Starla folded her wings tight and stepped into the crowded outdoor bar. She came for one reason: to win the wandering prince, no matter what strangeness he saw in her. But tonight a rival had filled this place with whispers. Horned patrons leaned over their drinks and stared at her tail as she passed. A small hybrid creature, part hound and part frilled swimmer, trotted up and pressed against her ankle. Its purple frills flared. Children at a nearby stool pointed at her wings and laughed, but the laughter had a new edge tonight. Someone had told them she was a lie stitched from leftover parts. Starla climbed onto the bar. Her mushroom freckles began to glow before she could stop them. She did not hide them this time. She lifted the little hound so everyone could see it, frills and scales and wagging tail together. "This one exists," she said. "So do I." She named the rival out loud. She listed each lie and answered it plainly. A bright chitinous manta drifted past the lamps, and the crowd's eyes followed her steady voice instead. Prince Lysander Nightbloom stood at the edge of the crowd. He had come to hear the rumors himself. He met her glowing eyes and, for once, did not look away. "I'll meet you," he said. "Tomorrow. Properly." The rumors were dead. But now he had agreed to truly look at her, and that frightened her more than any whisper.