CHAPTER TWELVE
ALYSSUM
“Where have you been?” Tilda’s shriek when I entered my chambers had been deafening.
But as I stood before the newly polished mirror by my bed, I decided it was all worth it.
I had obtained more information about the Threshold and Grenythwood than I’d ever thought possible, I hadn’t been caught by my father, and I looked radiant.
As fate would have it, “prepare you for him” meant extensive grooming and styling to ensure my Hollow betrothed did not vow to break the Treaty upon our first meeting.
Traditionally, Nora would have been the one to ready me, however her enthusiasm for Lunamorian holidays rivaled my own, so I’d gifted her an evening of respite.
Not all of Tilda’s methods had been pleasant, of course, but I had to admit—she knew what she was doing.
Doused from head to toe in the darkest purple and deepest red, I looked positively Hollow.
The underbust corset with its front laces and poppy embroidery was the color of an inky plum.
I enjoyed the way it accentuated my waist and chest, its silhouette much more feminine than the Sentinel’s uniform.
More interestingly, it did not suffocate as I’d feared it might.
The wine-colored shirt beneath the corset exposed the curve of my collarbone and had sweeping bell sleeves.
I imagined the sleeve shape would be enjoyable during the Hollowmire dances Tilda had hurriedly acquainted me with.
Her words, thick with sarcasm, “If only you’d had time to learn them properly. ”
I raked my teeth over my lower lip, suppressing a smile.
Tilda had worked to demystify the customs of Hollowmire for years, and when my lack of interest failed to dissuade her, I took to skipping my lessons entirely.
She meant well, but I never could stomach the fact that she was trying to prepare me for an inevitability I had yet to accept.
Home wasn’t perfect, but it was home, after all.
And who knew what awaited me in Hollowmire?
With a sigh, I ran my hand down my front until I felt the hilt of my dagger hidden beneath the shirt’s billowy hem. If this were any other Feast of Comets, I would not attend with a weapon tucked securely into my belt, but I had taken Anise’s warning to heart. I would not be caught unprepared.
I peered down at the form-fitting, dusky purple pants that matched my corset.
Tilda mentioned that the laces up the side were purely decorative, and as I lunged and squatted to assess my range of motion, I was pleasantly surprised.
The entire ensemble lent itself to ease of movement despite its skin-tight grip.
“This cloth is amazing,” I muttered to myself. The hint of Hollowmire silk was evident in the fabric of the trousers, but it was clearly a blend. I made a mental note to ask a Hollow about it the first chance I got.
I kneeled down easily to lace up the outside of my boots.
They stopped just above my ankle in a widened way that reminded me of a bucket.
Not quite practical if it were to rain, I mused.
Still, they were rather fashionable—a dark leather made up its base, but the sole was a strange, unfamiliar material with deep grooves throughout.
A cursory double knock sounded on my chamber door before Tilda thrust herself inside, grey hair pulled away from her face in a bun so tight her eyebrows lifted at the corners.
I stood to assess myself once more, endeared by her impatience. “Did I say you could enter?”
“Thought I heard you calling for me,” she said quickly.
“Of course you did.”
Tilda approached the jewelry casket beside my cupboard.
It was crafted of silver filigree at its clawed feet and edges, though clear panes of glass framed its sides to display the Lunamorian circlet within.
The circlet rested on a teal pillow, which Tilda’s fingers barely brushed as she retrieved the last adornment that was required of me.
It was simplistic in its beauty, a slender band of braided silver with lattice detailing.
There were no gemstones or gilding to draw the eye—it was meant to convey my status as a Treaty Princess and nothing more.
With the utmost care, Tilda stood on a wooden stool to place the circlet atop my head.
I didn’t think of it often, as I only wore the adornment for feasts and celebrations, but there, draped in Hollowmire’s lavish silks, I was grateful for the familiar weight; regardless of what was to come, I had been a Princess of Lunamor, and no prince—Hollow or otherwise—could take that from me.
“There we are now. You’re ready, just as I knew you would be.
” Tilda stood beside me, focus anchored on our reflections.
The top of her head barely skimmed my shoulders, and the plentiful wrinkles at the corners of her eyes multiplied as she scrutinized my appearance.
She wore a simple linen dress in the traditional teal with a high, ruffled neckline and sleeves gathered at the wrist. “It was quite nice of Prince Rowland to send this for you, wouldn’t you say?
” She pinned a poppy brooch inlaid with sparkling rubies over my heart.
Either the nervousness that lodged itself in my ribcage birthed a healthy dose of paranoia, or Tilda’s annoyingly persistent enthusiasm was lacking.
Despite her tone and my hesitance to associate anything positive with a Hollow—let alone Rowland—I dutifully echoed her sentiment.
“Yes, it was,” I said, emotionless. “I will have to thank him.”
I grazed the braid Tilda had woven into my hair.
It was intentionally loose, she had said, to give my fine strands a more voluminous look.
As always, she struggled to pick out my ribbon, but I selected a deep purple in the hopes that the evening might go as smoothly as possible.
The dark color contrasted heavily with my unpigmented hair, but I felt drawing further attention to my Soran features would only serve to endear me to Prince Rowland.
After all, the blood of Sor was why my mother had been given to my father, and why I would be given to Hollowmire.
“Nothing more than a pawn.”
I bid Linus’ words away with a deep, eyes-closed inhale. I had no choice in this matter, and pretending I did had only ever caused suffering. So I forced a polite smile and gave Tilda my most convincing nod.
“You’re right. I am ready.”
“Let’s go, then!” Tilda pressed her hand to my back and steered us into the corridor.
We made our way out of the royal chambers, bowing our heads respectfully to the Sentinels guarding off-limits areas of the castle.
It wasn’t long before we heard the familiar uproar of celebration.
Despite the still-visible haze of sunset melting through the open castle doors, the festivities had begun in earnest and the clunking of tankards provided a steady beat.
I rested my hand atop the banister as I peered at the great hall’s entrance below.
Villagers were coming and going, their lopsided smiles revealing the poorly kept secret of the Feast of Comets’ early start.
As I saw two men clasp one another in a fierce embrace, their drinks sloshing about haphazardly, I wondered just how early it had all begun.
“There you are, sister.”
It took great effort to dissuade my eyes from rolling into the back of my head. The singsong cadence of Linus’ voice had once been endearing, but now resembled the skin-crawling screech of a knife sliding across a copper plate.
“And don’t you look like the perfect little Hollow! Your husband will be so thrilled.”
My narrowed gaze sliced towards Linus with such speed, I could have sworn the hook of his smirk eased in response.
He wore a teal brocade doublet embroidered with golden comets.
The same fabric had been used to tailor his trousers, tucked into a pair of below-the-knee velvet boots.
He looked every bit the pompous Lunamorian he was.
“Prince Rowland is not my husband.”
“Not yet,” Linus taunted. He held a goblet in one hand and rested the other dramatically on his hip, focus casting this way and that, as if searching for something. “Where is the prince now? I so desperately wanted to be present for your first meeting.”
I ignored the sudden urge to throttle my brother and instead allowed my attention to follow his.
Amidst Lunamor’s colors, there were smatterings of dark purple and red.
Hollows were in attendance, but their scarcity made it clear that King Hollowmire had brought the bare minimum to the Feast of Comets.
Even those I managed to spot were without food, drink, or amusement, taking instead to skulking in the shadows and muttering to one another. Their solemn demeanor was off-putting.
When my lips parted with the promise of a curse, Tilda, in all of her knowing, tapped my back reassuringly.
“Your Highness,” Tilda said to Linus with severity. “It appears your drink nears its end. Shall we find you some more?”
Linus squinted towards his goblet, a sour expression marring his delicate features. “I suppose you’re right,” he admitted, raising his chin high into the air. “Come, Tilda. Let us drink and be merry.” Linus’ suddenly flippant demeanor only underscored his original desire to torment me.
When Tilda hesitated, I waved my hand in dismissal.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, turning on the heel of my boot and heading towards the outdoor balcony.
It didn’t take long to track down a servant balancing wine-filled goblets, and I took one eagerly with a polite nod.
Each staircase ascending from the ground floor had at least one Sentinel to prohibit the common villager’s exploration, and when I found an unoccupied area to relax, I was thankful for the relative quiet compared to below.