Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lena
Ifiddle with my dress in the mirror. Throughout the day, three beautifully gift-wrapped boxes arrived for the Challenge Epoch ceremony tonight.
Each contained a dress and shoes. The first, a long teal gown with a high split, arrived this morning.
The second, a deep V-neck dark purple dress, showed up in a matching box at noon.
Shortly after two o’clock, another dress appeared.
It’s a low-cut, floor-length wrap dress with thin delicate straps and a high slit almost to my hip.
The silk is almost the exact same shade of deep red as my hair, a stark contrast to my pale skin.
It’s a little racy for a formal event, but everyone hates me anyway so who cares? I look hot.
I’ll wear this red dress like chiffon armor and channel all my counterfeit confidence to make it through this party with my head held high.
Each dress is gorgeous. I have my suspicions about who might have sent them.
They must have known I needed the reinforcement to my self-esteem that’s supplied by a beautiful gown.
The subtle shuffle of footsteps outside my door alerts me to Michi’s presence. I open the door, but instead of bright teeth and long golden hair, I’m greeted by a restrained smile and deep green eyes.
“Callum?” I let out a breath. “I wasn’t expecting you.
” They’re standing in a beautiful floral suit in greens, blues, and teals that contrast beautifully with their copper hair.
They’re so gorgeous. The last rays of light sneaking through the windows halo around them like the sun is drawn directly to their company.
The light reflects off their hair and jewelry, sending little prisms dancing all over their perfect face.
Callum is exactly how I’d imagine a fae prince to be.
“Oh, red?” They look me up and down, their brows knitting together. “I mean, you are lovely—a vision.”
I raise an amused eyebrow and gesture for them to come in. They offer me a slightly embarrassed smile, practically confirming my suspicion about at least one of the dresses.
I roll my eyes. “What’s wrong with red?”
“Nothing at all. It’s an unexpected choice, but perfect for you.” They give a sweeping glance around my sad, dull room. They’re so at odds with the surroundings, like a flower growing in a gutter. “This is…uh, different.”
“Room N-501. It’s giving The Addams Family.
Didn’t you hear? I’m creepy and kooky, mysterious and spooky?
” I flash a sardonic grin with a toss of my hands in the air.
“Though, it turns out I’m the only person in this god-forsaken cesspool of a school that doesn’t have the ability to induce nightmares, drink blood, or fly. ”
“That just sounds like a list of compliments to me. Spooky and creepy is fun.” They give me a little nose boop. What is it with them and nose boops? Surprisingly, I don’t hate it. “Mysterious is interesting.” Callum smirks. “And everyone knows kooky is just another word for great in bed.”
“Put that on my tombstone.” I laugh. Getting to know Callum a little better has been a gift. I’m finding we share similar senses of humor. “So what brings you up seven flights of stairs?”
“Tonight is important for Ariki, and…” Cal trails off, looking for their next words. Given the fact that I was uninvited and then reinvited to this event and I already got a talking-to from Kian over text basically telling me to behave, I save Callum the trouble.
“I’ll do my best not to be embarrassing.” I feign a casual tone and flick my hand like it’s no big deal and I’m not completely tired of being thought of as a social pariah.
“No!” they quickly cut in. “I know. That’s not what I meant.
” They run their gold-painted nails through their hair.
“I just thought, you might be feeling nervous about being in a large social gathering again. I wanted to check on you and make sure you were feeling okay,” they say, with a shy smile.
“I wanted to offer to escort you. In case you were worried about going alone.”
Oh, that’s not at all what I was expecting, obviously.
“Callum, that’s really nice.” I reach out and place my hand gently on their shoulder.
They’ve turned out to be such a necessary and appreciated form of support for me.
“Wait. Alone?” I point to the open door over my shoulder. “Oh, I’m not going alone. Michi—”
“I see. I thought…” They trail off almost as soon as they interrupted me.
“I told Kian yesterday over text.” I smile. “Don’t you prince pals talk?”
“We talk way too much,” they confirm, with a shake of their head. We stand there a minute, them with their hands in their pockets and me biting my lip, finding the plain stone walls really interesting. Why is this the world’s most awkward conversation?
Cal’s brows pull together. They start, “I heard that you two aren’t actually toget—”
“Oh hey, looks like I’m just in time for the party.” Michi bounds into my room and wraps his arms around both Callum and me, cutting Cal off mid-sentence.
“Get off.” Callum gives Michi a light shove with their shoulder.
“Not your type, Cal?” Michi teases, and plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Not even close,” they deadpan.
“Am I too pretty?” Michi bats his eyelashes at both of us.
“Sure, let’s go with that.” Callum rolls their eyes before quickly saying goodbye and slipping out of my room.
That conversation, their rapid exit, all felt a little stilted.
Maybe they’re nervous for tonight? I also get the sense that they’re not the biggest fan of Michi.
I tuck that thought away for later examination.
“You are really hot.” Michi snuggles into the side of my neck.
One thing I’m learning about shifters is they can be very touchy-feely.
I do like physical contact with my partners, so I’m finding it not unpleasant.
“So different from your usual look. And you’re really going to stick out.
I like that you don’t care what others think of you.
” Michi gives me a bright smile. “You aren’t like other girls who are obsessed with fitting in and what they are wearing.
You never wear makeup, even though you always have those bags under your eyes. ”
“What?” Should I be offended?
The playful pout he’s directing my way feels kind of patronizing, and I have this fierce urge to correct his misreading of me.
“No. I’m exactly like other girls. In like every way.”
He gives me a sweet smile. “No, you’re totally different from the girls I grew up with. You’re not obsessed with frivolous things, like shopping or where you holiday. I like that in combat, you just give no fucks. Even though you’re terrible.”
I can tell Michi thinks he’s giving me a compliment, but it sort of feels like he’s insulting me at the exact same time.
“Also, everyone here is obsessed with what family they came from and their pedigree. You don’t give a shit about any of that. That’s the kind of stuff I really like about you. It’s so refreshing.”
A lot of what he’s complimenting is situational.
It’s because I’m poor, not because it’s my preferred state of being.
“I like to shop and get dressed up. I love handbags, shoes, and jewelry. I drink gin martinis, white wine, and iced coffee. Sure, I’m shit at combat, but I love to dance and I go on hot girl walks in the woods.
My favorite things are flowers, romance and horror novels, weighted blankets, and reality TV.
” We’ve talked about so much of this over the last few weeks, how does he not know all the cool girly things about me?
“Yeah of course, but you just do it all in such a different way.” He laughs me off.
“Uh, okay.” I stifle my eye roll. I really don’t feel like arguing about this. Either all the time we’ve spent together has taught him nothing about me, or he purposely wasn’t paying attention.
Michi and I are tucked into an alcove outside of Amani Hall…
making out. I don’t want to arrive early and have people pay too much attention to me.
And despite Michi’s weird patronizing declaration about my uniqueness, I’ve decided to forgive him.
Because I really have to work off some of this pent-up energy.
Maybe we just need more time to get to know each other better?
I have him pushed up against the stone wall.
There’s hardly any room to move in this little space, but I couldn’t care less.
His hands are wrapped around my waist. Mine are all over him, in his hair, trailing down the smooth contours of his muscular chest, slipping around his back.
His lips taste like summertime, pushing away the autumn chill. I want to drink him in with every kiss.
“I could do this all night,” he says into my lips, “but I should get inside. My family’s expecting me. ”
“Okay.” I should stop stalling anyway.
He tilts his head at me, so he’s on my level. “Hey, you stay out here for a few minutes, fix up your hair. I kind of messed it up.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “I’ll see you inside?”
“Sure.” I smile as he jogs away. I straighten up and scroll on Enchantagram. It seems everyone is posting from inside the party. It already looks packed, perfect for me to slip in unnoticed and head straight to the bar.
I follow the steady stream of guests through Amani Hall’s front entrance and gape at the haunting Gothic elegance.
The stone-throated entrance hall is drenched in shadows and paintings in gilded frames.
I float among the crowd, ascending up a grand marble staircase, down a wide hallway, and toward towering, intricately carved oak doors.
They’re thrown open to a mezzanine level giving way to the cavernous ballroom below.
The mezzanine-level entryway ensures every guest arrives with ceremony, as we all must descend the sweeping stairway to enter the ballroom.
If the interior designers were going for Gothic Cinderella’s castle, they nailed it.
A grand vaulted ceiling arches high above the ballroom, in mesmerizing patterns of ribbed stone, each joint adorned with a carved grotesque.
One long wall is lined with tall windows—their pointed arches filled with stained glass depicting each of the kingdom’s crests and scenes of tales I’ve yet to learn.
Heavy, emerald velvet drapes frame the windows, contrasting sharply with the colorful glass.
I descend the regal curve of the grand staircase into the ballroom, its banister adorned with carvings of twisting vines and not-so-mythical creatures.
Massive wrought iron and crystal chandeliers cast flickering candlelight and web-like shadows over the hall.
If I thought the welcome luncheon was something special, it’s nothing compared to this level of opulence.
A thousand magicae from throughout the realm mingle and glide across the polished black-and-gold marble floor.
And there, standing on a raised dais, is Teariki, not a stitch of leather or flannel in sight. He looks dashing in a tuxedo, his hair pulled back into a sleek bun. His eyes meet mine. An expression I’ve yet to see from him rests on his face. Is that fury?