Chapter Fifty-Six
Dining
Drusilla’s fingers pry the form-fitting dress from my body, despite her claim that I would wear this to dinner. My heart hammers as I raise my arms to allow her to drape a different dress over my shoulders, until the waist catches on my chest.
Her expression turns sinister as she curls her fingers around the bunched fabric and pulls down with unnecessary force. I clench my teeth to keep my hands from rising to the stinging skin, because every reaction from me only encourages her to do worse.
Rage coils through Varic as deep red threads course over to me through my magic, while his eyes remain averted. His ears burn crimson, and he seems ready to burst from all he holds in—until I pull some from him.
He sends me a fleeting look in warning before his face softens, and he sends tendrils of appreciation through our connection.
Cool amber-tinged healing rises to dull the sting on my breast, and I blink at the tears forming.
I force myself to turn away, though I wish I could thank him for soothing my skin after Drusilla’s cruel action.
My reflection stares back, and I nearly gasp at the severe plunge of my neckline—exposing far more of my chest than feels appropriate for a dinner.
The fabric itself feels unfamiliar, with the top clinging while the skirts flow from my hips.
It’s a much more romantic style than any other dress in my closet, made with stiff fabrics and leather.
Though still Imperial black with my signature high collar, the gauzy fabric is sweeter, making me appear like some dreary princess.
The skirts cascade and ripple like waves as Drusilla pushes and pulls, smoothing down every bit of fabric until it fits just right. When she finally turns away, I spin and playfully admire the ethereal way it settles.
“Wow,” Varic sighs. “You are absolutely breathtaking.”
I quirk a brow with the hint of a smile and admire how he looks in his own uniform. Satisfaction fills my chest once his eyes catch mine in the act, with a subtle pink hue blooming over the peaks of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
What would we say to one another, were it safe to say anything without consequence?
A shiver climbs the column of my spine from the threat contained within such dangerous longing.
“I think you look stunning,” Lars says, deepening my flush.
“Beautiful,” Cirrin adds.
Malin quirks his head to the side and smiles. “Equisite.”
“Gorgeous.” Fray gives an approving gesture as they all openly admire me to cover for Varic’s slip of the tongue.
Warmth spreads throughout my limbs from the way they protect their Leader, as he acted in accordance with his impulsive nature.
“Step down and stay still,” Drusilla commands, applying concealer to my neck and chest—everywhere I flush when Varic looks at me. She returns the cosmetic to the vanity, then leaves the suite without a word.
Amusement spirals through me every time Fray stares down at my skirts, seemingly entranced with the fluid movement as we make our way to the dining hall, where only time will tell how long this sensation remains, once we are in our captor’s presence again.
Lanska lowers into a curtsy and announces my arrival to the Grand Dining Hall, where I stand transfixed by the mural depicting the Goddess of the Harvest on the opposite wall.
Flowy blue fabric drapes across her warm brown skin as she casually reclines on a throne made up of roots beneath a large oak tree.
Streams of sunlight cast down around white, fluffy clouds, highlighting her wise brown eyes, which pin the viewer in place as she reaches for the golden bowl of cherries beside her.
Varic clears his throat to pull me from my reverie, and I turn to find the Queen watching me. She grins from her silver dining throne set in the center of the long white table, framed by tall silver candelabras.
“Pleased you could join us.” She raises her glass in greeting, as every eye in the room shifts to track my movement.
Her witches-in-waiting assess me with an unnerving acuity while I do everything I can to keep from staring at them.
Emperor Aldritch sits across from the Queen, with his back to me. Wyrth sits to his left, almost entirely obscured by his Guards and Imelda. His Majesty pats the empty chair to his right in command as I near them. Raki tilts its head to the side as it seems to watch me lower into a curtsy.
Fray pulls my chair from the table, and the Queen lifts a brow in question at Varic.
She tips a glass of sparkling pink wine to her equally vibrant lips while Fray assists me by pushing my chair in.
I try to ignore the weight of eyes on my being while waiting for Anya to squeeze past the wall of Guards to act as my taster.
The servant doing the same for His Majesty is a sorcerer who moves to the edge of the table on his other side, while the same happens with Wyrth’s—displacing Imelda to stand behind his Guards.
Anya curtsies and repeats the maneuver she used with the tea, producing a small spoon from the pocket of her apron to take a sample as I turn to the Emperor and await his permission.
He stares at Anya while an awkward silence falls over the room.
The suspense of every being watching this spectacle rattles my nerves until I focus on appreciating the beauty in each floral arrangement adorning the table with delicate pink and white petals overflowing the silver vases.
Emperor Aldritch finally tips his chin in assent, to which Anya curtsies before taking her place behind our sworn protectors.
The Queen stares as I lift the glass—then freeze when His Majesty sends Raki to settle over my shoulder.
I swallow nothing as it crawls in a circle before settling.
I pull in a breath and tip the glass back to dutifully taste their infamous wine, allowing my natural reaction to come through as my eyes widen in surprise.
“Delicious, isn’t it?” the Queen asks, smirking confidently.
“It truly is.” A shudder rolls down my spine as I do my best to hide it with Raki casting its stinger-tipped tail over the curve of my neck.
The Queen flares her nostrils at the hybrid before shifting her attention to His Majesty. “What is the status of your investigation, Emperor?”
He covers his cough with a blue cloth napkin before saying, “Your Council has been most helpful. Our detectives have appreciated the level of access you have granted to your military leaders and documentation. Though I am concerned to know your military has not been monitoring the rebel groups rumored to be hiding in the outskirts of the forest.”
“To which do you refer?” Queen Celine asks icily.
“You are aware of the rebel groups organizing in your own forests, are you not?”
“Of course. Though our leadership may differ, since I refuse to waste military spending on monitoring civilians who choose to organize in this manner. Should there be credible reports of any disruption or destruction, then we will investigate.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as His Majesty’s mood shifts drastically, needing me to siphon his irritation and rage until a slight tremor rolls through me.
Cirrin must notice, as the cool touch of his magic winds its way up my spine until I am able to channel the Queen’s calm demeanor, snaking a tendril of the same with a bit of focus into the Emperor.
“I apologize, Your Royal Highness. I assumed you would have more knowledge of the unsanctioned militarized actions taking place in your land.” His Majesty raises a glass of the sparkling wine he fails to commend.
“As I stated, this is one more area where we differ in our leadership.”
“So it is,” Emperor Aldritch agrees, with a suspicious air of satisfaction.
My Guards step apart, allowing a server to place a bowl of chilled vegetable soup before me, and I dutifully wait for Anya to repeat the routine.
“Everyone, please join me in casting our eyes to the sky to issue the Goddess of the Harvest our gratitude,” Queen Celine says, waiting until we all lift our gaze to the ceiling. “Goddess, we thank you for nourishing our bodies with your gift of life.”
“To the Goddess, we honor you with gratitude,” every Annovian repeats.
“You may begin your meal.” Queen Celine takes her spoon in hand.
Anya stands still beside me until His Majesty offers her a nod of approval, then he pats his shoulder to, thankfully, call Raki back over. I follow everyone’s example and taste the colorful soup, then clamp my jaw closed to subdue a moan once the robust flavor touches my tongue.
“How much longer will you need to complete your investigation?” the Queen asks.
“Another day.” His Majesty raises a spoonful of soup to his mouth, then swallows. “Or two. But no longer, as we must return in time for Reclamation Day.”
“Ah, yes,” Queen Celine groans. “The day your first Emperor is said to have returned a Dragon’s egg to its mother.” His Majesty clenches his jaw while I send him a thread of understanding, hoping it takes. “Then I must extend an invitation to our annual Harvest Festival.”
The tension from His Majesty seems to creep across the distance, weakening me through the connection my magic holds to his emotions. Yet I must continue to siphon his fury, regardless of the pressure felt along my spinal column.
“It is most generous of you,” Emperor Aldritch says, turning to Wyrth, who has yet to utter a word to anyone aside from His Majesty all evening.
A chill creeps along my skin now that his emotions shift to enjoyment—a sign he is up to something he’s intentionally hiding from me.
The Queen’s brown eyes find mine. “We host an annual celebration in honor of the Goddess of the Harvest, to show our gratitude for the bounty she blesses us with each year. We eat, we drink, we dance. It’s all very typical, though it is special to us.”
I can envision it—
The sunken garden, lit by torches in the twilight.
Tables filled with candelabras and overflowing floral arrangements set between trays of artfully displayed Annovian delicacies.
A dance floor beneath a gauzy cream canopy, where a small band plays jovial music while citizens and members of the Court dance with abandon.
The visual is so vivid that the dining hall fades—
Rebelling against the Emperor’s wishes, I hold my head high in a sparkling black ballgown in a design of my choosing, without any fabric obscuring my neck or shoulders.
I smile up at Varic when he steps before me, and my heart flutters when he offers his hand of his own volition.
The chill in my fingers absorbs his warmth, while the comfort of his touch draws me closer without the need to worry about this being forbidden, since it is merely a fantasy. A wish—feeling as real as anything.
Varic’s lips curve up at the corners as he guides me to the dance floor. He places my free hand over his shoulder, then leads us so effortlessly it feels like we are floating, unable to sense the wood beams beneath our feet—almost as if we are dancing in a dream.
Without the need to repress our expressions, we beam with bright and joyful grins, eyes catching the shine from the fairy lights as we spin. The force of our movements presses our bodies closer together, and I hold on to him as our gazes lock, and we become lost in the song.
In this moment, I am his.
Utterly, completely, entirely his.
My eyes, my smile, my heart—all for him.
Tucked away inside our shared reverie. Oblivious to all that exists outside of our bubble. Requiring Cirrin to tap Varic on the shoulder for us to notice the music has ended.
Varic slows our motion until we stand, chests heaving together, as the only pair left on the dance floor.
Annovian servants dismantle the tables and stack the chairs when a rumble shakes Varic’s chest, and he releases a chuckle through his still smiling lips.
Impossibly bright brown eyes stare at my own when he leans in, as if for a kiss—
“I would be happy to lend you a more appropriate dress for the event, of course,” Queen Celine says, breaking the spell my imagination cast.
“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” I say, tipping my head in appreciation.
“What exactly do you find ‘inappropriate’ about her attire?”
“Black is not considered a celebratory color in Annovian culture.”
His Majesty scoffs as Annovian servers bring the main course, while light conversation fills the otherwise awkward pockets of silence.
Heat creeps up my chest, and I turn to where Varic peers down at me, inducing a flash of the fantasy where he nearly kissed me beneath the fairy lights.
My heart hammers, and frustration with the Queen’s commentary travels through the connection I hold with His Majesty, though intrigue unfurls once he starts conversing with Wyrth.
Anxiety spikes inside my stomach, and it feels as if the walls are closing in with the responsibility of keeping the Emperor from making everything worse.
Heat casts over my shoulder, and I do not have to turn to know Varic is staring, distracting me from keeping apprised of the Emperor’s emotions.
How are we meant to exist like this? How am I to ensure everyone’s safety when Varic’s mere presence draws my attention so regularly?
It was challenging enough to tolerate the effect of his presence when it was far more infrequent.
But now that we exist within such constant and close proximity, it’s untenable.
The intensity of our connection is impossible to ignore, and the longer this goes on, the more likely it seems the sorcerer who has vowed to protect me may bring my downfall, instead.