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Tim the Yeti
When it came to going unseen, Genevieve Anders had two strategies: either become invisible, or put on a mask—literal or figurative.
For the welcoming ball, she had chosen the latter.
She had spent hours agonizing over an outfit meant to look like it had involved no agonizing at all. From the winged liner painted above her eyes to the careful array of tiny crystals scattered beneath them, every choice was precise. Long red-orange bangs hung in slashes against her cheekbones, easy to duck behind when she needed a moment to collect herself. The rest of her hair was braided into a crown and threaded with still more crystals, taking the place of an actual tiara.
Her floor-length gown was her nod to her country—layers of chiffon, all in shifting shades of blue and grey, like the Marisian sea. That, her parents had approved before she left. The mulberry lip color? Not so much, but it, too, was a strategic choice. She only knew a handful of people in this castle. The rest likely had almost no idea who she was—and if they did, it was through her skimpy social media presence.
Which meant the only hope she had of being recognized, short of tattooing a line of obscure poetry across her chest, was to show up wearing one of her signature lipsticks.
Genevieve stared at herself in the generous floor-length mirror tucked into one corner of her very lavish guest quarters. For a few moments, she let the self-consciousness she wouldn’t be able to afford in public filter into her expression.
“You look perfect, Highness,” Natalie said from behind her, coming forward to squeeze her shoulders.
Genevieve released a sigh. “Oh, don’t start that yet. Not before I go downstairs.”
Natalie’s mouth curled up at one corner. “Okay, but 'my dear Lady Gen' just doesn't have the same ring to it."
Christopher stepped into Genevieve’s field of vision, coming from her other side to meet her eyes in the mirror. “Your parents were very specific. We got to be the ones to come with you, on the condition that we maintain proper etiquette at all times.”
The princess of Maris had not brought many attendants with her. The small army her parents had wanted her to bring along would attract far too much attention, and would probably seem presumptuous for a princess whose kingdom was so small—and whose title was not “heir.”
So she just had Christopher and Natalie, and that was more than enough for her. A modern lady-in-waiting, Natalie could easily do the work of five girls with the same training, and she and Christopher had memorized almost as many rules of etiquette as Genevieve had. They’d all learned alongside each other, raised as nearly equal in station. And despite their closeness, nothing could be said against Natalie’s professionalism or Christopher’s respectability.
Genevieve held out her hands at her sides, and wordlessly, her friends took them.
After a moment, Natalie let go. “Okay,” she said bracingly. “Showtime.”
One breath in. One breath out. Genevieve nodded, allowing Chris’s hand at the small of her back to guide her toward the door. The moment he slipped away from her to hold it open, he changed, warm features slipping behind a formal mask—no longer the very first boy she’d ever kissed, but the official bodyguard of Her Highness Genevieve Anders, princess of Maris.
And as she moved into the hall, Gen felt her face change, too—chin steady, but not too high; eyes cool; corners of her lips ready to curve into a smile should she meet anyone on the way.
She made it downstairs without incident. She stepped into the receiving line with Christopher shadowing her, one respectful step behind. She listened to her name and title being announced, feeling it like a weight about her shoulders.
And then she swept the bubbly princess of Aciras a perfectly-practiced curtsey. Too much? She honestly had no idea, but it was a safe bet that “more formal than expected” was always better than “unforgivably rude.”
“Princess Ayleanna,” she murmured, head still bowed. As she straightened, she couldn’t help the warmth that infused her smile, despite her attempt to remain formal. Princess Lea looked exactly in person as she sounded on social media, and Gen admired her determination to be her sparkly self. “Your castle is absolutely stunning.” She risked letting her lips quirk, just a bit, as she added, sincerely, “And I love your dress.”
This isn't perfect—I made it in, like, five minutes, with limited resources— but it's an example of the kind of drastic alterations Genevieve makes to any "selfies" she posts, and the way they never show all of her face at once.
