Tower of Temptation

The tower room was a cage of rose-gold light, the last of the sun bleeding through the western window and pooling on the stone floor. Princess Amelia sat cross-legged on her bed, a mountain of leather-bound volumes scattered around her like fallen soldiers. The castle mage had sent them up an hour ago, a favor she'd begged for three days running until he'd finally caved, and now she was paying the price in dust and disappointment.

Every book was the same. Histories of forgotten wars. Treatises on agricultural rotation. A particularly tedious volume on the lineage of minor noble houses that she'd thrown across the room after the first chapter. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and sighed. The mage had promised her something interesting. Something useful.

"Useful," she muttered, picking up the last book in the pile. It was thin, bound in cracked brown leather with no title on the spine. The pages were yellowed and stuck together at the edges. She had to pry them apart with her fingernails, and the first page made her snort.

*Practical Magicks for the Discerning Lady.*

"Right. Because I'm so discerning." She flipped through it anyway. Hair growth charms. A spell to make cut flowers last longer. A incantation for removing stains from silk. All of it useless, all of it boring, all of it written for women who had nothing better to do than worry about their linens.

Then she turned a page and stopped.

The illustration was crude, just a few ink lines, but the words beneath it were clear enough. *For the Enhancement of the Bosom.* Amelia's cheeks went hot. She glanced at the door, half-expecting a maid to burst in, but the tower was silent. It was always silent. That was the point of the tower. Her father had put her up here when she was twelve, supposedly for her safety, really because she'd asked too many questions about the wrong things. Now she was nineteen, and the only people who climbed the hundred and twelve steps were the maid who brought her meals and the mage who brought her books.

She read the spell twice. It was simple. Almost insultingly simple. A few words in a language she didn't recognize, a gesture, and a focused intention. The book claimed it worked within minutes. The book also claimed it was safe, though there was a note in the margin, written in a different hand, that said *results may vary.*

Amelia set the book down on her lap. Her heart was doing something strange, a quick fluttery thing that she didn't quite recognize. She looked down at her chest. Her dress was green today, a soft wool that clung a little too honestly to her shape, and she could see exactly what she'd always seen. Not enough. That was the truth of it. Not enough to fill out the neckline the way the other ladies did. Not enough to make the prince from the neighboring kingdom look twice when he'd visited last spring. Not enough to stop the whispered comments she'd overheard from the kitchen girls, the ones who didn't know she was listening from the stairwell.

*Flat as a board, that one. Shame, with that pretty face.*

She'd cried about it that night. Then she'd gotten angry. Then she'd decided she didn't care. But here she was, alone in her tower, with a spell in her lap and her hands trembling.

"This is stupid," she said out loud. Her voice bounced off the stone walls and came back to her, small and uncertain.

She read the words again. They were soft on her tongue, like honey, like something that wanted to be spoken. The gesture was easy, just her palms pressed flat against her chest, fingers spread wide. The intention part was harder. She had to picture it, really picture it, the way she wanted to look. The way she wanted to feel.

She closed her eyes.

For a moment, nothing happened. The room was quiet, the light was fading, and she felt foolish. Then her palms grew warm. Not hot, just warm, like she'd been holding them over a candle. The warmth spread through her dress, through her skin, and settled somewhere deep in her chest. It wasn't unpleasant. It was actually kind of nice, a gentle pressure that made her breath catch.

She opened her eyes and looked down.

Nothing had changed. Of course nothing had changed. She was an idiot. She was a bored, lonely idiot who'd just cast a spell from a dusty book because she couldn't stand another night of staring at the ceiling and wondering if this was all her life would ever be.

Then the warmth came back, stronger this time, and she gasped.

It wasn't painful. That was the first thing she noticed. It was like the feeling of stretching after a long sleep, but in a place she'd never stretched before. Her dress grew tight across her chest, the fabric pulling, and she watched with wide eyes as the wool began to strain. The seams creaked. The neckline dipped lower, not because it was cut that way, but because there was suddenly more of her to fill it.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, gods."

She should stop. She knew she should stop. This was magic she didn't understand, from a book she'd found by accident, and there was no telling what it would do. But the warmth was spreading again, and she didn't want it to stop. She wanted more. She wanted to know what it felt like to be full, to be soft, to be the kind of woman who made people turn their heads.

Her hands were still pressed against her chest, and she could feel the change happening under her palms. The skin was warm and tight, and each breath made her more aware of the weight she was suddenly carrying. It wasn't just size. It was sensation. Every brush of her own fingers sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized she was biting her lip.

The spell was still working. She could feel it, a slow pulse that matched her heartbeat, and she knew she should say the words to stop it. They were right there in the book, a simple reversal, but she didn't want to say them. She wanted to see how far it would go.

The seams of her dress gave way with a soft rip. She looked down and her breath caught in her throat. The fabric had split along the side, revealing the curve of her new shape, and she couldn't stop staring. They were beautiful. Round and full and exactly what she'd always imagined when she'd lain awake at night, wishing she were someone else.

She touched them. Just once, just to see. Her fingers sank into softness, and a sound escaped her throat that she'd never made before. It was somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and it made her cheeks burn with embarrassment even though there was no one to hear.

The door to her room opened.

Amelia froze. Her hands were still on her chest, her dress was ruined, and the maid was standing in the doorway with a tray of dinner, her grey eyes wide and unblinking.

Neither of them moved.

"I," Amelia started, but she didn't know how to finish. There was no explanation that made sense. There was no way to pretend this hadn't happened.

The maid set the tray down on the small table by the door. She didn't look away. She didn't gasp or curtsy or run for help. She just stood there, her expression unreadable, and Amelia felt her skin prickle with something that wasn't quite fear.

"Your Highness," the maid said, her voice calm and even. "Shall I fetch the mage?"

"No." The word came out too fast. "No, I don't need the mage. I just. I found a spell. It was an accident."

The maid's gaze flicked to the book on the bed, then back to Amelia's face. A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, there and gone so quickly Amelia almost missed it.

"Of course, Your Highness." She smoothed her apron with deliberate hands. "Would you like me to bring you a new dress? Something with a bit more room?"

Amelia's face burned. She wanted to disappear, to sink through the stone floor and never come back. But the maid wasn't laughing at her. The maid was waiting, patient and composed, like this was just another evening in the tower.

"Yes," Amelia said finally. "Something with more room."

The maid nodded and turned to leave. At the door, she paused.

"The spell in that book," she said, not looking back. "It's temporary. It wears off by morning."

Amelia's heart sank. "How do you know?"

Now the maid did look back, and this time the smile stayed a little longer. "I've served this house for twelve years, Your Highness. I know a great many things."

She closed the door behind her, and Amelia was alone again, her chest still full and warm, her dress ruined, and a question burning in her mind that she didn't know how to ask.