Chapter Thirty-Five #2
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” The voice was low and warm. It slid down my spine, caressing the skin there.
I whirled around.
Preston was perched on the ladder to the hayloft, his shirt wrinkled, his hair a mess, and his eyes shadowed by sleeplessness. He looked even worse than he did two days ago when he escorted me back to my room. Has he even slept since then?
“You,” I breathed, hugging the bucket against my chest.
“Me,” he replied, a crooked grin curling on his lips.
There was hay stuck in his shirt and hair.
“Did you spend the night here?” I asked, unsure of what to think.
“I might have.” He stepped closer. “You care?”
I? Care? I was dumbfounded. Not because of his question. But because I did care. The realisation made my chest burn with an anxious heat. “Don’t be delusional,” I bit out after a pause. “Just because we have a common interest, doesn’t mean…”
The lie died on my lips.
He tipped his head, watching, his gaze warm. Like he was looking at me, and—he liked it.
“Are you drunk?”
The whites of his eyes were red, his gaze clouded.
“I visited the village today—yesterday.” His lips twitched upwards on the sides. “Kicked some dogs, pushed a few children off the swings…you know, the usual.” His tone was all humour, but the lie in it was loud. “Perhaps I made a brief stop at The Grey Maiden.”
“Perhaps,” I repeated, my tone flat, as I watched him closely. “Is there a specific reason you chose to torture yourself?”
He scoffed like what I said was nonsense.
“I’m getting into the spirit of the longest night of the year, poison. As you should.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a hush. “Bad things can happen on a night like this…” He curled a lock of my hair around his finger and my heart fluttered. “Not your birthday—of course.”
My smile twisted. “Of course.”
His gaze was full of amusement as he watched me stare back. Magnetic.
It felt like eternity until I could finally move out of his trance and pull my hair from between the lock of his fingers.
Suddenly, someone pushed the bucket out of my grasp and the carrots scattered across the dirt.
Except for two, which slowly disappeared in Acorn’s mouth, who, having probably lost his patience, hit the whole thing out of my hands.
I cursed under my breath, kneeling down and gathering them back into the bucket. When I straightened Preston held out the last three to me, but when I tried to take them, his fingers curled around my wrist like warm vines.
“Don’t go to the party, poison.”
I froze. “What?”
He didn’t repeat himself. Just looked at me like he wanted to say everything and nothing at once.
“Why?” I asked, my pulse quickening.
His forest-green eyes searched mine. “You know why.”
I held his gaze, trying to figure out what he meant. Did he know about the Monster? About Lilian and Vincent’s plan? Or was he just toying with me? I shook my head.
“I have to go.” My voice dropped quieter, like I was afraid the walls would listen here as well.
I made a promise to Lilian which I needed to keep in order to get my inheritance. That was the only reason I was here in the first place.
His hand slid away, the warmth gone with it too.
“Give Ghost a carrot for me, would you?” I pushed the bucket into his hands, glancing once at the grey horse behind him. Then I turned and walked away, out the door, back toward the manor, and the glittering lies of tonight.
In the following hours the twins and I were buzzed around by a swarm of makeup artists and stylists.
Our eyes were painted, our hair pulled and twisted like we were dolls being prepared for a shelf, and when the stylist finally left me alone behind the floral screen, I felt like I could breathe for the first time again.
I turned to the ornate-framed mirror that stood in the corner and studied the girl trapped inside.
Her dark curls were styled away from her face, framing it with only a few loose curls.
Her eyes were glinted with a touch of silver, which somehow made them look seductive and catlike, and her cheeks held a faint blush.
Her full lips were also tinted with a light shade of red, in a way where it almost seemed natural.
She looked—beautiful. And as the makeup hid the tired circles from under her eyes, she looked almost happy. Happier than she has been over the last few months.
The gown clung to me like a whispered secret, its tiny diamonds catching the light like stars scattered across the midnight sky.
A sudden knot formed in my chest as I adjusted the off-shoulder cuffs.
How could someone’s life change so drastically in the blink of an eye?
Only a month ago I worked two jobs, trying to pay rent and buy food while saving for a future that seemed so far away, and now…
I was here. In a gown and going to a ball with a monster hiding somewhere in the walls.
It would never hurt you.
My eyes lingered on my boots, my mum’s words whispering echoes in my head, before my gaze drifted to the delicate black heels set aside for me. I was supposed to wear them. But would anyone even see them beneath all this fabric?
I blew out a nervous breath, taking one last glance at the girl in the mirror, and for a moment I could have sworn I saw Preston’s deep green eyes staring back at me from the other side.
I twisted around, expecting him to be standing behind me, but I was alone with only the dressing screen towering above. I only hoped I wouldn’t run into any ghosts tonight. Except my mum. I wished more than anything I could see her again, even just for a few seconds.
I stepped out from behind the dark, floral patterned dressing screen and back into the twin’s room.
They were ready too, spinning like ribbons in the centre of the room, their chiffon dresses catching the light. Cecily shimmered like moonlight on ice, while Myra bloomed in green, like spring come to life, her brown locks dancing with her.
“You look like the Black Swan from Swan Lake,” Cecily breathed, her eyes lighting with delight when she noticed me.
“Is that a compliment?”
“It is. It suits you.” Her sister nodded encouragingly, as if sensing my nervousness, and I was surprised when I couldn’t stop the smile from stretching over my lips.
“Of the birthday girl, speak only kind things, or say nothing at all.” Cecily nodded with a sharp smile, her gilded, almost white hair sitting like a crown on the top of her head.
“Are we ready for the last touches?” Myra strode to the dressing table, her grin chillingly reminiscent of her brother’s.
Cecily clapped her hands as Myra lifted our masks, but her excitement soon faded into uncertainty. “They hide most of our makeup,” she pouted in disappointment as we stood in front of the mirror, the masks fixed in place, hiding everything except our lips and eyes.
She was right, but the masks were makeup of their own.
Cecily’s shimmered with an intricate pattern of overlapping silver scales, delicate like lace and as cold as deep-sea secrets.
It clung to her face like a second skin, catching the light with a haunting, otherworldly gleam.
Myra’s was veined with fine lines that echoed the translucent wings of a fairy etched in shades of moss and pale rose-gold.
It seemed almost alive, as if one breath might send it fluttering back into the trees.
Mine was dark like coal, a flourish of glossy feathers and onyx beading, fanning out like wings caught mid-beat. Its design gripped tight around the eyes, as if daring anyone to look too long and risk being bitten. It fit perfectly.
“They’re called masks for a reason,” I murmured, enjoying the anonymity they offered. There was something oddly freeing in pretending no one could see who you really were.
Myra elbowed her sister on the side. “They don’t cover our lips,” she repeated what her sister already said but with a much more delighted tone.
The smile returned to Cecily’s face, a chuckle leaving her mouth. “So romantic,” she beamed and I too felt something warm move in my chest, like an excited wing flap.
But as I turned from the mirror, leaving my shadowed reflection behind, the soft thud of my boots on the rug brought the weight back into my chest.
The ball. The opening dance. The hundreds of eyes.
Suddenly, it felt like I couldn’t breathe again.