A Heart Disguised 1 (The Demon Lords of Aethoria)

9. Robin

9

Robin

T he morning unfurled like a banner of chaos, each fold revealing new layers of silk-spun mayhem and anxiety-beaded confusion. Meredith whirled about the room like a dervish in a fabric tornado, her excitement a gale force that threatened to sweep us all away in its wake. And me? I was supposed to be the calm eye of this storm, yet here I was, a bundle of nerves wrapped in a robe that seemed far too insubstantial given the day’s events.

“Oh, Lady Robin!” Meredith exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with a fervor that made me wonder if she’d forgotten I was, in fact, not a young lady. “Madame Elodie and her assistants will be here any moment. You’ll be the most beautiful bride in all of Aethoria!”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Meredith, need I remind you that I’m not actually—”

“Hush now,” she interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. “Today, you’re every bit the princess this gown deserves!”

As if on cue, Madame Elodie swept into the room, trailing two identical assistants in her wake. The royal dressmaker was a force of nature, her keen eyes missing nothing as she surveyed the room. Her assistants, Tessa and Tilly, fluttered about like excited butterflies.

“Lady Robin,” Madame Elodie cooed, her voice dripping with honeyed admiration. “What a pleasure to finally meet you in person!”

Tessa and Tilly circled me, their eyes roving over my form with an intensity that made me wonder if they could see right through my disguise. I shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny, acutely aware of how unladylike my body truly was.

“Oh, Tessa, just look at her hair!” Tilly exclaimed. “It’s like spun moonlight!”

“And her skin, Tilly!” Tessa chimed in. “So smooth and fair. I’d give anything for a complexion like that.”

Their enthusiasm was both flattering and terrifying. I forced a smile, praying they wouldn’t notice my distinct lack of curves.

“Such a slender build,” Tessa mused, circling me once more. “Though a bit flat-chested, aren’t you, dear? No matter, we can work with that.”

I felt my face flame as the twins exchanged knowing looks.

“Speaking of chests…” Tilly giggled, leaning in conspiratorially. “Did I tell you what Thomas did the other night?”

Tessa’s eyes widened with interest. “Oh, do tell!”

“Well.” Tilly lowered her voice, though not nearly enough for my comfort. “He was absolutely fascinated with my bosom. Kept nuzzling and suckling like a babe!”

“Ooh, Harold’s the same!” Tessa squealed. “He says there’s nothing better than a handful of—”

“Girls!” Madame Elodie’s sharp voice cut through their tittering. “That is quite enough! This is a lady’s fitting, not a tavern gossip session!”

The twins had the grace to look abashed, though they continued to eye me with undisguised curiosity. I, meanwhile, was left wondering what exactly suckling entailed and why anyone would want to do such a thing. More pressingly, I worried about how I was going to fake having a bosom worth nuzzling .

As Madame Elodie began to discuss the intricacies of the gown with Meredith, I was fervently hoping that this ordeal would be over quickly. Little did I know, the true chaos was yet to begin…

With a flurry of activity, Madame Elodie ushered us all into the adjacent room. “Come, come!” she trilled, her excitement palpable. “We must begin the fitting at once. The duke will be expecting a progress report, and we mustn’t keep him waiting!”

At the mention of the duke, my stomach performed a series of acrobatics that would have impressed even the most seasoned circus performer. As I stepped into what was apparently my parlor, my jaw dropped in astonishment.

The room adjacent to my bedchamber had been transformed into a veritable atelier. Bolts of fabric, so fine they seemed to shimmer with a life of their own, were strewn across every available surface. The centerpiece, however, was the wedding gown—a confection of silk and lace that any princess or noble lady would envy. It was absurdly opulent, with beadwork that caught the light and delicate embroidery that told tales of wealth and privilege I had never known.

Russet sat in the corner, his head tilted in confusion at the commotion. Starling, perched on the windowsill, seemed to be watching the proceedings with an almost humanlike interest.

I had hoped to escape the ordeal of the fitting with a mere whisper of my measurements to the dressmakers, a quick in-and-out affair that would allow me to maintain some semblance of modesty. But as fate would have it, the duke himself swept into the room just as Tessa and Tilly reached for the ties of my robe.

A shriek—undignified and far too high-pitched—escaped my lips. In a moment of blind panic, I dashed toward the duke, one hand clutching desperately at the front of my robe while the other flailed wildly in the air. I must have looked like a startled chicken, all flapping limbs and ruffled feathers, as I careened across the room.

With a graceless stumble, I skidded to a halt behind the duke, pressing myself against his back and peeking out from behind his arm like a child hiding from monsters. As I used his considerable form as a living shield against the prying eyes of Madam Elodie and Tessa and Tilly, I caught sight of his face. The duke’s golden eyes danced with barely contained mirth, one eyebrow raised in amused inquiry.

Russet, bless his loyal heart, let out a confused whine at the sudden commotion, while Starling chirped in what sounded suspiciously like avian laughter.

The duke’s own laughter soon filled the room, a rich sound that seemed to vibrate through the air and settle in the pit of my stomach. “It appears my bride is a bit shy,” he mused, twisting slightly to cast a glance over his shoulder at me. His lips twitched with suppressed laughter as he added, “Perhaps it would be better if I assisted with the fitting.”

The absurdity of the situation hit me full force. Here I was, a boy masquerading as a bride-to-be, cowering behind a demon duke like he was the last bastion of modesty in a sea of fabric and pins. I could feel a blush creeping up my cheeks, no doubt painting me the color of the pomegranate blooms outside my window. In that moment, I wasn’t sure what was more mortifying: the idea of being fitted for a wedding gown or the realization that I had just used the Duke of Lunaria as a human shield.

Oh, the audacity! My blush deepened, and I huffed in indignation. “I assure you, my lord, that won’t be necessary,” I said, my voice a touch more shrill than I intended.

In a desperate bid for escape, I darted forward, snatching up the wedding gown with all the grace of a thief in the night. However, I had severely underestimated the sheer volume of fabric involved. The gown unfurled like a silken avalanche, threatening to engulf me entirely. I struggled to contain the billowing mass, my arms wrapped around it in a bear hug as layers of lace and tulle spilled over my shoulders and pooled at my feet.

“Meredith!” I called, my voice muffled by the fabric pressed against my face. “I require your assistance!”

My faithful nursemaid rushed to my aid, gathering up armfuls of trailing fabric. Together, we waddled toward my bedchamber, looking for all the world like two people attempting to smuggle an entire bridal shop under one dress. Meredith puffed, her face barely visible behind the mountain of silk and satin she was carrying.

As we made our ungainly retreat, I caught a glimpse of the duke over the frothy peak of my fabric mountain. His eyes twinkled with undisguised amusement, and I could have sworn I saw him stifle a laugh behind his hand.

Cheeks burning, I quickened my pace, eager to reach the sanctuary of my bedchamber. But fate, it seemed, wasn’t done humiliating me. As I hurried forward, my foot caught on a trailing piece of lace. Time seemed to slow as I felt myself pitching forward, the mountain of fabric threatening to become my silken tomb. Just as I braced for impact with the cold, hard floor, a strong arm wrapped around my waist, halting my descent.

I found myself pressed against the duke’s chest, his quick reflexes having saved me from a most undignified fall. For a moment that stretched far too long, I remained there, acutely aware of his warmth and the amused quirk of his lips. The sudden proximity brought a vivid flash of memory—our intense kiss from the night before. Heat stirred within me, a mixture of embarrassment and something far more primal. The firm planes of his chest against mine, the subtle scent of his skin… it was all too much. Mortification and a bewildering heat of need warred within me as I scrambled away, my face burning hotter than a demon’s flame, my body tingling in places it absolutely shouldn’t.

“T-thank you, my lord,” I stammered, clutching the gown tighter to my chest. Without waiting for a response, I all but dove into my bedchamber, Meredith hot on my heels.

With the door firmly closed behind us, Meredith helped me into the gown, which engulfed my frame like an avalanche of lace and satin. As she struggled to lace up the back, the excess fabric billowing around me, I couldn’t help but mutter my frustrations. “Our cover nearly got blown by a dress fitting of all things. And the duke—he’s everywhere! Is it a demon thing to watch their betrothed being wrapped up like a gift?”

Meredith chuckled, tugging at the laces. “Oh, hush. He’s just eager to see his beautiful bride.”

“I’m not his bride, I’m his… his…” I trailed off, struggling to find the right words as I fought to keep my balance in the voluminous gown. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! I’m a boy playing dress-up in a silk nightmare; that’s what I am!” I hissed, careful to keep my voice down. “How am I supposed to go back out there and face Madame Elodie and those gossipy twins? And the duke! He’ll see right through this charade; I just know it. This isn’t just a disaster waiting to happen, Meredith. It’s a catastrophe in the making!”

Meredith clicked her tongue, her eyes sparkling with pride. “Now, now, my dear. You worry far too much. I’ll have you know that you look every bit the young lady—a vision of loveliness, if I do say so myself.” She preened, smoothing down the folds of my gown. “Did you not hear those twins fawning over your hair and skin? That’s all thanks to my careful tending, I’ll have you know. Most girls would commit unspeakable acts to have such a complexion and silken locks.”

She stepped back, admiring her handiwork with a self-satisfied smile. “Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were born to wear such finery. You’ve nothing to fear. No one will suspect a thing, least of all that handsome duke of yours. Now, chin up! It’s time to show everyone just how radiant you can be.”

Her unwavering confidence was both reassuring and terrifying. As much as I wanted to believe her, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this masquerade was balancing on a knife’s edge. Still, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. If Meredith believed in me this much, the least I could do was try to live up to her expectations.

When we finally emerged, I felt as though I were drowning in a sea of silk and tulle. The duke, lounging on the sofa as if he hadn’t a care in the world, sipped his tea with an infuriatingly relaxed air. I navigated the treacherous terrain of my gown with all the grace of a newborn fawn, each step a precarious balancing act that threatened to send me sprawling.

Russet, bless his loyal heart, attempted to help by grabbing the train of the dress in his mouth. Instead of assisting, he only succeeded in pulling me off-balance, sending me staggering toward the duke. My flailing attempts to regain my footing were in vain, and I found myself tumbling directly into the duke’s waiting arms.

For a breathless moment, I was enveloped in his warmth, my face pressed against the firm plane of his chest. I could feel the rumble of his chuckle vibrating through me before he gently set me upright, his hands lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary on my waist.

“Careful, my little hummingbird,” he murmured, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “We wouldn’t want you to bruise your delicate wings before the wedding, now would we? Though I must admit, your graceful tumbles are quite entertaining.”

Flustered and blushing furiously, I mumbled my thanks and tried to regain some semblance of composure. It was at this moment that Madame Elodie swooped in, tutting about the state of the gown and ushering me toward the window. There, the sunlight caressed my skin and set the beads ablaze with prismatic brilliance. Tessa and Tilly fluttered around me like butterflies in a garden, their nimble fingers pinching and tucking the fabric until it conformed to my shape.

As they worked, I couldn’t help but steal glances at the duke, who had returned to his seat but kept his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin tingle.

“Oh, doesn’t she look divine?” Meredith gushed, clasping her hands together. I shot her a pointed look, which she blithely ignored.

Through it all, I could feel the duke’s gaze upon me, a palpable weight that seemed to see right through the finery to the boy hiding beneath. There was amusement there, and something else—a glint of delight that made my heart flutter in a most disconcerting way.

As the fitting continued, I found myself in increasingly ridiculous positions, arms akimbo, balancing on one foot, then the other. Starling, ever the opportunist, decided this was the perfect moment to nest in the voluminous folds of my skirt.

“Starling, no!” I hissed, trying to shoo her away without moving too much. The bird merely chirped in defiance, settling deeper into the fabric.

The duke’s chuckle resonated through the room. “It seems even the local wildlife approves of your attire, my little hummingbird.”

I could only groan in response, wondering how I had gotten myself in this absurd situation, playing dress-up in a gown fit for royalty, with a demon lord for an audience and a bird making a home in my skirts. As I caught my reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help but think that despite the chaos and deception, I did look… rather lovely. And the warmth in the duke’s eyes as he watched me? Well, that was something I’d have to examine later, when I wasn’t surrounded by cooing dressmakers and an overly enthusiastic nursemaid.

At long last, the ordeal of the dress fitting concluded just as the sun reached its zenith. I sighed with relief as Madame Elodie declared the fitting a triumph, though I felt more like a well-pinned butterfly than a blushing bride.

“Well, my little hummingbird,” the duke said, his golden eyes twinkling with amusement, “it seems you’ve survived your first battle with Aethorian haute couture. I must attend to some pressing matters with my lieutenant, but I trust you’ll find ways to entertain yourself in my absence.”

As he swept from the room, I couldn’t help but wonder if “pressing matters” was code for “escape from the madness of wedding preparations.”

Lunch was a quiet affair, the fare both exotic and delectable, yet I found my appetite had deserted me. Perhaps it was hiding with my dignity, which had last been seen fleeing the room during the more… intimate moments of the fitting.

With the afternoon stretching before me like an unexplored country, I decided to venture forth into the vastness of Argentum Keep. Russet trotted at my heels, while Starling flitted overhead, her iridescent plumage a vibrant contrast to the stone and tapestry that adorned the walls.

The castle, it seemed, was a living, breathing entity, its corridors pulsing with the rhythm of life. Servants rushed about their duties, their faces etched with the earnestness of their stations. Yet whenever they caught sight of me, their hurried steps would falter, replaced by graceful bows and respectful murmurs of “Lady Robin.” It was disconcerting, this recognition, but not entirely unwelcome. Here, I was not the bastard son of Aldercrest, but a lady of import, a future duchess. The irony was not lost on me.

As we wandered through the labyrinthine halls, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer opulence of my surroundings. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes from Lunarian history, now interwoven with subtle demonic motifs. Massive chandeliers dripped with crystals, their light dancing across polished marble floors. At every turn, a new wonder presented itself—a gallery of artwork that blended human and demon aesthetics, with paintings that seemed to shift and change as I passed; a library with shelves that stretched to dizzying heights, housing tomes from both realms; a music room where instruments of both human and demonic origin waited in silent anticipation for skilled hands to bring them to life.

Eventually, our exploration led us to a sunlit courtyard, a verdant oasis amid the stone. The garden was a riot of color, with blooms of every hue painting the landscape in broad strokes of vibrancy. Roses climbed trellises, their sweet fragrance mingling with the earthy scent of herbs and the tang of citrus from the trees that bordered the space.

Russet, ever playful, bounded through the greenery, his reddish-brown coat gleaming in the sunlight as he chased after some unseen quarry. “Russet!” I called out, laughing despite myself. “Do try not to uproot the duke’s prize petunias, won’t you?”

Starling, too, seemed in high spirits, her chirps a musical accompaniment to the bucolic scene. She alighted on a nearby fountain, preening her feathers as if to say, “Well, aren’t you going to admire how lovely I look in this setting?”

I took a seat upon an ornate iron bench, its scrollwork reminding me of the intricate lace on my wedding gown. My eyes were drawn to the view beyond the garden, where the city of Lunaria sprawled before me, a living mosaic of bustling streets and soaring spires. The city was a blend of the familiar and the foreign, its architecture a symphony of human ingenuity and demonic grandeur. Terracotta roofs mingled with obsidian towers, while market squares buzzed with activity beneath the shadow of ethereal floating gardens. It was as if two worlds had collided and, instead of chaos, had created a breathtaking harmony.

How I longed to explore its streets, to immerse myself in the culture of this place that was to become my home—that is, if I didn’t get discovered or, worse, killed first. The constant threat of my disguise being revealed hung over me like a storm cloud, ready to unleash its fury at any moment.

Back at Aldercrest Manor, my wanderings had been severely restricted, my father and Lady Aldercrest keen on keeping my existence a secret from the prying eyes of society. Now, I found myself in an even more precarious position, playing a dangerous game of deception in a world I barely understood.

“One day,” I murmured to myself, a mix of hope and trepidation coloring my words, “I’ll taste those pastries, listen to those street musicians, and maybe even find a book of poetry that doesn’t end with someone being turned into a tree or a constellation. That is, assuming I don’t end up as a cautionary tale myself— The Boy Who Fooled a Demon Lord and Lived to Regret It .”

As I indulged in my daydreams of exploration, my attention was caught by the murmur of voices. Nearby, two young men—human servants, by the look of them—were engaged in hushed conversation. Their words carried to me on the breeze, and I was unable to look away as they spoke of the duke and his impending nuptials.

“Can’t believe the duke’s really taking a human bride,” one said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Aye, Lady Robin may be a beauty, but she’s not his type,” the other agreed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “The duke prefers someone with more… experience. Curves in all the right places. Our little Lady Robin is a bit too…”

“…slender? Na?ve?” the first offered with a chuckle.

“Exactly. But then, it’s a political marriage. I wouldn’t be surprised if he keeps his… appetites… well fed elsewhere. Doubt he’ll even touch her on their wedding night.”

Their laughter rang out, a harsh reminder of the reality I was trying so desperately to navigate. A part of me felt a surge of relief; if the duke had no desire for me, then perhaps I could breathe a little easier. Yet alongside that relief was a twinge of something I couldn’t quite name—a dull ache that settled in my chest, a sense of rejection that was as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

“Well,” I muttered to myself, “I suppose I should be grateful. It’s not as if I want him to… to… oh, bother.” I shook my head, trying to dislodge the memory of his kiss, the warmth of his hands, the intensity of his gaze.

Russet, sensing my distress, padded over and rested his head on my lap. His eyes looked up at me with such understanding that I couldn’t help but smile. “At least you find me irresistible, eh, boy?” I scratched behind his ears, grateful for his unwavering loyalty.

Starling, not to be outdone, fluttered down to perch on my shoulder. She nuzzled against my cheek, her soft feathers tickling my skin. “And you, my little feathered friend,” I said, gently stroking her back, “you’re not put off by my lack of curves, are you?”

As I sat there, surrounded by the beauty of the garden and the unconditional affection of my animal companions, I couldn’t help but ponder the absurdity of my situation. Here I was, a boy masquerading as a noblewoman, engaged to a demon lord in a human realm. It was like something out of a bard’s wildly imaginative tale.

The servants’ gossip about the duke’s preferences gnawed at me, clashing with my own experiences. If he truly preferred mature, curvaceous women, why did he look at me with such intensity? Why did he kiss me with such… fervor? The memory of his lips on mine made heat bloom across my skin. His pet names, his teasing remarks, the way his golden eyes seemed to see right through me—none of it aligned with a man uninterested in his betrothed.

Unless it was all for show? The thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. Could it be that the duke was merely playing a part, putting on a performance for the benefit of others—or perhaps to toy with me? It would certainly explain the contradiction between his actions and the rumors. But if that were the case, what game was he playing? And more importantly, what were the rules?

The more I dwelled on this possibility, the more a knot of hurt and anger formed in my chest. If the duke was indeed putting on an act, then he had made a fool of me. That kiss—which had left me breathless and confused—was nothing more than a ploy, a cruel trick played on an unsuspecting pawn. The pet names, the lingering glances, the gentle teasing—all of it reduced to a farce.

I felt my cheeks burn with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. How dare he? I may have entered this arrangement under false pretenses, but at least my reactions had been genuine. To think that I had spent even a moment contemplating my feelings for him, when all along I was just a piece in whatever game he was playing…

My head began to throb, a dull ache building behind my eyes as I wrestled with these conflicting thoughts and emotions. This was getting me nowhere. I was spinning in circles, concocting scenarios based on servant gossip and my own insecurities. Perhaps it was best to step back and take things one incident at a time. After all, I had enough on my plate trying to maintain my own deception without attempting to unravel the duke’s potential machinations.

With a sigh, I stood, brushing off my skirts. “Come on, you two,” I said to Russet and Starling. “Let’s see if we can find the kitchen. After all this excitement, I think we’ve earned ourselves a treat. And who knows? Maybe we’ll overhear some more scandalous gossip about our dear duke’s preferences. Wouldn’t want to be caught unprepared, now would we?”