Chapter 7 Aerin
AERIN
“Are you sure it’s appropriate?” Quinn’s nervous voice comes through Aerin’s phone speaker as she glides her palms down the bodice of her very revealing gown one last time.
“Oh, it’s absolutely not appropriate,” Aerin assures her friend, “but it is stunning.”
“Uh, yeah,” Quinn deadpans, gesturing to Aerin through her phone.
The dress is floor-length, skintight, and black, overlayed with dark-green tourmaline stones in patterns that elongate Aerin’s already tall body.
The neckline plunges to just under her sternum, wide enough to border on obscene.
A slit rises high on Aerin’s thigh, displaying her bare leg.
Her blonde hair is swept elegantly to one side while her ears, fingers, and neck are lined with jewels, each sparking green to match the stones of the dress.
The only piece of jewelry that doesn’t match is the gold ring on Aerin’s left index finger.
Its small red stone glints despite the low light.
Father will hate a dress that flaunts her figure so openly. Will hate the jewels in the house colors of the Serine Royal family, the Marrows. Will hate that Aerin continues to defy him no matter how tight his grasp over her becomes.
Aerin is supposed to wear gold, always gold, gilded like his perfect prisoner. The dress Bruin sent over three days ago sits crumpled on the floor of her closet. Yesterday, she would have worn it. Today, there is a Dragon-Fae in her living room and anger blooming like a thorned flower in her chest.
“When are you leaving, because I don’t think I can handle this without you for much longer,” Quinn complains, raising her glass of sparkling wine to her lips, the elaborately decorated ballroom behind her.
“Right now,” Aerin assures her, grabbing her clutch off the bed.
“See you soon,” Quinn calls, ending their video chat.
The event Aerin is pointedly late for is a yearly celebration of the treaty forged between the Mer, their underwater city of Serine, and Valtara.
The treaty was established shortly after Valtara itself.
Every year Aerin is required to attend along with the other nobles and highbrows of Valtara and Serine.
As a Faeling, things like this thrilled her, presenting her with an opportunity to get out of the Royal Village.
These events were always fun with Bruin at her side.
Now, it only reminds Aerin of all she’s lost, everything she signed away on a dotted line. It eats away at her like a rotted wound, and all she can do is try to ignore the festering pain.
Aerin takes one more deep breath, spinning the ring on her index finger, before she strides out of her bedroom, heels clicking on the dark hardwood. When she emerges from the hallway the ice blue eyes of the Dragon-Fae are already on her.
He stands slowly, looking impeccable in all black Royal Guard formal wear, the Tolvare crest embossed in gold on his lapel.
The top half of his hair is tied back; the rest left to dance down the back of his neck and along his jaw.
His strong, dark brows raise slightly as his eyes travel up and down her body, once, then twice.
An almost smile ticks across his previously stern mouth, his lips the perfect complement to his strong features, broad and flat bridge of his nose, chin with its slight dimple, freshly shaved jaw.
Matching his stare, Aerin lets her own travel across his broad chest, even broader wings, down his strong thighs to the boots he wears under his slacks. When she reaches his eyes again, they are devouring her, scrutiny and curiosity taking turns in his gaze.
He inhales, sharp. Something crackles in the room, as if the air between them has been stripped of everything—space, breath, oxygen.
She can’t breathe, doesn’t want to, isn’t convinced there will be anything for her to inhale.
Aerin knows this feeling. The recognition snaps her out of her daze. She looks away, and like a puppet on a string he seems to fall. He clears his throat, moving to the door and pulling it open for her without a word.
Looking for the upper hand again, Aerin says, “You look sexy in a suit,” as she passes him.
The Dragon-Fae whips his head to look at her incredulously, murder in his eyes. Aerin decides she likes that look, decides she likes forcing him to drop the control he tries so hard to maintain.
Aerin smirks at him before walking down the hallway, hitting the button for the elevator. Eventually, he joins her, standing at her side, stepping into the elevator with her. If Father hadn’t put him there, Aerin wouldn’t much mind having the hot Dragon-Fae with her.
Silence splits the air, but when the doors slide closed, he says his first words to her since this morning.
“I thought you were supposed to wear gold.”
Aerin doesn’t look at him when she says, “I was.”