Chapter 6
AVELINE
The dress is, in fact, even prettier on me than it was on the hanger. The ribbons themselves are brushing my hair and pinning it into a complicated updo.
I’m trying very hard not to think about it too much.
Ter has let himself into my room and is studying me with one dark beady eye from the ornate vanity opposite the four-poster bed.
“I can tell you’re judging me,” I finally say, dipping my finger into some rose-tinted balm and dabbing it on my cheeks.
“Of course I’m judging you,” Ter blinks. “What else would I be doing?”
I sigh, then decide to ignore the raven as best I can.
Which, unfortunately, means I’m watching the ribbons on my dress do my hair. Disconcerting, to say the least. And just like that, the talking raven is much more appealing.
“Well, do I pass muster?”
“You passed muster the moment you were written into the fabric of the Wild Oak Woods,” Ter says.
I blow out a breath, then slap at one of the ribbons when it tries to brush something onto my eyelids. “That’s enough of that.” I turn my attention back to the raven, who’s blue-black feathers match the blues and blacks of the dress I’m wearing. “I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”
“I have explained this to you a million times.” Ter clacks his beak at me.
Outside, night is well underway, and the sounds of insects and frogs are so much louder here than they were at home in Stormspire. Even the thick shadows pooled around the foundation seem to ripple with intention, behaving like silent sentinels guarding the perimeter.
“I think your version of explaining is vastly different than mine,” I mutter.
“Just try not to set anything on fire tonight,” he says. “Last time was such a disaster.”
“I didn’t set anything on fire today.” As far as I can remember, at least. I frown at my reflection. “I just… you know… sent light out of myself.” As one does when they’re angry. “What do you mean last time?”
“Nothing.” He preens a wing feather while I stare at him.
“That was absolutely not a nothing.”
“It was centuries ago. It’s hardly relevant right now.”
“Centuries—"
“Exactly. Ancient history,” Ter interrupts. “Now hurry up. The sooner you two figure yourselves out the better.”
Throttling Ter is out of the question, I decide. First of all, I like animals.
Second of all, I have never once throttled anything.
The chair grates against the floor as I shove myself backward, standing up to my full height, taking one last look at the silken skirts of what is, without a doubt, the most sumptuous gown I’ve ever worn. A ribbon smooths at my hip, and I glare at it with distaste. “That’s enough,” I tell it.
It wilts, and I tuck it behind me, slightly distressed at the fact my dress even seems to have opinions. A bird, a castle, and a wardrobe with opinions.
People were bad enough.
Ugh.
And now I have to go deal with the exact person who is at the top of my opinionated irritants list.
Malakai is not going to outwit or irritate me this dinner. I will get the answers I need and the conversation I deserve, ribbons and ravens notwithstanding.
Malakai might be an immortal… being, king, whatever it is he calls himself, but he is going to answer my questions.
I raise my chin, then eye the letter opener next to the rouge on the vanity. Might as well take it with me… better to be prepared than wish I’d had it. I tuck it into one of the deep pockets on the gown, patting it happily.
Ter squawks at me indignantly.
“I might have correspondence that needs opening,” I tell him, then turn on my heel.
The bedroom door flies open as I stride over to it, cool night air kissing my cheeks as I prowl down the hallway, making my way down the grand curved staircase that leads to the high-ceilinged foyer.
The soft-soled slippers I chose for comfort’s sake hardly make a noise on the elaborately tiled floors, and the minute I step into the massive space, it hits me.
I have no idea where the damned dining room is.
Just like that, my shoulders sag in relief, and I tip my chin up, inhaling deeply. “I don’t know where the dining room is,” I say, and my gleeful voice echoes around the room. See? I only knew where things were in the bathroom because it made sense for them to be there.
“Good thing I am here to escort you to dinner them,” a deep voice says.
I stifle a shriek through sheer willpower, a trick they did not teach me at boarding school but one I learned there anyway, and slowly pin my gaze on where Malakai is… materializing in the corner.
Literally materializing, smoke and shadows swirling around him until he’s corporeal.
Corporeal and brutally handsome, and still wearing that absolutely ridiculous little leather shoulder piece.
“Excuse me, sir—”
“You are excused,” Malakai answers, eyes narrowed.
I clear my throat and begin again. “I thought this evening was a formal affair.” I point at my own blue and black silk confection of a gown, which now I feel incredibly overdressed in. “Shall I change into the riding habit—”
Ter lets out a shriek, then flies down and lands atop my shoulder.
“It is a formal dinner, yes. You are garbed appropriately.” Malakai delivers this judgment with all the interest of a snail climbing slowly up a garden wall.
A strangled noise begins squeaking near my collarbone. Mine. I swallow it. “Yes. I am. And you are wearing… some sort of masculine,” I pause, “leather lingerie.”
Ter clacks his beak.
I carry on, undeterred and gathering steam. “What is the purpose of that, anyway? Is it a necklace? Do you carry snacks in it? Weapons? No, it’s not big enough for either of those functions. Surely it isn’t armor. I cannot see how it would protect you at all.”
I harrumph and sweep past him, my skin warming where it brushes too close to all that exposed skin. “The castle dressed me, but I see you were not given the same care if that is what you have deigned appropriate for dinner with your chosen spouse.”
“It is ceremonial,” Malakai replies stiffly. “Ceremonial battle armor, made from the hide of a great shadow-wyrm.”
“How quaint.” I realize I still don’t know where I’m going and stop in the arched doorway. Deep obsidian tiles expand across the floor in clean, diagonal diamond patterns, polished to a mirror-like shine. Sapphire blue and white rugs glisten with gold thread and soften the space.
“Quaint?” Malakai repeats, and when I glance over my shoulder at him, one dark eyebrow has rocketed into his ink-black hair.
“Mm,” I answer noncommittally, trying to hold in a laugh. I let my gaze drip down his bare chest, ignoring the flutter in my stomach at the sight of all that muscle on display.
He takes a step closer, and another, and I step back, my shoulder blades colliding with the doorjamb. “You think me slaying a shadow-wyrm and making armor out of its corpse is… quaint?”
“Well, it isn’t exactly the height of luxury, is it?” I raise my chin, forcing myself to hold the pressure of his gaze. “Having to slay one’s… idea of a garment.”
“Idea?” he repeats, the other eyebrow raising. “Idea of a garment?”
“It doesn’t cover much, does it? I am fairly sure that is the purpose of clothing, yes?”
“It is ceremonial,” he says, acid dripping from his voice.
“What ceremony are you attending? A bath?”
He makes a strangled noise, and I grin up at him, well-pleased at having the upper hand. “I don’t usually need armor to bathe in, but to each their own.”
Malakai’s eyes darken, and heat rises in my chest and neck as I realize what I’ve said. He takes another step forward, a large hand planting above my head, caging me in. “What do you need to bathe in, then, dear Aveline?”
“Water, of course.” I just barely manage to keep my tone flippant.
His hand drops, and he watches me, the corners of his eyes tight with something that looks like confusion, as I step away from him and the doorway, my heart pounding in my chest.
There’s something between us, and it has nothing to do with ceremonial battle lingerie, whatever that may be.
“I was promised food,” I say archly, casting my gaze away from him and swallowing hard.
“I was promised a bride,” he says, his voice rasping. “And yet you deny me for reasons I do not understand.”
“Because neither one of us has made this an understanding,” I tell him sharply.
He flinches. Or maybe he doesn’t—his face smoothing back to perfection so quickly I think I may have imagined it completely.
“How would this work as an understanding… between us,” he asks slowly, still trailing me as I walk as confidently as I can muster to a location I am not altogether sure of.
“The fact that you have to ask is incredibly troubling.” I pause, looking into one of the rooms beyond. Sure enough, there is a dining table. The house itself seems to exhale, a contented, welcoming sigh vibrating through the heavy masonry, and I breathe a quick sigh of relief.
“As troubling as my battle lingerie?” he asks.
I stumble slightly, coughing quickly to disguise my laugh.
Warmth surrounds my arm as his fingers close around it, catching me before I lose my balance. When I look up at Malakai, there’s something mischievous in his eyes, a spark I hadn’t seen there before.
My pulse thrums against my neck.
“I don’t think anything is quite so troubling as your lack of understanding about what constitutes formal dress.”
“It’s good to know it’s captivated your attention so thoroughly, Aveline.”
I make another strangled, noncommittal sound, but from the way half his lips quirk into a smile, I know he thinks he’s won this round of conversation.
I narrow my eyes.
We’re only just getting started.