Chapter 23 #2
Waltz peered back at us. ‘We aren’t going straight to the ballroom. It would be improper to grant an audience with the Queen when the two of you look like that.’
He was right. Both of us had changed into finery for the occasion, but it was finery that had spent ten days crammed into a trunk.
‘We have prepared more appropriate outfits for you both.’
As we turned towards a new wing of the palace, Raleigh began to drag his feet, holding on to my hand like a lifeline. With each step he dragged us further and further behind Waltz, until Waltz finally stopped in front of a door.
‘You’ll each find a suitable change of clothes in here. Now, I must leave you. I trust you know the way from here.’
‘Intimately,’ Raleigh muttered.
‘Very well.’ Waltz bowed low, his respect sodden with mockery. ‘Make yourself at home again, my prince.’ He extracted himself with a deep chuckle.
We stood unmoving until the long tail of his shadow had carved around the corner but, even then, Raleigh did not open the door.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked.
‘Fine,’ he said, but the force with which he gripped my hand said otherwise. It seemed to take all his effort to detach himself from me so he could rest his hand on the doorknob. He let out a long breath, then forced himself to open the door.
He bade me to enter ahead of him. The room beyond was opulent but …
normal. It was a living room, with two plush sofas framing a small table.
A crystal decanter rested on top, full of crimson liquid.
Like the foyer, the room glittered with candlelight and more mirrors adorned the walls, reflecting only me.
The door to an adjoining bedroom was open.
Unlike the rest of the palace, the carpet and drapery were cast in similar reds and golds to the furnishings in Castle Rostenburg.
I couldn’t see any signs of other guests or servants, but I certainly didn’t feel like we were alone.
Perhaps it was the reflected candlelight in the myriad mirrors or a trick of the shadows they left behind.
Or perhaps it was simply the echoes of a thousand suffering souls, forced to play at court for eternity.
‘This was my apartment,’ Raleigh said from the doorway. ‘It’s exactly how I left it.’
I knew I should say something, but while I was finding my tongue, he pushed through whatever was holding him back and joined me inside.
‘I’ve spent more time in these rooms than most people spend alive. I’d rather not spend a second longer than I have to.’
We found our outfits for the evening laid out on the bed.
Raleigh took his to the living room, leaving me to navigate the mass of crimson silk left for me.
The petticoats alone were an ordeal to layer, and I was left in despair over what to do with my pockets.
I was glad I’d brought them with me – I wouldn’t be able to reach my dagger through this many skirts if I left it strapped to my leg – but they’d been designed to be tied under a modern gown, not this rococo nonsense.
Once I tugged the overdress on I couldn’t make them align properly with the sewn-in slits.
The best I could do was conceal the bulge of my dagger and commit to simply rummaging around my skirts if I needed to find anything.
I focused my woes on the buttons instead.
How anyone expected me to dress myself in this without help was beyond me.
Most of my wardrobe laced at the front or was otherwise easy enough to slip into on my own, but as well as being at least a decade out of fashion, this gown was clearly designed by someone with a servant on call who could fasten the tiny and intricate buttons that worked their way along my spine.
I could barely twist myself into the right angle to reach them.
I dragged the mass of skirts over to the door and opened it a crack. Raleigh had his back to the door. He was already mostly dressed, fumbling to secure a cravat on his own without the aid of a mirror.
‘I hate to ask,’ I said into the soupy awkwardness, ‘but I need help with my dress.’
‘Are you decent?’
By normal standards, no, I wasn’t decent. My dress was practically falling off me. I had to hold the bodice to my chest, my underclothes on full display from any angle other than front on. ‘Decent enough,’ I said, and pushed the door fully open.
Raleigh turned to face me and was replaced by a startled deer who didn’t know where to look.
‘I can’t reach the buttons. I need you to do them up for me.’
‘Right, of course.’
I turned my back to him, shivering as he brushed my hair over one shoulder.
He snatched his hand away. ‘I’ll be quick.’
‘They’re only buttons,’ I breathed, though I wasn’t sure who I was trying to convince.
His fingers grazed my back through the velvet as he did up the first. He moved carefully, but with the confidence of someone already well familiar with the intricacies of women’s clothing.
The thought smouldered within me, impossible to push away.
Every shift of his hands pulsed through me, and his cool breath tickled the back of my neck.
I prayed my flush hadn’t reached there too.
He was only fastening buttons after all.
Through the mirrors I could see myself reflected at every angle. The dress was stunning, if outdated, and the abundance of ruffles made me feel like a real princess. But when I turned around and stole a glance at Raleigh’s expression he appeared unmoved.
I’m not sure what I expected. Did I want him to glance away like a blushing innocent, or for his eyes to caress me in his appraisal?
They did travel across my body, but it was with a hint of a scowl, his displeasure clear.
I tried to convince myself that it didn’t hurt, that I didn’t care what he thought.
It was only my vanity speaking, that was all.
‘She knows your measurements,’ he said at last.
I found myself speechless.
‘I’d expect her to know mine,’ he continued, raising his cuff so he could examine the stitching, ‘but she could only know yours if …’
The intensity of his expression made my spine tingle. ‘Perhaps she asked your tailor.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ He bowed his head and murmured, ‘At least she has good taste. You look magnificent.’
‘You flatter me.’
‘It isn’t flattery if it’s true.’ His hand found my waist and as his cold fingers seared into my side, the smouldering intimacy of the moment ignited. ‘I wonder if you could help me too,’ he said, voice low.
The spot on my waist where his fingers remained developed its own heartbeat. I placed a hand on his chest. ‘As long as it doesn’t require undressing again,’ I murmured.
Vampires, it turns out, actually can blush.
A hint of a smile flickered, then fell just as quickly.
His eyes darted to a mirror, then the bed and he snatched his hand from my waist. ‘I meant my hair,’ he said.
‘I can’t see it. Usually Moira would do it for me but she’s not here, and I don’t dare face the Queen without knowing my hair is presentable. So if it isn’t too much trouble—’
I put a finger to his lips. Beneath my touch his lips quivered with a dictionary of unspoken words. Then he lurched backwards, raising his own hand to his mouth, half concealing a twisted expression I could only interpret as disgust.
My hand hovered in the gulf between us. I clenched it shut, wishing I could wind back the clock. ‘I’ll do your hair,’ I said.
His shoulders sagged in relief. ‘There’s a comb on the dresser.’
I moved to retrieve the comb, mind racing over our conversation. What had I done? Was I too forward? Had I completely misread the intimacy drowning out what little breathable air was left in the room?
No, that wasn’t it. I’d been so preoccupied with myself and my feelings that I hadn’t stopped to think of how this felt for Raleigh. For me to be forward was one thing. For me to act as I had while standing in the room he had endured centuries of torment was something else entirely.
I found the comb and stole a glance at him.
He held himself stiffly, halfway between the Prince of Rostenburg and Raleigh.
He could have been any village boy, unsure of what to do when alone with a girl for the first time.
And when he spotted me looking, he was suddenly the stranger in my father’s drawing room, come to whisk me away to a fate worse than death.
‘You’ll need to sit. I can’t see what I’m doing if you’re standing.’
‘If I must.’ He moved too quickly for me to detect. Seated, he reclined, one leg crossed over the other, and his expression fell flat, eyes cold as he tilted his chin towards me expectantly. His hands were shaking.
‘You’re all right.’ I put a hand on his shoulder. Unsure what to do next, I held the comb to his forehead like an artist with a paintbrush, hoping inspiration would strike. ‘What does Moira usually do?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he bit out. ‘You know I can’t see myself.’
‘Raleigh.’ I put the comb to his chin and tilted his face to look at me. ‘You’re allowed to feel.’
He stopped. Simply stopped. Stopped shaking, stopped breathing. For a moment he could have been truly dead. Then he closed his eyes and let out a long steady breath. ‘Style it however you like. I trust you to do a good job.’
I pretended not to notice his glistening lashes.
Raleigh’s trust in me was unfounded. I barely knew how to style my own hair, let alone a man’s.
Growing up, Johanna had always been the one to pin my braids, and since arriving at Castle Rostenburg I’d worn it loose, never bothering to do any more than brush out the knots.
I tried to channel Moira as I ran the comb along Raleigh’s part.
His hair was naturally stiff, and it didn’t take much to shape his fringe to its usual style, but I couldn’t quite match the effortless perfection Moira managed to wrangle every evening. Luckily he would never know.
‘It’s done,’ I said. And then, ‘Don’t touch it!’
‘Sorry. Thank you.’ He looked down, a sigh wisping past his lips. ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, and this time I knew he wasn’t speaking about his hair.
I stepped away from him, roiling with shame. ‘I’m the one who should be apologising,’ I said. ‘I was too forward. You’ve already made it clear how you feel and here of all places—’
Raleigh stood, and then to my surprise folded me into his arms. My breath stopped, my body alive at his embrace. I melted into him, burying my face in his chest, clinging to his back. I could feel his nose in my hair, his own fingers buried in the fabric of my dress.
‘Someone may be watching us,’ he finished with a whisper. And the moment shattered.
Do I need to pretend to be in love with you when we’re alone too?
I no longer knew where the pretence ended and the real Raleigh began. He was the one who said he didn’t love me. He was the one who said he had to lie to the Queen. But this, here, wrapped in his embrace, it hadn’t felt like an act.
I didn’t want it to be an act.
In time Raleigh drew away but held me at arm’s length, as though delaying the inevitability of letting go.
His bare hands on my naked shoulders felt illicit.
Every nerve in my body felt like they had condensed into those two spots.
I wanted to push the emotions away, but I had to cling to them, painful as they were.
I had to hold on for the sake of our lie.
‘I think I’m ready.’
I forced a smile, and hoped it was comforting. ‘We’re ready.’
My skin felt even more bare when Raleigh took his hands away to seek out his coat and gloves. But the contact wasn’t lost for long. Fully dressed, he bowed playfully, ever the gracious escort, and held his arm out for me. ‘Shall we?’
So I linked my arm with his, and prayed this wouldn’t be the final time.