22. Doesn’t She Look Gorgeous in That Dress? #2
Laid out as a courtyard, the observatory floor was carved from pale white marble, and the light was gloomy, adopting a bluish haze from the orbs bobbing beneath the restriction of the glass rooftop slicing against the low-lying clouds.
Vines and overly large leaves partially consumed wooden logs, laid out with faerie food on silver platters and pitchers of faerie wine between red-and-white mushrooms and white daisies, set in a circle along the outskirts.
“Drink?” Wrenlock offered, nodding towards one of the tables.
I nodded and mouthed for him to bring me water instead of risking any of my remaining chances on faerie wine.
When he strode away from me to gather our drinks, I took a deep breath and searched the assembly for any recognisable faces.
It appeared that mostly High Fae were attending the party in the observatory, but the High King was not among them.
I doubted that I’d see much of him for the rest of the night after our encounter in the destroyed wing of the palace.
He’d distracted me with sweet nothings, and I’d let him walk away without answering my questions.
Again.
It was time to start asking other people.
I found Morgoya and Batre on the dance floor together, swaying from side to side with their arms locked around each other.
The sight gave me flashbacks to the night in the House when I’d first met Batre.
I’d put my foot in my mouth by assuming they were soulmates, and I’d felt guilty about it ever since, but to look at them together and see the way they held one another made it such an easy mistake to make.
They were perfect.
They looked like they were made for each other, and that thought was both exciting and devastating for me to entertain. The stars had stayed out of their relationship, and I wished I could know whether that was the right choice.
What would happen if Batre met her soulmate? Does she have one? Could she ever be happier than she looks right now, on the dance floor swept up in her lover’s gaze? Is there any proof that soulmates are promises of happiness?
I didn’t know. I didn’t have anyone to ask, and I’d left my copy of The Sins of Stars back at the House, so I couldn’t even reread certain sections of Livia’s storyline to contemplate it in fiction.
As if my watchful gaze had called for them, the two women turned to look at me.
Batre smiled widely, and I returned it, making an effort to include Morgoya in the gesture.
But the High Lady frowned, a quizzical look crossing her green, feline eyes before she glanced around and pulled back from her dance partner.
She tugged Batre off the floor by a single hand, and I squared my shoulders, bracing myself for the interaction.
Unease sent trembles all the way down to my fingertips. We’d interacted pleasantly in the hallway twice earlier in the day, but she looked as if she’d forgotten that, and I didn’t know how to forgive someone. I’d never done it before.
Do I just say the words?
You’re forgiven. Please don’t do that again because it really hurt.
“Aura?” Morgoya’s sweet, lilting voice was brimming with a dubious curiosity, but it reached me at the same time as Wrenlock returned with my water.
“Here you go,” he said, handing it over to me. Instinctively, my gaze switched to his face. Wrenlock nodded to the two women who joined us to the side of the dance floor. “Morgoya, Batre. Doesn’t she look gorgeous in that dress?”
Batre gave me a look I felt like a physical touch as she nodded in agreement, but Morgoya stared at Wrenlock like he had carried over a bad smell. He ignored her, and within seconds, the creases smoothed out between her eyebrows and she nodded, too.
I tried to catch her eyes, but she averted them.
There was an awkwardness in the air as Morgoya stared off into the distance, and I knew it was probably due to my behaviour in the dining room.
I also knew I’d need to do more than wear the dress she sent me to communicate that our fight was over, but I’d need to do that in a less crowded space.
Without meaning to, I sighed because I missed my friend.
Morgoya had been the recipient of my unbridled trust, despite her predisposition to dishonesty, and I ached to be able to give that to someone again.
I wanted to talk to her about what I’d gone through in the human world, but there was a crack in the floor between us.
I had to be careful where I stepped and what I shared because she’d spoken so openly to me in the light of day while keeping me perfectly cloaked in the dark, and that made her more clever and calculated than either of the men had ever been.
I wanted to be part of that with her, but I was hesitant.
Wrenlock took my hand in his.
Batre opened her mouth like she was going to break the ice with it, but the music changed.
“My Queen.” Wrenlock raised the hand of mine he held in his own and kissed the top of it, his eyes darting towards the dance floor with a twinkling invitation.
Something in his tone of voice was inherently flattering, as if he could not entertain a scenario in which he did not worship and serve me. It made my cheeks flush, and I inclined my head to acquiesce—and to conceal the colour of my face.
“Excuse us,” he said to our silent companions. With a reverence I had never beheld, Wrenlock led me by hand onto the dance floor.
I decided Morgoya could wait, and I wanted to keep Batre out of the whole thing as much as possible.
“Why is the fog enchanted?” I questioned, as we found a space to stand together amongst twirling couples. If I didn’t pose the question quickly, I risked being led astray once again.
“It is?” Wrenlock took both of my hands in his and scrunched up his nose. “I’ve never actually asked about it. He doesn’t like to be pressed on certain topics, and I don’t like to fight with him if I can help it.”
“It’s enchanted to guard the palace,” I stated plainly. “Aren’t you even the least bit curious about it?”
He shook his head. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? An extra measure of protection for the most important building in Caeludor, second only to the Temple of All across the whole of Faerie. Especially with the tension between Courts and the Malum sending out hordes of caenim and locusts.”
The most important building in Caeludor.
This palace—this city—is all I have that I am willing to give.
Wrenlock didn’t know that the palace was crumbling and Lucais was hiding it beneath the fog.
“Do you know about the lapsus?”
His dark gaze snapped back to my face from where it had drifted off over the top of my head, an unreadable expression crossing his own. “Yes,” he answered quietly.
Nodding, I chewed on my lower lip. “That’s where you both went off to when you left me at the House, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” The response was immediate, but his voice was wary.
I made a quick mental note to ask Lucais if that was why the House’s enchantment had come and gone, leaving me alone with Delia at certain times, even though I had a feeling I already knew the answer.
At the time, I had thought the House was shunning me.
If my updated theory was correct, Lucais had simply been repurposing his powers to wrestle with the lapsus.
“Do you think it’s Blythe?” I pressed, bringing my attention back to the man before me.
“Aura…” Wrenlock clicked his tongue, then sighed. “Do you think it’s Blythe?”
Peering up at him through my lashes, I said, “How am I supposed to know?”
The music switched to a much softer, romantic melody marked by the flourishing echoes of piano and a low, thrumming base drum. Wrenlock slipped his other hand around my waist as if my body held a mould made only for him, and we began to dance.
The music played without vocals, and the voice in my head sang out in sweet protest as I tensed my muscles in an attempt to resist the familiarity of his touch. He never meant to hurt you. It wasn’t his fault.
He is not my mate. He was never my mate. It wasn’t real. I chanted the words in my mind like a protection spell.
The voice was unmoved. But you fell in love with him anyway.
Falling was the right word for it because the action was violent and painful. For both of them.
Even so, I resisted the accusation.
None of this is real.
Wrenlock took the lead in the steps of a dance that vaguely resembled a waltz—quite literally sweeping me off my feet as he glided around the room in a deliberate and wide circle, gripping my waist with one hand as he pressed my body into his own, and holding my posture in the correct form with a strong arm outstretched and hand gripping mine.
He moved with the skilled grace of a professional and expert-level speed.
I found my body gravitating closer to his for the sake of feeling balanced as he whirled us around the room, between half a dozen other couples who kept stealing glances at the blurry phantoms spinning through time and space like asteroids on a predetermined collision course.
When the song changed, we slowed to match its languorous cadence in one place on the floor, but my head continued to spin.
“You were going to the Forest,” Wrenlock murmured softly, tilting his head to speak into my ear above the music. “Weren’t you?”
A blissful wave of dizziness rolled over me, blanketing me with a delicious feeling of warmth and safety. I bent to rest my forehead against his shoulder. “How did you know?”
“I pay attention,” he said. His words, though whispered, were strong enough to flip my heart. “You’re the only thing I pay attention to anymore.”
Wrenlock’s hand slid an inch lower down my back, and a firestorm of arousal blazed from his fingertips all the way up my spine.
It curled into a shiver at the nape of my neck, forcing my head back until I was looking up at him.
His own face was tilted towards the floor, his lips barely separated from the top of my scalp.
I tasted his breath tangling with mine before I could blink my eyes.