Chapter 22
L orcan didn’t show the next morning.
Instead, Delphine looked up from doing my hair and spoke around the pins in her mouth. “Master Iggleboddle is coming.”
I blinked. “Iggleboddle?” The odd name replaced my thoughts, which had centered around the knight appearing outside the Everless—and Lorcan’s pretend kiss immediately afterward.
Despite Vander’s worries, Rasimir had given no indication that he sent spies looking for us.
He’d been cheerful at dinner, asking about my training over blood-wine and roasted duck.
After the meal, he kissed my cheek and instructed one of the servants to escort me to my room, ruining any chance of me speaking to Vander or Lorcan.
I’d dozed in a chair near the hearth, images of Vander and Lorcan forming in my head.
Delphine worked faster, shoving pins into my braids. “You don’t want to keep Master Iggleboddle waiting.”
“Who is he?”
Rapid knocking rang out—and then continued. “I’m busy!” a gruff voice called through the door.
“Almost done,” Delphine breathed, shoving the last pin into place. Equal parts confused and alarmed, I rose from the mirror as she hurried to the door and opened it.
A short, round man with a bushy mustache and a halo of white, fluffy hair filled the doorframe. His trousers and jacket were a deep blue velvet. A pair of golden spectacles perched on the end of a pointed nose. His ears were even more pointed, the tips sporting more white, fuzzy hair.
“Want me to get paint and canvas?” he demanded.
My confusion grew. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re staring. If you’re that enamored, you can keep a painting of me on your mantel.”
I looked at Delphine, who watched the little man with an anxious expression. When I turned back to him, he propped his fists on his hips.
“You want oils or watercolors?”
“I…”
“Come with me,” he snapped, then spun and stomped away.
Delphine rushed to my side and shepherded me to the door. “Don’t delay, Your Highness.”
“I’m a very busy man!” the gruff voice floated from the corridor.
“Go!” Delphine insisted, shoving me over the threshold.
Confusion mounting, I hurried after Iggleboddle. Gods, was that his first or last name? And what was he?
He waddled ahead, his hair like a cloud around his ears. Grabbing my skirts, I jogged to catch up.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Iggleboddle huffed and kept walking, his spectacles in danger of slipping off his nose as he led me through the Drakhold.
More questions hovered on my tongue, but I pressed my lips together before I could voice them. Whatever the little man’s purpose, he didn’t seem dangerous .
Although Rasimir hadn’t seemed dangerous the first time I met him.
I cleared my throat. “Where are we—?”
“No questions,” he barked, pausing before a wooden door that rose to my shoulders. He yanked it open and disappeared inside, his voice trailing him. “Gown off, up on the platform.”
My heart skipped a beat. Gown off? I spun and started back down the corridor.
A small dog with shaggy golden fur bounded around the corner, high-pitched barks spilling from it as it charged toward me. I stumbled back and then gasped as it bit my hem and tugged me toward the door.
“Stop it!” I hissed, yanking at my skirt. “I’ve seen cats larger than you!”
The dog growled as it kept tugging, its tail beating like a propeller. It was stronger than it looked, and I had no choice but to duck to avoid smacking my head on the doorframe. As I hunched, another wave of shock crashed through me.
Because the dog’s fur wasn’t fur at all. It was hundreds of…measuring tapes? They clicked and clattered as he drew me through the door and into a spacious room with ceilings high enough to permit me to straighten to my full height.
A large, round platform dominated the center of the room, which wasn’t as big as it first appeared.
Mirrors lined the walls, creating an optical illusion of more space.
Worktables were scattered here and there.
Clothing in various states of assembly hovered above them, needles and thread plunging up and down on their own.
Lorcan stood across the room, his dark head bent over a table stacked with bolts of fabric. He jerked his head up as the dog dragged me forward. Our eyes locked in the mirror.
“Don’t touch that!” Iggleboddle snapped, his eyes on Lorcan as he bustled from an open doorway in the back of the room. Stopping, he spread his arms wide and glared. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
Lorcan faced Iggleboddle, the look on his face like a child caught pillaging a cookie jar. “I wasn’t touching—”
“Clothes off, up on the platform,” Iggleboddle said again, striding forward. He snapped his fingers. “Come, Grigory.”
The dog released me and trotted to Iggleboddle, his measuring tapes clicking.
Lorcan and I looked at each other. A rhythmic sound filled the air. In one of the mirrors, a pair of scissors cut along a dotted line on a length of fabric suspended above a table littered with swatches, pincushions, and rulers.
Iggleboddle swept his glare from Lorcan to me. “His Majesty expects your wedding clothes to be ready by dinnertime. Do you want to tell him why they’re late?”
My throat went dry.
“Come, Corinthe,” Lorcan said, crossing the room. He took my hand and drew me to the platform. Just get it over with , he said in my head.
My breath caught as I met his eyes. Sometime between kissing me in the forest and entering Iggleboddle’s workroom, he’d drained a witch with the gift of telepathy.
“Let me help you, Princess,” he said out loud, a warning moving through his eyes. I let him assist me onto the platform, which was about two stair treads high, and I held my breath as he stepped beside me.
Iggleboddle looked at Grigory. “Fetch the black silk.”
With an agreeable yip, Grigory trotted across the room to a set of tall wooden shelves. As he approached, a bolt of fabric wriggled from a shelf in the middle and tumbled toward the ground. Grigory caught it and returned to Iggleboddle.
“At least one of you can follow directions,” he said, patting the dog’s head. He raised his voice without taking his eyes off the dog. “I can’t say the same for the rest of you!”
With a glance at me, Lorcan began unbuttoning his coat. As my face heated, his voice ran through my head. This won’t take long. Turn around, and I’ll unlace you.
It was no different than standing for Mama when she measured me for clothes. No different than letting Delphine remove my gown. I’d still be covered—and it would be quick.
Still, my heart sped up as I turned away. The mirrors showed me from every angle, dozens of copies of my flushed face staring back at me as Lorcan worked at my laces. He was slower at it than Delphine, which was to be expected. He was a man, after all. And he preferred men…
I shoved aside the images of him and Vander. My gown loosened, and I held my breath as Lorcan brushed the sleeves off my shoulders and worked the fabric down my hips.
“Step out of it,” he said aloud, bending in the mirror and holding my petticoats out of the way so I could step from the dress without falling.
Iggleboddle came to the platform and took the gown. “Petticoats need to come off, too,” he said.
Lorcan went to work on the ties at my waist, his fingers hot through the thin fabric of my chemise. My nipples were shadows under the gauzy material. With my hair pinned in a coronet around my head, I had no way to cover them.
My petticoats rustled as they fell to the platform one by one.
Iggleboddle fetched those layers, too, and then I stood next to Lorcan in nothing but my see-through chemise, stockings, and lace-trimmed drawers that stopped just above my knees.
The slit in the drawers that made it convenient to use the privy in a full gown offered little modesty now.
Face flaming, I squeezed my thighs together.
Lorcan stripped quickly, shedding his jacket, boots, and trousers. His thin britches rode low on his hips, and his white shirt clung to his muscular chest.
“The shirt, too,” Iggleboddle said, bustling from the table where he’d dumped my petticoats.
In the mirrors, dozens of Lorcans frowned. Then, with stiff movements, they pulled the shirt over their head.
My breath hitched, surprise and horror twisting through me.
Scars webbed Lorcan’s back, the flesh twisted into thick pink and red bands.
It was as if someone had held a torch to his back in an attempt to melt the flesh from his spine and ribs.
The injury had to be magical or nearly fatal.
Probably, it was both. Vampires didn’t scar unless they were injured to the point of death.
When I looked up, Lorcan watched me with wide, startled eyes. He blinked, and the expression was gone.
Don’t say anything , he said in my mind.
I faced forward, my heart pumping faster. Iggleboddle fired off more orders to Grigory, and the dog bounded around the workroom to fetch additional bolts of fabric. The tailor didn’t appear shocked by Lorcan’s scars.
“All right,” Iggleboddle said when Grigory returned to his side, his tail beating a steady rhythm against the floor. “Measurements.”
Grigory barked, then raced toward the platform. Halfway to Lorcan and me, he unraveled.
My jaw dropped, disbelief making me take a step back. Lorcan caught my arm.
Hold still. He won’t hurt you.
Grigory’s body flowed apart like a snake, his measuring tape fur wriggling into a long ribbon that zipped through the air and circled my hips.
Iggleboddle wandered to one of the tables and picked up a quill. “Hmph. Larger than I thought.”
My temper spiked as he scribbled on a piece of parchment.
Lorcan met my gaze in the mirror. He’s a Boddle. They’re all assholes. And yes, they’re all named Boddle. The confusion at the post office must be mind-boggling.
I looked at Iggleboddle.
Mind-boddling , Lorcan added in my head.
Laughter burst from me before I could stop it.