It's Halloween, and the air is thick with the scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke, mingling with the perfume of roses that line the banquet tables.

I stand near the entrance, my black lace mask pressing cool against my skin, my gloved fingers fidgeting with the edge of my sleeve.

Around me, princesses from neighboring kingdoms swirl in gowns of silk and satin, their costumes ranging from ethereal ghosts to wicked witches.

My sisters are here too.

Ivy, resplendent in a powder-blue Cinderella gown, glides past me with a smirk, her gaze fixed on the prince across the room.

Diva, dressed as a pirate with a striped sash and a toy cutlass, catches my eye and gives me a tiny, encouraging wave from beside the dessert table.

But my attention snags on him.

Then they land on me.

On the mask. On the black of my dress. On the red peeking through my ginger hair.