “Well, looks like someone is keeping an eye out,” Anton says, crossing his arms and looking between me and the dress. “Because that’s going to look fantastic on you.” My lips turn up in a smile as I peer up at him. “Do you really think so?” His face bursts into a grin as he turns away from me, giving me a modest moment. “Put it on, kid,” he says, laughing a little. “See if the effect is as devastating as I think it will be.” _ _ _ About two hours later – or at least, that’s how long I think it is, I’m not sure I fully understand how time works here yet – I bunch the folds of fabric in my hand to lift my skirts as I climb the stairs towards the palace entrance. Anton trots at my side in his ghostly wolf form, glancing up at me every other second, as anxious as I am. “Well, at least I’ve got a pretty dress,” I mutter, looking down at the sweep of dark fabric that trails behind me. The dress – whoever sent it clearly made it just for me. It closely hugs what curves I have before plunging low on my chest and sweeping out into full flowing skirts that ripple on the marble steps behind me. Anton gives a little huff of agreement and cheerfully snaps at the fabric with his ghostly teeth, making me laugh. He approves of the garment – he made that quite clear with his abundant praise in the room, telling me how much it suits me and sets me off at an advantage. Still, I have to admit that I feel a little underprepared for this. Whenever mom turns me out for a state function there’s hairdressers and makeup artists. While Anton and I were able to find a hairbrush in the vanity, that was it. My black hair is clean and wavy as it falls back over my shoulders, but honestly I wish I’d had more resources to put myself together. “You’re very nearly late,” my hooded messenger snarls, appearing in front of me on the steps and making me jump back. Anton at my side growls immediately, stepping between me and the man. “Oh, am I?” I throw back, glaring at him. “Funny, how no one gave me a clock and yet I’m still expected to magically show up on time - “ The hooded man just snarls in response, ignoring me and looking down at Anton’s bared teeth. “What the hell is this?” “It’s my pet,” I say, raising my chin and reaching out to drift my fingers over Anton’s ghostly blue head. Anton snaps ineffectually at my fingers, clearly still hating that term. “Absoluely not,” the man says, waving a hand of dismissal at Anton. “You cannot –“ But to my shock, Anton’s snarl deepens and he begins to grow in size, forcing both me and the messenger to step back as he becomes twice the wolf he was a moment ago, his lips fully pulled back in a snarl that he levels right at the messenger’s face. The messenger’s eyes go wide. “Heavens…” he whispers, staring up at Anton. “G-Goddess blessed…” I frown at the hooded messenger, wondering what the hell that means, as he moves his face back to me. “Where did you get this!?” “It’s a him,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “He’s very particular about that.” Anton snarls in agreement. “Regardless –“ the messenger sputters, shaking his head. But before he can continue horns blare, low and ominous, from the direction of the palace. The messenger spins, cursing below his breath, and my stomach tightens with anxiety. “Go,” the messenger says, stepping aside to clear the stairs for me. “You have to get in there. Now. It begins.” I gather up my skirts again, beginning to climb past him. “You cannot bring the wolf!” he calls after me, sounding almost afraid. I don’t bother to look back. “Where I go, he goes!” Anton gives a wolfish little huff of agreement beside me as we make our way up the final few steps and together move into the darkness beyond.