Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DOMINIC
The festival morning felt different the second I opened our door.
The corridors hadn’t changed and the light filtering in through the windows wasn’t any prettier. My feet padded on the same stone floors and the same tall windows let in the usual light. The woman walking at my side hadn’t changed.
But I had.
Not long ago, I’d stumbled through my vows while laughter turned me into a joke.
I’d smiled and played the charming king while feeling hollow inside.
Today, walking beside my wife with her hand tucked into my arm, I felt steady.
Happy, even. The kind of rightness I’d been pretending to have for years.
We made it three steps down the hall before I stopped and kissed her.
Sasha’s fingers curled into the front of my jacket like she’d been waiting for the excuse. She tasted like mint and sunlight. When I pulled back, she was already smiling.
“If we kiss at every window, we’ll never eat,” she said, tugging me close for another kiss. “But we’ll be fueled by joy.”
We did try to keep moving. We failed twice more. Savory swooped past, a black streak with opinions. Sasha listened and bit back a laugh.
“What’s she saying?” I asked.
“That we’re causing a blockage on the staircase, and she’s filing a complaint with the household staff.”
“Of course she is.”
When we turned onto the hallway leading to the dining room, we found Lord Turren standing halfway down it, staring at his reflection in a silver wall mirror as if it had personally offended him.
His purple hair had been perfectly slicked back, and he wore a dark tunic, not his usual purple. He caught sight of us and stiffened.
“Your Majesties.” He inclined his head toward us and cleared his throat. “I had time to think last night.”
My shoulders tensed, and I forced them to loosen. “So did I.”
His mouth flattened. “I…see how, when one is attempting to protect an entire court from a shadowy threat, one might, through no fault of one’s aesthetic sensibilities, suspect someone who is both ubiquitous and dazzling.” He paused. “I accept that.”
This was the closest thing to grace I’d seen from him, but guilt still pricked under my ribs.
He pivoted to the mirror, checked his profile, and smirked at his reflection.
“However. I discovered something fascinating. With the darker circles and this particular pallor…” He angled his chin.
“I look incredible as a villain. Positively sinister.” He flicked his tunic hem.
“Aren’t I the most marvelous villain you’ve ever seen? ”
Sasha covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes sparkling. “Absolutely terrifying.”
“The worst,” I said.
“Delicious,” the lord said with a happy sigh. He waved toward the open dining room door. “Shall we? If I must be wrongly accused, I intend to breakfast as a tragic figure.”
We walked together. He kept glancing at every reflective surface and making tiny evil faces. Sasha’s shoulder brushed my arm, and her mouth twitched.
“Your villain smirk could use work,” she whispered to me.
“I’ll ask him for lessons.”
“Do.”
We reached the door and stepped inside. Sunlight washed light across the long table and vases full of flowers positioned between tea cups and platters heaped with food.
The air smelled like rashers, fresh bread, and the sweet tang of ripening fruit.
Chairs slid back as we approached, and we took our places.
Staff flowed in, pouring tea in our cups, primwort for Sasha.
Savory landed on the back of a chair and studied the food waiting on the platters.
Lady Featherby settled into a chair across from us and studied the choices. “Oh, what a lovely presentation. I wasn’t sure if I had much appetite, but I have to admit the pastries look tempting.”
Lady Kenneth entered in a fitted tunic and pants, her hair braided tight, a pencil behind one ear. “Morning. I’m famished. We’ll need every bit of energy for today, right?” She slid into a seat and took a sip of her tea.
Lord Primrose swept in like a pastel storm, her a jacket stitched with embroidered foxes and thistles and an unnecessary number of pearl buttons.
After Lady Daphnie had sat, he kissed her hand and then her forehead and then the air around her, as if he was kissing the very idea of her. She responded with a sweet sigh.
“My heart,” he said, producing a handkerchief and waving it close to an open butter dish, “this dawn gifts us two suns, the literal one and the inferno of your gaze, my dear wife.”
Lady Daphnie pretended to swoon. “My love, must you set me ablaze before breakfast? I am but a fragile flower.”
“Do fragile flowers order the kitchen to add three extra baskets of sugar twists?” Lady Featherby whispered to me as she passed a plate of pastries down the table. “I’m not judging, of course.”
Lady Edwina floated in, the velvet pouch at her hip jingling. After taking a seat beside Lord Turren, she scattered her divination stones across his napkin.
He caught a tumbling stone before it rolled into his lap and hissed in her direction.
She blinked at him.
“Today, I’m a villain,” he announced to the room in general.
“Oh. Wonderful,” Lady Edwina said. She returned to her stones. “The omens are interesting this morning, I see a viridian triangle crossing a sorrowful crescent. This is a sign of—”
“Sweat,” Lord Turren said, tugging his napkin out from beneath her stones and dabbing his forehead. “True villains perspire.”
She peered at the stones before slanting her gaze at him. “Or when one wears too many layers.”
Lady Kenneth choked on her tea. Sasha passed her a napkin, her gaze innocent.
When Sasha’s hand slid into mine beneath the table, the emotion-responsive flowers along the walls perked up. Their petals opened further when she leaned into my shoulder to reach the honey.
She’d only sipped her primwort and took a bite of pastry. Her smile curved, and she closed her eyes. I remembered exactly how she’d looked when she’d moaned over cakes not long after arriving. Breakfast with this witch might be dangerous.
“We should get started,” she said once we’d finished. Her gaze flicked to the window and the gardens beyond. “We’ve got a lot to do before sundown.”
I rose. “Enjoy your morning. If anyone asks, the theme for this year’s festival is adaptable brilliance.” My voice carried down the table, but a few faces sharpened the way I needed them to. “And we will all be brilliant.”
The morning dissolved into organized chaos.
We split up the moment we left the dining room, Sasha heading for the greenhouse with Lady Kenneth to arrange the orchids for display, while I met with the gardener and his team in the courtyard to coordinate placement of the rest of the plants he’d kept secure overnight.
“These first,” I said, gesturing to the crates mounded in the back of one of the carts. “Position them near the main gathering areas to gather the strongest emotional resonance.”
The gardener nodded, directing assistants to lift the first container. “And the moonbells, Your Majesty?”
“Secondary paths. We need beauty everywhere, not just the obvious spaces.” I scanned the garden layout in my mind.
“Anyone approaching the hillside entrance should walk through what feels like a blooming dream. Make it impossible to move through the gardens without encountering something alive and thriving.”
By mid-morning, the entire court had joined the effort.
Lord Primrose and Lady Daphnie were weaving ribbons through arbors while composing increasingly absurd poetry about floral devotion to each other.
Lady Featherby handed out protective charms and energy tonics to anyone who looked tired.
Even Lord Turren appeared, digging in the soil with the same intensity he usually saved for his reflection.
“The purple blooms need better contrast,” he called out, gesturing dramatically to the staff working under his direction. “Villains understand aesthetics.”
Sasha exited the greenhouse, soil streaking her gown and her hair falling loose from its braid.
She looked exhausted and beautiful and completely focused.
When she caught my eye across the garden, her smile flashed quickly before she turned back to the ferns she was coaxing into their new positions.
Her hands moved over the leaves, magic flowing from her fingertips. The plants responded, their roots settling into the soil as if they’d been there for seasons. She’d stopped dismissing her gift. Now she used it with the same confidence she brought to tactical planning.
We worked all morning. Staff brought food to the gardens for lunch, and we ate quickly. Sasha and I crossed paths a dozen times, coordinating plant placement and adding magic to make sure the plants thrived.
“The emotion-responsive ones need more space,” she said, marking positions on a rough map she’d sketched. “If they’re too close together, their magical signatures will interfere.”
“What about clustering them near the fountain?” I said. “The water’s movement creates natural emotional flow.”
She considered, then nodded. “That could work. We’ll also need to—”
“Offset the taller varieties toward the back,” I said with a smile. “I know.”
Her own smile bloomed. “We’re getting good at this.”
“We are.”
By afternoon, my shoulders ached and my tunic had been abandoned hours ago.
I’d rolled my sleeves up, and I was sure my hair stood up in all sorts of odd directions.
The gardens looked better than they I’d expected, considering we’d essentially rebuilt them in a single day.
Vibrant blooms lined every path. Decorative vines wound through arbors.
The most emotion-responsive plants had been clustered in strategic positions, ready to pulse with color when the celebration began.
I’d positioned guards throughout the gardens, their presence disguised by illusion magic that made them look like decorative statues.