15. Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
The mirror offered no answers.
Emmaline stood before it, fingers fidgeting at the hem of her flowing blue skirt, the high slit revealing just enough to make her feel exposed. The silver belt—Margo’s belt—sat snug at her waist, while her loose, billowy shirt fluttered at the elbows with each movement.
The room around her was a masterpiece of indulgence and shadow, a space crafted for power and pleasure alike.
Rich, dark fabrics cascaded from the towering windows, muting the city’s glow beyond.
The furniture was a careful balance of luxury and lethality—chairs carved from obsidian wood with deep cushions meant for lounging, yet edged with clawed detailing that suggested they could cut if one sat the wrong way.
Something heady and intoxicating bled into the air, not quite floral, not quite spice, lingering in the blood and making the senses hum.
“So, the Lordling is not your mate, and you like the green-haired one now instead.”
From her place on the divan, Ursula exhaled a long, lazy stream of smoke, the deep purple of her nails catching the low fae-light candles as she tapped her cigarette against a glass tray carved with harsh, cruel-looking runes.
Emmaline flipped her hair over one shoulder, resisting the urge to keep adjusting her belt, and turned toward her friend. “Yes… I think so. Maybe.”
Ursula took a slow drag from her cigarette, the glowing tip flaring in the dim light before she exhaled another ribbon of smoke. “That’s a relief. Though I had hoped to take a ride on the other one myself.”
On Deyric? A low, involuntary growl bubbled up from Emmaline’s throat before she could stop it—sharp and primal, not entirely her own. She coughed immediately, heat flooding her face as she turned back to the mirror.
“Oh!” Ursula’s brows lifted, intrigue sparking in her dark, knowing eyes. “It’s like that, is it?”
Emmaline coughed again, but her voice came a little too high, a little too rushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Ursula only laughed, as Emmaline hurried to change the subject, gesturing to herself in the mirror.
“I like this one. What do you think?” She turned slightly, raising her arms and letting them fall.
Ursula’s gaze dragged over her, unimpressed. “Yes, wonderful. I’m sure you’d make a great impression if you were a youngling. Or maybe one of those ‘flower humans’ or whatever they’re called.”
“Hippies?” Emmaline frowned, rolling the word over in her mind, wondering which was worse, a flower-draped human dreamer or an Ellyllon child playing dress-up.
Neither was good. If Deyric was coming tonight, she wanted to look… not softer, not sweeter, but—
Warmth rushed up her neck. Despite searching for him at the castle earlier that day, she hadn’t seen him. Not that it was entirely unusual. His responsibilities were tied to Caelith, and she hadn’t seen the Lord either.
At the thought of Caelith, her fingers tightened around her waist. Memories from her encounter with him the previous night knotted deep in her gut. The way he had looked at her made her feel like a cornered animal rather than a person.
“Here, put this on.”
A tangle of straps and lace came hurtling toward her. Catching it before it could swat her in the face, she blinked down at the scrap of cream-colored something or other that now lay in her hands.
“What is this?” She lifted it, trying to make sense of the fine knots and sheer panels, unraveling the gossamer web of lace with careful fingers.
“Something that will capture your friend’s attention.” Ursula smirked, her cigarette pointing at Emmaline’s chest like an accusation. “Much more than that silly thing you have on.”
Emmaline frowned. “I don’t know. It’s not really my style.”
Ursula tapped her sharpened nails against the cigarette holder. “Since when do you have style, dear?”
Emmaline exhaled loudly, making a show of her reluctance, and lifted the delicate mess of leather-like straps and silk-threaded lace up against her frame. “Very well. For you, I will give it a try.”
She turned her back, shrugging off the flowing top, the cool air of the room kissing her skin as she fumbled with what could only loosely be described as a corset.
The delicate boning pressed in snugly, forcing her to shimmy, bend, and wriggle as she tried to figure out where everything was meant to sit and fasten.
“Goddess above.” One strap slipped loose, another cut across her ribs, and somehow, despite all her twisting, she still couldn’t figure out if the damned thing was right-side up.
She turned in place, trying to reach behind her, fingers grasping uselessly at the strings that refused to tighten correctly.
Glowering, she huffed out an irritated breath, blowing a long strand of hair from her face. “Do I have it right?” she asked, turning back to her friend.
“Oh my.” Ursula’s cigarette nearly tumbled from her lips as her eyes swept down and then back up.
“I feel ridiculous.” Emmaline crossed her arms.
Ursula stood and moved closer with slow, deliberate grace.
Emmaline, meanwhile, was still fidgeting, tugging at the barely-there corset, muttering under her breath as she attempted—unsuccessfully—to adjust the way it held her breasts precariously in place.
“They’re going to fall out,” she grumbled. “How am I supposed to dance in this thing?”
Before she could protest further, though, Ursula’s cool hands landed on her shoulders and spun her toward the mirror.
“Enough.” She swept Emmaline’s hair back, exposing the elegant line of her neck. Ursula’s nails trailed lightly over the exposed skin before she pulled Emmaline’s shoulders back, forcing her into a posture of confidence she didn’t quite feel.
Then, with a sharp slap, Ursula knocked Emmaline’s hands away from where they hovered uncertainly on the belt, leaning in until her chin rested lightly on Emmaline’s shoulder. “He won’t be able to take his eyes… or his hands off you when he sees you in this.”
“Ursula!” Heat rushed to Emmaline’s face, and she pushed her friend away.
Still grinning, Ursula stepped back, placing a hand on her hip and waving her cigarette through the air. “Look at yourself before you start squirming like an untouched maiden.” She tilted her head. “Besides, none of us are virgins here. I’ve seen you wear far less.”
“I have not!” Emmaline huffed, but as she turned back toward the mirror, the words died in her throat.
The reflection staring back at her was… different.
The pale skin of her thigh peeked through the high slit of her skirt, each movement revealing just enough to tempt but never quite expose.
The silver belt at her waist framed her curves, cinching her in and accentuating the smooth lines of her hips.
It gleamed in the dim light, a perfect contrast against the soft fabric of her skirt.
And the corset…
Lyra help her, the corset.
The cream-colored leather and delicate lace propped her breasts high and full, teasing at the very edge of indecency. One wrong move and—
A shudder rolled through her as the thought of Deyric’s potential reaction slammed into her all at once.
Would that ever-present glint of amusement in his eyes sharpen into something darker, something hungrier?
Her breath caught, and she forced her gaze away, trying to ignore the traitorous heat unfurling low in her stomach.
“And what Deyric thinks or does is not the point,” she mumbled, though the words lacked conviction.
“Hmm.” Ursula moved in again, gathering Emmaline’s hair in one smooth pull, twisting it back into a tight, elegant ponytail before securing it in place with a gleaming silver spike pulled from somewhere in the depths of her own corset.
“There,” she said as the metal caught the fae-light, its razored edge glinting dangerously.
Emmaline raised a hand to the pin, fingers moving over its lethal point.
Just for tonight. She bit her lip, imagining how it would feel to drag that edge down Deyric’s chest. To hold him still beneath her, to—
She coughed, shaking the thought away as she dropped her hand. “I suppose this will do.”
Ursula snorted, swirling her glass, but the amusement in her eyes dimmed slightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” She paused just long enough for the tension to settle before casually dropping—
“I heard the Patrol went out to Greymane Castle yesterday looking for Lady Allistair.”
Emmaline stilled. “Yes.”
She had known the topic would come up. Ursula always knew things she shouldn’t, but she had hoped the conversation about Deyric would have distracted her long enough for them to make it downstairs, where the press of bodies would make the risk of being overheard too high.
No such luck.
Ursula ran a languid finger along the rim of her glass. “I also heard they found evidence of ‘unexpected magic’ out at Caelith’s fuck pad.”
“Sweet Goddess, don’t call it that!” Emmaline stomped forward, reaching for the decanter and pouring herself a much-needed glass of whatever it was Ursula had been drinking.
“Emmaline.” Ursula simply arched a brow. “This is serious. The magic they found was yours?”
“I assume.” Emmaline swirled the dark drink, the scent of something metallic drifting up to her nose. “But I was able to stay hidden during their search and made an unguent to alter my magic signature as soon as I got home.”
Ursula sighed before taking another slow, deliberate sip of her drink. “That’s good, though I didn’t think altering a signature was possible.”
“Illusions are my specialty. I figured it out back at School after an unfortunate incident with a classmate. Now I just need to get back to the scene and adjust whatever’s left there.
” She ground her teeth. “I should have done it earlier.” But she hadn’t thought she’d need to hide her actions for long.
She’d thought the mate Laws would protect her.
Ursula stilled, something unreadable drifting behind her eyes. “If you really can do that…” she trailed off, studying Emmaline for a moment too long. Then, almost too casually, “I’d pay a great deal of money for it.”