Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
The seamstresses' hands fluttered around Briar like nervous birds, making final adjustments to the garnet gown that felt more like armor than silk. In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. The dress transformed her from captive to consort.
"Stop fidgeting," Arachne commanded, securing the last of the hidden pins that would keep everything in place through hours of dancing. "You'll wrinkle the silk."
Briar forced herself to be still, though her hands trembled where they rested against the bodice.
The structured corset held her like an embrace, and the off-shoulder sleeves left her throat bare to display the thorned marks that had become as much a part of her as breathing.
But it was the circlet that would draw every eye, marking her as his in a way that none could dispute.
"There." Arachne stepped back, her multiple eyes assessing critically. "You'll do."
"She'll more than do," one of the younger seamstresses breathed. "She looks like a queen."
The words made bile rise in Briar's throat. A queen for perhaps an hour, until Malus arrived to tear it all down. She pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to calm the nausea.
"You're pale," Arachne noted, those unnerving eyes missing nothing. "Nerves?"
"Something like that." Briar's voice came out steadier than she felt.
"Perfectly natural. Every consort feels thus before their formal presentation." Arachne made a final adjustment to the hidden slit in the skirt. "Though I suspect your nerves run deeper than simple social anxiety."
Before Briar could respond, the door opened and Thaine appeared, resplendent in formal hunting leathers. His eyes tracked over her appearance with professional assessment before settling on her face.
"It's time," he said simply. "His lordship awaits you in the ballroom."
"He's already there?" Her heart hammered harder.
"All the court gathers before the consort's entrance. You'll walk the length of the ballroom alone, present yourself to him before the throne, and perform the Opening Reverence." His smile held too many teeth. "Do try not to trip. The court does so enjoy blood in the water."
Arachne tsked at him but didn't disagree. The seamstresses gathered their supplies and fled, leaving Briar alone with the huntsman who'd watched her suspiciously for days.
"You look beautiful," Thaine said, and the unexpected compliment made her startle. "Whatever happens after tonight, know that you've exceeded every expectation."
"What do you mean, whatever happens?"
He studied her for a long moment, and she wondered if he suspected something. If he could smell the betrayal on her like a physical thing.
"The Wild Hunt changes things," he said finally. "Consorts have been known to... struggle with what comes after the pretty dances." He offered his arm. "Shall we?"
She had no choice but to take it, letting him lead her through corridors that seemed longer than usual. Each step brought her closer to disaster, each breath harder to draw. The warmth in her chest pulsed a familiar warning, recognizing the approaching storm.
They stopped before massive double doors, beyond which she could hear music and laughter and the rustle of a hundred fae voices. Thaine released her arm, stepping back.
"When the doors open, walk straight to the throne. Don't look at anyone else, don't acknowledge the whispers. Eyes on your lord until you reach him." He paused, then added more gently, "Whatever you've done, whatever secrets you carry, he's more forgiving than you might expect. Remember that."
Before she could ask what he meant, the doors swung open.
The ballroom blazed with light from a thousand candles, their glow caught and reflected by crystal and silver and the jewels of the gathered fae. The crowd parted before her, creating a path that seemed to stretch for miles. At the far end, on a throne of living wood and shadow, sat Eliam.
He'd dressed with clear intention. A fitted black velvet waistcoat hugged his torso, but instead of pure black, deep garnet roses were embroidered across it—the exact shade of her dress, worked in silk thread that caught the light.
Briar wondered just how long Arachne had worked to achieve such a feat in so short a time.
Beneath the waistcoat, a black silk shirt with billowing sleeves gathered at his wrists by garnet cuffs, the collar left partially unlaced to reveal the hollow of his throat. It took all she had in her to keep from staring, the warmth in her chest pulsating with unspoken approval.
His coat was sleeveless, the black velvet garment hanging open in the front, flowing into a dramatic train that pooled on the floor at his feet like dark water.
Garnet silk lined the interior and chains of silver connected across his chest, each link a tiny thorn, mirroring the thorned vines on her dress.
His fitted black pants disappeared into tall boots, and his crown of thorns seemed more elaborate tonight, with tiny rubies caught in the twisted metal like drops of blood.
In the end it was his eyes, dark green, intense, that captured hers and held. They were fixed on her with such focus that it made everyone else disappear.
The walk lasted forever and an instant. Her dress whispered across the polished floor, the hidden slit revealing flashes of leg with each step. She felt the weight of every gaze, heard the whispers that followed in her wake, but kept her eyes on Eliam as instructed.
When she finally reached the throne, her legs trembled with the effort of maintaining grace. She sank into the elaborate curtsey they'd practiced, the one that showed submission and strength in equal measure.
"Rise," Eliam commanded, and his voice carried through the silent ballroom.
She stood, meeting his eyes as he descended from the throne. He moved with that predatory grace, circling her once. When he stopped before her again, his gaze swept over the watching courtiers before returning to her.
"They're all wondering," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear, "what spell you've cast on me. What power a human could possibly hold over the Forest King that he would make her his queen."
"And what will you tell them?"
"Nothing." His fingers brushed the marks visible at her collarbone, the touch possessive and public. "Let them wonder. Let them speculate. The mystery serves us better than any explanation."
Then louder, addressing the court, "Lords and ladies of the Forest Court, I present Lady Briar, who will dance as my chosen consort tonight."
Applause rippled through the crowd, though she caught the sharp edges of speculation beneath it. A human consort, publicly claimed, was more than enough to set tongues wagging.
"The Opening Reverence," someone called from the crowd. "Let them honor the hunt!"
Eliam offered his hand, and she placed hers in it, letting him lead her to the center of the cleared floor. Musicians struck up the haunting melody they'd practiced to, and muscle memory took over.
They moved through the elaborate patterns, the dance of hunter and prey that shifted power between them like breath.
When he advanced, she retreated with genuine fear that had nothing to do with the dance.
When she became the hunter, she pursued him with desperate intensity, knowing this might be her last chance to chase him.
The court watched in absolute silence, and she could feel their assessment. Some approved, she thought. Others wondered. But all recognized the pull between them, the way their bodies moved in perfect synchronization.
As they reached the final sequence, the inevitable capture, Briar's eyes burned with unshed tears.
This was it. Her last moment of being his chosen rather than his betrayer.
When he pressed her against the designated spot, not a wall here, but empty air held by his body, she didn't even pretend to struggle.
"Perfect," he breathed against her temple, and the crowd erupted in applause.
They held the position for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and she felt him press a kiss to her hair around the circlet. Then he was leading her back toward the center of the floor as the musicians struck up a new melody. lighter than the Reverence, inviting others to join.
"You danced beautifully," Eliam murmured as other couples began forming around them. "Though you were supposed to struggle more during the capture."
"I forgot that part." She let him position her for the new dance, something that required them to move together through the other couples without ever separating.
"Liar." His hand on her waist guided her through the first turns. "You didn't want to struggle."
"Would you prefer I had?"
"No." He spun her out, then back, catching her closer than the dance strictly required. "I prefer you exactly as you are, a willing captive, chosen consort, magnificent in my colors."
They moved through the crowd of dancers like water through stones, never parting even as others switched partners around them. She caught the looks, some envious, some calculating, all tinged with surprise at how naturally she moved with him.
"They're staring," she murmured as he dipped her low, the garnet skirts pooling dramatically.
"Let them." He pulled her back up, flush against his chest. "They're seeing what I've known for weeks—you belong here. With me."
"Do I?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Instead of answering immediately, he guided them to a quieter corner of the floor where the other dancers gave them space.
The music shifted to something slower, more intimate, and he adjusted their position accordingly, one hand splayed across her back, the other holding hers like something precious.
"Look at them," he said quietly, nodding to the watching courtiers. "Not with derision or pity, but with envy. Every female here wishes they could wear that dress, that crown. Every male wonders what you have that caught my attention so thoroughly."