22. Enna
Chapter twenty-two
Enna
Clio tucks a pin into the mass of white fabric around Odissa’s hips and takes a step back, surveying her with pursed lips. A row of pins clamped between Clio’s sharp teeth wiggles with the movement of her mouth. She moves them to the side to speak. “That should do it. I’ll have these adjustments made, and your gown will be all set.”
Odissa stares into the gilded mirror, catching my eye. She grins at me, smoothing her hands down the front of her wedding dress. “Don’t you love it?” Odissa gushes.
It’s garish. Fabric droops in swooping tucks from a band around her waist, sprawling onto the floor so it appears she’s floating in a puddle of silk. How she will walk in the thing without falling on her face, I have no idea. And it’ll likely be me behind her, gathering up the excess in a not-too-tight wad so she can make it to the dais. Despite this kingdom knowing nothing about her, the dress is very Odissa. Excessive, ridiculous, and hard to miss.
“It suits you,” I offer.
Clio removes the pins from her mouth, stabbing them into a cushion on the dressing table. “You’re as pretty as a sunfish, Your Highness. Don’t you worry. Now, about your ball gowns. We’ll get those situated next, but that shouldn’t take as long now that we have your exact size. Are we thinking pink? Gold, perhaps?”
Odissa looks as confused as I feel. “Gowns? As in more than one? His Highness is so generous.”
“You are the future queen. The crown wishes for you to look your best during your wedding week,” Clio explains as she works to unlace the back of Odissa’s gown.
“And these pink dresses in my closet. Will they not do? I’d hate to inconvenience the crown.” The bodice freed, Odissa slinks out of the gossamer sleeves.
“Gods, no! It’s a Coral tradition, Your Highness. You’ll need a new gown for each night.”
“Each?” The dress sinks to the floor like an emptied husk. I offer Odissa my hand, and she takes it, stepping out of the silken entrapment.
The housekeeper gathers the dress, careful to avoid the pins. She straightens slowly, holding the lump of fabric, and studies Odissa’s face. “Yes, Your Highness. Five nights, five gowns.” Clio’s eyes narrow. “Surely, you learned of our traditions in your studies?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ll just fetch a bit more fabric for your selections, then.” The housekeeper casts one last look at Odissa, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. Odissa gives her a polite nod. Clio stays still, staring, as the silence stretches.
Sweat prickles the back of my neck. What does this female want?
Finally, she walks out the door with the wedding dress. Wordlessly, I offer Odissa a silk robe, and she slips into it.
“Fuck,” she says. “Dancing?” Scowling, she slouches out of her royal posture.
Odissa buries her face in her hands, shaking her head. “Fuck me. I can hardly control this corpse as it is. Now I have to dance with it? I couldn’t dance in my old skin!”
“You’re a shit dancer, Odissa.” The only time I’ve seen her dance was during an infiltration scheme in the Abyssal court. The target was a magic-wielder who frequented a gambling bar in the royal city, and he had a thing for mermaid females, which meant our usual plan wouldn’t work.
Odissa glares at me. “Thanks for that. As if you’re any better.”
Lord Valomir was adamant that all his offspring could present themselves well in the public eye. And that included me, his half-blood bastard. He drilled dancing, posture, and manners into me, until my feet bled.
“I’m better than a twitchy gelfish, yes. You cannot do your… arm movement thing… at a royal ball without blowing our cover.”
She demonstrates the move, lifting her arms above her head and swinging them from the hinge of her elbow. “This one?”
“Fuck no.” I take her hands and maneuver her into the correct position. “I’ll teach you.”
Tephra, please let this court know how to waltz.
I place her hand on my shoulder and tuck mine on the small of her back. The princess’s body is taller than mine, but it’s the only plan we have. “I’ll be the prince.” I demonstrate the rhythm with my feet, raising onto the ball of my foot, then dropping for the downbeat. “Now, we count to three. Down-up-up. Down-up-up.”
Odissa watches my feet with wide eyes, then attempts to mimic my movements. Her toes slam into mine, stubbing both of our toes. I grunt to keep from cursing her out. We try again. And again. Odissa stubs my toes two more times, then elbows me in the ribs. Her arms are stiff as rocks.
“You’re off beat, Odissa. Count to three as you move. If you’re not saying a number, don’t move your fucking foot.”
“Watch your tone with me, pet.”
I snarl, my temper flaring.
She peers down her thin, perfect nose. “I know how to count.”
“It’s just the feet we need to fix, then. And the stiff arms. And the lack of effortless, royal ease.”
“That’s a lot to track at once.”
“It’s like floating in a current. Let your body be swept away by the beat. You don’t force your body to follow rigidly. It’s a feeling.”
Her arms turn heavy and soft on my shoulders, sagging like reedgrass. This is impossible.
“We’re fucked.” Odissa will attend five of these fucking balls, dance like the unhinged death-dealer she is, and Tephra will have her dessert.
She growls, grabbing my shoulders and shoving me away. Her nails dig into my skin, scraping flesh. I stumble two steps back. “It’s too much to keep track of at once,” she snaps.
“Says the brain behind this fucked-up operation,” I mumble.
She huffs, throwing her hands in frustration. “Can’t you just puppeteer me through this shit with your Voice?”
I shake my head. “I’d have to be touching you, or my light will attract attention. That’s not going to go well in a ballroom. I can think of at least one royal who would notice if you had a clinger.”
Odissa sets her jaw, then lifts onto the balls of her feet. She counts to three, stumbling by the first number. “These damn legs don’t work for me.” She eyes my legs with searing envy. “I don’t know how you do it. No gel. No flexibility. You’d think it’d be easier with only two appendages to control, but goddess, it’s not. I want my body back.”
I storm toward her, grabbing the thin material of her chemise. She needs a fucking reality check, and I’m about to give her one. “It’s rotting in Tephra’s big belly, and unless you’d like to join it, I suggest you focus.”
Somewhere behind her, the doorknob turns.
Odissa’s eyes light with flame. Her palm connects with my cheek, hard. I release her shirt as the pain registers. I’m suddenly back in my father’s ballroom, cradling my sore face as he leered at me.
Clio gasps, and the pink cloth in her hands slaps to the floor.
“Ah, there you are, Clio, darling.” Odissa’s face fixes into her perfect, wan smile. Clio bends slowly, retrieving the fabric without a word.