I got home around dinnertime, not long before I was supposed to show up in the Otherworld. Hastily, I shed my sweaty clothes and took the world’s fastest shower. Afterward, I managed a makeup job rivaling the last one, but it cost me time. With minutes ticking away, I threw on the dress Lara had procured and ran a quick brush through my damp hair. There was nothing else to be done with it. I threw a little mousse into it to avoid frizz, and then I was off to the desert.

Dorian had wisely put my Slinky anchor in a more secure place than a flimsy table. I appeared in a small chamber where a servant had awaited my arrival. He gave me a polite bow and then took me straight to Dorian’s room. Inside it, I found pandemonium.

Male and female servants ran in and out, doing God only knew what. Dorian stood in front of a giant mirror, checking himself out in an azure blue robe. A stout man hovered nearby with about a dozen other robes weighing down his arm. It was the same man, I realized, whose place I’d taken in croquet.

“Eugenie Markham,” announced my escort.

Dorian gave me half a glance. “Lady Markham, so nice to-sweet gods. She’s wearing beige.”

I looked down. Lara had found me a clingy silk dress in a shade she termed “champagne”: a warm ivory tinged with gold. I wouldn’t have thought the color worked for me, but she apparently knew me better than I did. The strapless bodice was gathered and decorated with a bit of iridescent beading meant to imitate buttons down the middle. From the waist down, the skirt cascaded in smooth, shining folds. It fit snugly against my silhouette, flaring slightly only when it hit my ankles.

“It’s ‘champagne,’” I corrected. “And what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing. It’s lovely.” He turned back frantically to his valet. “It’s not going to match any of these, Muran. What else do we have?”

Muran bit his lip. “There’s the green velvet, your majesty. Its trim has that shade in it. Paired with an ivory shirt, it would look quite stunning.”

Dorian made a face. “Silk or satin would be better. Grab it anyway, and see if there’s anything else we’re missing. Oh, and send someone to do Lady Markham’s hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing, were you sprawled in my bed after a night of passion.” A young woman hurried forward, and he jerked his head in my direction. “See to her, Nia.”

Nia, a tiny thing with olive skin, curtsied to me and led me to the parlor where Dorian and I had first chatted. I couldn’t see what she did, but her fingers worked as deftly and intricately in my hair as Dorian did when tying the cords around me. I’d only once had my hair done by a stylist, and it had been for a wedding in which a cruel friend had required me to wear orange taffeta. The event still woke me with nightmares.

A slight tingle occasionally brushed my skin as Nia worked, and I realized she used magic in the styling. I supposed it was handier than a curling iron, but geez. What a disappointment to discover you had the magical equivalent of cosmetology when other gentry got healing and the ability to tear buildings apart.

“There you are, my lady.”

She took me to a mirror, nervously assessing my reaction. Scattered braids ran toward the back of my head where the rest of my hair had been gathered up into a high ponytail. She’d smoothed and curled most of that hanging hair, but a few tiny braids hung in it here and there. Long, smooth locks framed my face, curled slightly at their ends. Violets and dark ivory sweetheart roses adorned some of the braids.

“Wow,” I said.

Nia wrung her hands. “My lady likes?”

“Very much.”

She beamed. With her petite frame and smooth face, she looked about sixteen but could probably actually boast a century. “I didn’t know how humans wore it.”

I smiled and gave her arm a small pat. “It’s wonderful.”

She looked ready to swoon with joy, and I recalled how eagerly Dorian’s staff always jumped to obey his commands. Was I inspiring that kind of loyalty? Or fear?

Dorian swept into the room then, resplendent in a forest green robe made of silk. The edging contained an intricate pattern of ivory, russet, and gold, set off by the black slacks and ivory shirt underneath.

“Much better,” he said, taking my hand. “Come, we’re late.”

Muran and a few others followed as we headed for the throne room. Dorian didn’t actually run, but an urgency underscored his movement.

“Why the rush?” I asked. “Don’t they wait on your every pleasure?”

“Certainly. But I have to be in there before the other monarchs arrive, or we’ll create a complication of etiquette. Everyone will bow when we enter, but the other monarchs don’t have to. If they’re in there before me, it’ll be awkward.”

“What do you mean by ‘bow’? Does that mean-”

A herald hurled open the double doors and announced in a booming voice: “His royal majesty, King Dorian of the House of Arkady, caller of Earth, protector of the Oak Land, blessed of the gods.”

“Whoa,” I breathed. Dorian squeezed my hand.

“-with Eugenie Markham, called Odile Dark Swan, daughter of Tirigan the Storm King.”

I didn’t think I’d ever get used to being titled, but my astonishment over that faded compared to what happened next. Everyone in the room turned toward us and fell to their knees, heads bowed. Dead silence followed. Slowly, almost in a glide step, we walked down the center aisle, and I tried to look straight ahead and not at the sea of obeisance.

Civilizations rose and fell in the time it took us to reach the throne. When we did, Dorian turned us around to face the assembly and made a small, nondescript gesture. I don’t know how the others saw it with their heads so low, but they all rose and the drone of life and music promptly returned. People moved again, mingling and laughing. Servants scurried to and fro with drinks and trays. It could have been any human party, save for the occasional troll and wraith sipping wine. The men dressed in variations of the Renaissance look Dorian seemed to favor, but the women’s gowns ran the gamut of bell sleeves and velvet to Grecian wraps and gauze.

“And now, my dear, we must part ways.”

I jerked my gaze away from the assembled throng. “What are you talking about?”

He waved his hand. “These are the greatest nobles in my kingdom, not to mention the other kingdoms. I must mingle, listen to their simpering, act like I care. You know how it is.”

Panic seized me as I looked back at all those gentry faces. “Why can’t I go with you? I mean, we coordinate and everything.”

“Because if I keep you on my arm all night, I’ll look possessive and insecure. Leaving you on your own shows I have absolute confidence that you’ll leave with me tonight, regardless of other solicitations.”

“Oh, my God…I’m going to be hit on all night.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry, that’s all they’ll do-unless you wish otherwise. Anyone who touches you against your will would incur the wrath of my entire guard, not to mention most of the guests. It would be a shocking insult.”

“And yet I could apparently go off with anyone if I wanted to.”

“Of course. You’re free to choose as you like.”

“Wouldn’t that be an insult to your manhood or something?”

“A bit. But then I’d just take five or so women to my bed and redeem myself fairly quickly.”

“Whoa. I feel like I’ll be holding you back.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll recover once you’re gone tomorrow.”

I swallowed and looked around, the jokes unable to allay my anxiety. “I don’t even know anybody.”

He turned me to him and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. I had to consciously work to keep my body relaxed. It was still a shock each time he did that.

“You’ll just have to meet them, then,” he said.

He strolled off toward the first group of people he saw, and I heard a flurry of exuberant greetings at his approach. Feeling stupid and awkward, I wondered where I should go and whom I should talk to. I didn’t really do big parties. Too much of my time was spent in solitude to really know how to interact in a group like this. That wasn’t even taking into account that these were all Otherworldly residents. Two of my deepest phobias combined into one long evening.