Chapter 29
Arianette
It’s the first day of winter break, and there are no classes or events to get up for, but the smell hits first–toast, eggs and brown sugar.
Damon’s still in the shower down the hall, water pounding steady and familiar, and Hunter’s already gone out with Ares.
I take off the bonnet and pull on a pair of sweats and Hunter’s WXFU sweatshirt and enter the sitting room.
“Good morning, Baroness,” Graves says, arranging plates of food on the table.
“Good morning.” I flex my jaw; it’s sore, in a good way. Waking up to Hunter coming to me instead of finding another place for release gives me a warm feeling.
Graves pulls out the chair and before I’m even settled in my seat, I notice an envelope propped carefully against a glass of juice.
White. Thick. Expensive.
The script on the front is elegant and looping, the kind of handwriting that knows it will be admired.
In the corner, embossed in gold and purple, is the Prince’s crest–a crown pressed deep into the paper, regal and unapologetically Royal.
I run my thumb over it, feeling the raised edges, the weight of the invitation.
It’s heavy in a way that has nothing to do with paper.
I immediately know what it is, and my hands shake with excitement. Still, I open it carefully, sliding a finger beneath the seal so I don’t tear anything.
It’s an invitation to the Royal Ascension.
My lips curve before I can stop them.
“We’re invited,” I say out loud.
Graves hums as he pours me a cup of tea. “Did you think you wouldn’t be?”
I glance back down at the card, rereading the date. This weekend. Soon enough that it feels like it could be a last-minute decision. “I don’t think the Princess likes me much.”
“I very much doubt it has anything to do with you,” he says calmly, handing me the cup.
I look up at him over the rim and meet his eyes in understanding. “Do you think he’ll want to go?”
“Want?” Graves repeats, almost amused. “Unlikely. Will? Certainly. It’s important to have a presence at formal events, even if it’s in an enemy’s house.”
That makes something bright and eager bloom in my chest.
I grin, unable to help it. An event. A real one at the Purple Palace. A place where I can stand beside my husband and let the world see us together–let them see how well I fit, how carefully I can behave, how good I am when I’m given something to do.
“I’ll need a dress,” I say, already imagining it. “Something fancy, don’t you think?”
Graves’s mouth twitches. “I’d say that would be appropriate.”
The bedroom door opens behind us.
Damon steps into the room, hair damp and dark, water still clinging to his shoulders.
His shirt hangs open, unbuttoned, muscles and abs on full display.
The faint glint of the rings in his nipples catches the light when he moves.
His pants hang low on his hips, and my gaze falls below, remembering waking up to the feel of him deep inside.
He takes one look at the tray, the envelope in my hand, and the way I’m smiling.
“What?” he asks, suspicion in his voice.
I hold up the invitation. “The King and I have been invited to a Royal Ascension.”
“Okay…”
“Which means that I’m going to need a new dress.”
Damon looks between us, then back at me. “Why do I feel like this means shopping?”
I tilt my head and smile. “Because it does.”
He drags a hand through his wet hair, already resigned. “Well, fuck.”
“And I know exactly where I want to go.”
Damon parks along the street in West End, the car settling into the curb with a low idle.
The buildings feel closer here–older and more narrow than the other parts of town, especially compared to the woods surrounding the House of Night.
Across the street, Royal Ink’s sign hums faintly.
The windows are dark this early, the shop hours are later in the day.
“Do we really need to come all the way to West End to find a dress?” Damon asks, glancing at the storefronts. “There’s a perfectly good mall in Northridge.”
“Yes,” I say easily. “The King chose this designer for my wedding dress.”
That gets his attention. He looks at me then, one brow lifting. Approval matters to him, even when he pretends it doesn’t.
He tugs on the line of piercings in his ear but says, “Fair enough.”
I don’t tell him that a small, secret part of me hopes supporting a West End designer might buy me some goodwill.
That maybe it will soften the way the other Royal women look at me.
I don’t know why their approval feels important.
It just does. Maybe I’m tired of being the outsider. Maybe I’m tired of feeling alone.
The street is quiet when we get out, and the few specialty shops that line the block are still closed or in the process of opening. The little sign in the boutique window is flipped to open, and Damon steps forward, opening the door to Jaded Society.
A low, pulsing beat comes from the speakers. The shop is long and narrow, the racks arranged with intention instead of symmetry–new pieces woven seamlessly with vintage. Lace brushes leather. Silk hangs beside denim. It feels curated, almost like a museum.
We’re halfway down the center aisle when the woman behind the counter looks up. She’s tall, with shoulder-length blue-black hair framing her face. Quarter-sized gauges stretch her ears. Tattoos climb her arms and disappear beneath black fabric, piercings catching the light when she moves.
Her eyes flick to Damon.
An amused smile spreads across her face.
“Well, I’ll be fucked,” she says. “Didn’t expect to see you in my shop, Damon Kemp.”
“Jade.” Damon’s eyebrow lifts. “You and me both.”
I blink, my gaze snapping between them. They know each other. He didn’t tell me that.
Her smile widens, amused. “Didn’t think I’d see you again after that party off campus. Right after you got out.”
Damon snorts. “You mean the one where you handed me needles and begged me for that septum piercing?”
She laughs. “You gave me half these piercings, Kemp. I figured if you were gonna get your skills back to level, you might as well practice on someone who didn’t flinch.”
I stare at him. “You gave her piercings?”
The thought of Damon giving another woman piercings feels… wrong.
“At a party,” he says casually. “And then later at my mom’s place in the Stacks.”
“Glad I did,” Jade adds. “You’ve got a steady hand.”
He looks at me and seems to notice the surprise on my face, and adds quickly, “Jade is originally from East End. We’ve known one another for a long time.”
I’m still trying to process something I’ve never considered before, that Damon has pierced other women, that he has history with other women, when Jade’s attention shifts to me. Her gaze sweeps over my face, my collar, the faint lines of the pentagram scar visible at my chest. Something clicks.
“You must be her,” she says.
I blink. “Her?”
Jade’s eyes sweep over my body. “Adeline said you were pretty.” Her eyes soften just a touch. “She played it down. You’re gorgeous, Baroness.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “You made my wedding dress.”
Her smile turns proud. “It’s not every day I get to make a bridal gown for a Black Wedding.”
“It was perfect,” I tell her. “Everything about it.”
“She was a fucking knockout,” Damon says, his hand settling casually at the top of my ass, possessive and warm. I shoot him a look, still not over what I’ve just learned.
“That’s what I love to hear.” Jade looks between us, clearly entertained. “So what brings you in today?”
“I’m looking for a dress,” I say. “For the Princess’ ascension.”
“A royal affair?” Jade grins. “My favorite.”
“You think you have something for me?”
“Oh yeah. Come on. Let’s play.” She claps her hands once, already moving. “How are you planning to style your hair?” I lift my hand without thinking, fingertips brushing the familiar weight of my braids.
“I’d love to wear it down,” I say. The words feel indulgent, like a small confession.
Jade nods right away. “I like it.”
“I just don’t know if I have time for all that,” I add. “Unbraiding, styling… everything.”
She huffs a soft laugh. “You do if you know the right people. And you’re in luck—I do.” Her gaze travels over me, careful, considering. “A braid-out would be perfect. Or a twist-out, depending on the texture you want. Soft. Full. Still very you.”
I imagine it, my hair loose, but not flat, shaped by what it’s already been through. Movement without polish. Familiar, but exposed.
“And you know someone that can do it today?” I ask.
“You realize who you are, don’t you?” she asks, eyeing me. “You’re the motherfucking Baroness. The King’s wife. Any shop will drop everything to get their hands on you.”
“You really think so?”
“Babe, I know so.”
The compliment lands harder than she means it to.
I swallow, then nod. “Okay. Please. Let’s do that.”
She whips out her phone and sends a text, then waves me to the other side of the shop.
I follow her toward the back while Damon drops into one of the upholstered chairs near the mirrors.
He stretches his legs out, arms folding loosely as he watches.
Jade moves with easy confidence, pulling dresses from racks like she already knows how this is going to end.
She sizes me up with a glance, fingers deft as she adjusts straps, drapes fabric, swaps hangers.
“Let’s start with this one.”
The curtain slides shut behind me with a soft whisper. I peel off my clothes and lift the dress over my head, the fabric light and airy. Jade taps twice on the partition.
“Need some help?”
“With the back, please.”
She steps in just long enough to zip me up, fingers brisk, then shoos me toward the mirror. The dress is a sage green chiffon with a soft waist and a skirt that floats instead of clings. It makes me feel… sweet. Delicate. Like something meant to be admired from a distance.
I part the curtain and step out.
Damon looks up from his chair, eyes dragging over me. His mouth curves, but it’s not hungry. Not quite.