Chapter 29
Piper
The Yule Ball arrives wrapped in frost and gold.
I wake to the sound of soft tapping on my window—snowflakes catching in the early glow of morning, drifting down in slow spirals as if the whole world is holding its breath.
Even my apartment feels different today, warmed by soft enchantments humming in the corners.
The bond thrums quietly under my skin like a heartbeat that isn’t mine alone.
Newt stretches at the end of the bed and gives me a look that’s equal parts judgment and approval, as though he’s finally accepted that I’m choosing Slade.
The dress arrives just after noon.
Rhea sends a text before it does—Don’t freak out. Seriously—and she’s right, because when I open the garment bag, the breath leaves my lungs in one long, stunned exhale.
Rhea oversaw every alteration. And now, seeing it finished, I understand her warning.
The gown is a deep evergreen velvet that looks nearly black until the light catches it.
The sweetheart neckline curves gently upward, balanced by the off-the-shoulder sleeves that frame my collarbones.
The bodice is fitted in a structured corset, hugging my waist and lifting my chest just enough to make me blush at my own reflection.
The mermaid skirt clings to every curve before flaring softly near the floor, a high slit on the left side revealing a tantalizing sweep of leg.
But the belt—that’s what steals my breath.
A gold heirloom snowflake, wrought in a Bellamy filigree pattern no jeweler could replicate, inlaid with tiny diamonds that catch even the dullest light. It’s delicate and ancient, the metal warm under my fingertips, humming with the protective magic my ancestors wove into every family piece.
There’s a small note, pinned to the garment bag. “For you, your mother used to wear it every Yule. Mom wanted you to have it. Try not to ruin your makeup, - R.”
I swallow thickly, admiring the belt before swatting away tears.
Getting ready feels weightier than usual.
I shower, letting the warm water settle the nerves dancing beneath my skin.
I curl my hair in soft spirals, pin one side back with a shimmering gold comb, and let the rest fall freely.
I swap out my everyday jewelry for gold—thin layered necklaces, delicate hoops, a bracelet that sparkles like frost. My heels are gold as well, strappy and elegant.
Gold eyeshadow dusts across my lids. A soft shimmer brightens my cheeks, and my lips flush a warm rose. My perfume—amber, vanilla, and winter citrus—settles around me like a memory wrapped in warmth.
When I’m done, I stand in the mirror and almost don’t recognize the woman looking back. Not because she looks different—but because she looks whole.
A soft knock at the door breaks the moment.
Slade waits on the other side, devastating in a black tux with an evergreen sheen, subtle runic embroidery catching each shift of light. His hair is sleek, his jaw clean-shaven, his shoulders impossibly broad.
But when his eyes land on me, everything inside him stills. “Piper,” he breathes, voice touched with awe, “you are… unforgettable.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks. “So are you.”
His gaze roams slowly down the dress, lingering on the heirloom belt. Understanding softens his expression. “That belonged to your mother.”
I nod. “Rhea found it in her collection. She said… Aunt Petunia wanted me to have it.”
Slade steps closer, his voice dropping into something soft and reverent. “She would be proud.”
The words hit deep—deeper than I expect.
He offers me his arm, and I take it, waiting for his magic to open the portal.
The portal to the Bellamy estate opens in a swirl of silver and evergreen light, carrying us into an expansive foyer strung with floating candles and garlands enchanted with frost. Warmth spills over everything—gold light reflecting in polished floors, hearthfires glowing green with witchfire, distant music drifting through arched doorways.
We step into the ballroom and my breath disappears entirely.
A canopy of starlight glitters across the ceiling. Green and gold ribbons float lazily overhead. Crystal centerpieces shimmer like winter constellations. The Bellamys—my loud, magical, chaotic family—move through the candlelight in a blur of velvet and warmth.
Aunt Lyra sees me first. Her gasp is theatrical enough to summon a breeze. “Piper Bellamy,” she calls out, sweeping toward me in lace gloves and dramatic sleeves, “you look like Yule itself decided to take human form.”
I laugh—a bright, genuine sound—and Slade glances at me like he wants to memorize every note.
Lyra hugs me tight, then pulls back to inspect Slade with narrowed eyes. “And this must be the infamous demon lord. You’re taller than I imagined. Congratulations on surviving this long.”
Slade chuckles, bowing his head slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Before I can reply, Rhea bursts into view in a whirl of emerald silk, eyes alight with mischief and pride.
“You look perfect,” she announces, grabbing my hands and giving me a once-over. “Elle is going to lose her mind.”
“Where is she?” I ask.
“Being dramatic,” Rhea sighs fondly. “You know. Existing.”
Right on cue, Maristelle—Elle to everyone who wants to live—glides down the curved balcony stairs like she was born in moonlight.
Her gown is liquid gold, catching the light in long, fluid sweeps as she moves.
Her hair—lighter brown than Rhea’s, straight as a blade and glossy as polished bronze—is swept up into an intricate braided twist, tendrils pinned with tiny gold snowflake clips.
Her amber eyes, a paler shade than her sister’s, warm instantly when they land on me.
“Pipes!” she squeals, voice ringing through the ballroom like a bell. She rushes the last few steps, practically launching herself into my arms.
I laugh as she squeezes me tight enough to wrinkle the velvet. “You look incredible.”
She pulls back, offering me a full once-over. “Oh please. I look like a festive Oscar statue. You—” she grabs my shoulders and shakes me lightly, “—look like Yule royalty. The belt? The dress? Piper Bellamy, you are going to slay tonight.”
“Rhea oversaw the alterations,” I admit.
Elle snorts. “Of course she did. She’s been vibrating about it all day long.”
Rhea, hovering dramatically behind us, flips her hair. “I have excellent taste, thank you.”
Elle rolls her eyes in that perfect younger-sister way and then her attention shifts—sharply, curiously—to the demon standing solidly at my side.
Her gaze drags slowly up Slade, from the embroidered evergreen sheen of his tux to the crisp lines of his shoulders, to the way he holds himself like a fortress carved out of shadow.
Her expression shifts. Approving. Calculating.
A little dangerous. “And this,” she says, voice velvet-edged, “must be him.”
“It is,” I say, biting back a smile.
Slade inclines his head with a quiet grace that still knots heat low in my belly. “Slade Athalar. A pleasure to finally meet you.”
Elle’s eyes narrow—not in suspicion, but in the kind of scrutiny only a Bellamy woman can pull off without blinking.
Then she smiles. Sharp. Beautiful. Entirely Bellamy. “Good,” she says. “Because if you hurt her, I will turn you into a garden ornament. A tasteful one, but still.”
Slade’s mouth curves—just barely. “That seems to be a theme as of late.”
Rhea chokes on her drink. “Elle, for gods’ sake, he hasn’t committed a crime.”
“Yet,” Elle mutters. “But I like to set expectations early.”
I snort, and Slade rests his hand at the small of my back, thumb brushing warm circles through velvet—a grounding, steady touch that sends a shiver down my spine.
Elle notices. Of course she does.
“Oh saints, you two are disgusting already,” she says, but her smile softens. “It suits you.”
“The ballroom looks exquisite,” I say, trying to change the subject.
Rhea sidles in, linking her arm with mine. “Elle helped oversee the decor this year. Don’t encourage her ego too much.”
“You mean my mastery?” Elle counters. “My artistic genius? My contribution to holiday magic?”
Rhea mutters, “Your relentless need to micromanage,” under her breath.
Elle gasps, scandalized. “I do not micromanage.”
“Elle, you rearranged the centerpieces six times,” Rhea deadpans.
“They weren’t speaking to the theme,” Elle huffs. “Gold. Evergreen. Legacy. Family. I refuse to apologize for having vision.”
The sisters bicker, warm and familiar, their back-and-forth settling around me like a quilt I didn’t realize I’d been cold without.
New couples slip onto the dance floor. Candles drift overhead. A soft haze of gold magic hums along the walls. Every part of this estate breathes Bellamy history.
Elle turns back to me, expression suddenly softer, more earnest beneath the glamour. “It’s good to have you home tonight, Pipes.”
Emotion tightens in my throat, unexpected and sharp. “It’s good to be home.”
She squeezes my hand, just once, then whispers, “I’m so happy for you,” before stepping aside to greet someone calling her name.
Slade’s hand slides into mine.
The orchestra swells, violins threading through the air like ribbon. The ballroom glows with Yule warmth—family laughter, clinking glasses, enchanted garlands twinkling with frostlight.
And for a moment, just one shimmering breath of time, everything inside me settles.
The curse still coils beneath my skin. The choice still waits. Danger still hums like a distant storm.
But surrounded by Rhea’s fierce loyalty, Elle’s bright warmth, my family’s chaotic love, and Slade’s steady devotion—I feel something I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Not fear, or even dread. Nor the weight of my family’s legacy.
But… belonging.
Slade leans down, brushing a kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin. “Ready?” he murmurs.
I look around—the glowing room, the swirling magic, the people I’ve always loved—and then up at him.
“Yes,” I whisper, heart steady.
Because for the first time, I know without hesitation…
I am exactly where I’m meant to be.