Chapter 35 Jules
Jules
I stand in the middle of Lucian’s bedroom for a long moment after he leaves, staring at the door like it might explain itself if I glare hard enough.
Curvy Queen.
The words echo in my head, heavy and unreal.
“Well,” I mutter to myself, tugging the crimson robe tighter around my waist, “that’s one way to start a Tuesday.”
Though honestly, I’m not exactly sure what day it is now. Time feels different in the Shadow Realm…it’s more fluid somehow. Have I been here for a few days…or for a few weeks? What if time is passing slower or faster here than it is in the Human Realm? What if Mr. Mittens is already out of food?
The thought makes me want to cry again and I hurriedly push it away. Why am I so emotional lately? What’s wrong with me?
I turn away from the door…and then I feel it. A heaviness in my lower abdomen…a feeling like a slowly clenching fist deep inside me.
Well, crap.
“Oh. You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter to myself.
I press a hand to my stomach, breathing slowly. It’s not pain yet—just that dull, warning ache I know all too well. The kind that means my uterus has started its monthly countdown.
Oh great, I think sourly. Just what I need right now—my period.
As if being abducted by a vampire Mafia Don into the Shadow Realm, almost trafficked by demons, and declared a Queen—which is a position I most certainly never applied for—wasn’t enough, I’m about to be surfing the crimson wave. Lovely.
I sigh and rub my temples.
Okay. Don’t panic. Usually when I start feeling the twinges, I’ve got some time before things really kick off. Time to find… supplies.
I glance around the gothic bedroom again, taking in the towering bed, the roaring fire, the carved stone walls—as though they might be hiding pads or tampons or maybe a goddess cup somewhere.
Do vampires even have tampons? Do they even know what a tampon is? I wonder.
The idea of trying to explain my menstrual cycle to Lucian makes me want to crawl back into bed and hide under the covers forever. I don’t even want to think about it.
One crisis at a time, Jules, I tell myself.
Right now I have to get ready for this meeting with the Don of the Ossuary Circle—whatever that means.
A memory pokes me—words I heard Kael, the Demon Don say when he was talking about why the different factions in the Shadow Realm all want “Curvy Queens.”
“The Ossuary Circle—necromancers cloaked in death—covet your lifeblood, thick with power,” his words whisper in my brain.
Ugh—does that mean we’ll be having dinner with a dead guy tonight?
Or a necromancer—which isn’t much better, since they actually raise the dead and then use them as servants—don’t they?
I only know what I’ve read in a few dark romantasy books, so I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I remember the gates made of iron and bone I saw in the Central Hub and the blue witchlights burning behind them.
Well, it seems like this is going to be an interesting dinner—not that there’s anything I can do about it. I might as well get dressed.
I head for the massive wardrobe set into the far wall. The doors are tall and heavy, carved with intricate designs—roses, thorns, wings, and fangs all tangled together. When I pull one open, the scent of rich fabric and faint perfume drifts out.
Rows and rows of dresses greet me. Most of them are… a lot.
I see deep, plunging necklines, corseted bodices and slits that go all the way up to there.
Gowns that seemed intended to seduce or intimidate—or both.
They’re gorgeous, no question about it—but also wildly impractical for everyday use.
I wonder if Lucian intends for us to attend lots of formal dinner parties.
He said he wants to have me on his arm—as though he wants to show me off because of my curves.
It seems strange to think that in the Shadow Realm, I am what everyone considers a “trophy wife.” Back home in the Human Realm, I’m invisible to most men—except creeps like Donald Pugh. Ugh. I shiver as I remember his fate—dragged down to hell by those weird black shadow hands…
No—I won’t think about that! I try to push the awful mental images away and go back to looking at dresses.
“I am not wearing that,” I murmur, sliding one scandalously low-cut velvet dress aside. “Or that, or that…or that.” As one after another, I go through them. Lucian must think I’m an exhibitionist, wanting to dress me in some of these!
That thought makes me remember the scene at the Lust Gates of the Carnal Bazaar, which makes me blush.
“Nope, not thinking about that either,” I mutter to myself.
I keep looking, going through dress after dress.
And then—at last—I find it. It’s a dress tucked slightly off to one side, almost hiding.
It’s still elegant, but quieter. Deep wine-red silk with a softly draped neckline—not plunging to my navel—just deep enough to show a little cleavage and look flattering.
The sleeves are long and fitted, the skirt skimming my hips and thighs instead of clinging like it wants to start a scandal.
The waist is gently tailored, highlighting my curves without squeezing me into submission.
“Okay. I can work with this,” I say as I pull the dress free…and then I notice something else—a drawer that was hidden by the fabric of the dress’s skirt.
It’s built into the wardrobe, low and unobtrusive. I open it—and give a little exclamation of excitement.
Underwear! And also, bras! Just what I was looking for yesterday. I had almost resigned myself to just going commando everywhere while I’m here in the Shadow Realm. But look at all these cute and sexy undies! All just for me. Neatly folded, organized by color and size, and they’re all mine.
Also, they fit like they were made for me.
I know, because I try on a few sets. There are some sexy, lacy bras but also full-coverage ones with good support.
There are silk panties but also some soft cotton ones—even a few pairs of granny panties, which is what I’ll probably be wearing as soon as my period really starts.
I see some lacy ones too, but no thongs, thank goodness. And everything in my size.
I stare at the drawer for a long moment. I’ve always loved pretty underwear—does Lucian know that about me?
He planned this—all of it. He even took the time to find out my sizes.
The realization lands with a strange mix of unease and reluctant gratitude.
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or terrified,” I mutter to myself, choosing a sensible bra and underwear. I put them on and then turn to the dress.
The fabric slides over my skin smoothly and it settles into place like it was made for me. When I look down, I barely recognize myself.
I look… put together…important. Almost royal.
That thought sends another flutter of nerves through my stomach.
Now what? I wonder.
As if summoned by my anxiety, there’s a soft knock at the door.
“Yes?” I call.
The door opens just enough for a woman to peek in. She’s small and brisk, with dark hair pinned back and a crisp black-and-white uniform. She dips into a quick curtsy.
“Mornin’, Your Majesty,” she says in a lilting accent. “I’m ‘ere to do your ‘air, if it pleases.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“My… hair?”
“Yes, Miss,” she says brightly, already stepping inside with a tray of brushes and pins. “The Master wants you lookin’ proper before the meetin,’ so he does.”
The Master. I suppose she must mean Lucian though the thought of calling him that does funny things to my stomach—especially when I remember the sex dungeon room he has down the hall.
I swallow hard, trying to push away the thought. It’s surprisingly easy, because now I have another thought—a question. Am I the first human woman that Lucian has brought here, proclaiming her a “Curvy Queen?” Is this just a regular occurrence for this maid?”
“Thank you,” I say to her. “Um—have you done anyone else’s hair before? Any other women here in the Crimson Spires, I mean?”
She looks genuinely puzzled.
“Other women? Oh no, miss—not like this.”
“Not like what?”
She snorts softly.
“Well, for starters, not human. An’ not installed.”
“Installed?” I repeat faintly.
“Yes, Miss.” She gestures vaguely around the room. “The Master’s always ‘ad blood slaves brought through—regular as clockwork for feedin’ and all. He’s a Thirstborn so he ‘as to ‘ave blood, you see. But he’s never kept a woman here. Never mind a human one.”
She leads me to a mirror and begins brushing my hair with gentle efficiency.
“Truth be told, we always thought ‘im cold as marble. Scary as sin, too.”
My heart does a weird little flip in my chest.
“And now?” I ask her.
She smiles at my reflection.
“Now ‘e’s tellin’ all the servants they’re to treat you with deference. That you’re our Queen. That no one’s to so much as breathe wrong in your direction. Utterly besotted, he is.” She clicks her tongue. “Never seen ‘im like this before.”
Utterly besotted? Does she mean…in love?
The words echo in my head, terrifying and impossible. There’s no way Lucian is that gone on me—is there?
The maid works quickly, twisting my hair into an elaborate style—soft curls pinned up and away from my face, woven with subtle jeweled pins that catch the light. When she’s done, she steps back, satisfied.
“There you go, miss. Perfect.”
She curtsies again and slips out, leaving me alone with my reflection.
I turn slowly toward the mirror.
It’s enormous—floor to ceiling, framed in black carved stone etched with roses and skulls. The glass is old and slightly warped, making everything look dreamlike.
The woman staring back at me looks like a stranger. Her hair is styled beautifully, and her dress hugs her curves just right. Her posture is straighter and on her face I see an expression that is wary but strong.
She looks like a Queen—or at least someone pretending very hard to be one.
I press a hand to my stomach again, feeling another faint twinge.
This is really happening, I think. And I have no idea what comes next.