55. Ostara #2
The door opened, and Maelys appeared, looking like a forest nymph.
Her gown was layered with varying shades of green, and small flowers were scattered around the hem and grew up to her waist. Like she had stepped through the forest and into the castle.
Her golden-brown hair was curled, and a flower crown rested on her brow.
“You look—”
“You are—”
They started at the same time.
“Stunning.”
“Gorgeous.”
They beamed at each other and laughed. They each embodied the land from which they came.
Maelys the Wilds, and Lyra, Atlantis.
“Are you ready?” Maelys asked.
Lyra looked at Daisy for confirmation.
“As ready as she’ll ever be.”
Maelys nodded. “We’ll be back after the feast and first dance to get ready for the real celebrations.”
Daisy’s face turned an astonishing red. “I’ll be here.”
“You don’t go to the ball?” Lyra asked, realizing Daisy was still in her servant’s uniform.
Daisy shook her head. “Only the court goes to the ball.”
Lyra’s brow furrowed. She did not like that at all. “That’s not fair.”
Maelys nodded. “I’ve been after Wilder about it for ages. But he has no say in it.”
Lyra approached Daisy. “I can stay with you if you like?”
Daisy shook her head and gripped Lyra’s hand. “And waste all my hard work? Absolutely not! Go enjoy yourself. You deserve some happiness, Lyra.” It made her heart ache, and Lyra had to ball her hands into fists at her side to keep from clutching at her chest.
“Thank you, Daisy. You’re too kind.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“We’ll be back soon,” Maelys trilled from the door, and Lyra followed. This ball better be spectacular, or she was going to feel awful for leaving Daisy behind.
Every single flat surface was covered with flowers. The picture frames lining the hallways, the bases of statues, and even the banisters were draped with flora. Lilies, tulips, baby’s breath, hydrangeas, heather, foxtail, and many more she did not know the name of.
Small flames flickered in tiny tea lights. And the smells. Gods, the divine smells. Citrus and floral, and something sweet. It was immaculate.
“Is it like this every year?” Lyra asked as they waltzed down the hallway.
“Pretty much.”
The flower petals on Maelys’ dress fluttered behind her, and Lyra admired how exquisite it was.
“And this is like a real ball? With dancing?”
Maelys glanced sideways at her. “Of course. Why?”
Lyra shrugged, and her gown flowed and waved like a waterfall. “I don’t know how.”
Maelys pursed her lips. “Ridge and I can teach you. It’s easy.”
Lyra nodded, but unease coiled around her. There was no way she was going to make a fool of herself tonight, especially in front of Wilder.
They reached the doorway of the grand ballroom, and Maelys stopped. Peering at the open doors and the nonexistent line.
“We’re probably the last two to arrive, since there is no line. They’ll announce you and then walk in. That’s it.”
She must have noticed the unease on Lyra’s face. The tightness around her eyes and the grimace on her mouth.
“I’ll go first. And I’ll wait for you. I promise.”
She squeezed Lyra’s hand before letting go and walking through the open door and waiting on the stair landing. It was a long walk down the stairs, and Lyra clenched her teeth as the page called out Maelys’ name.
“Maelys Briarlace!”
Applause broke out, and Lyra watched as Maelys disappeared down the stairs. Her golden-brown hair gleamed in the crystalline light, and Lyra worked to calm her breathing.
She felt as if she were entering a battlefield. The first time she was surrounded by this many elves, they had hurled insults at her.
Taking a deep gulp of air and squaring her shoulders, Lyra walked through the doors.
The room fell silent. She could hear her dress hiss across the polished marble floors.
“Princess Lyra Auris of Atlantis!” the page announced.
Lyra traced her fingertips on the carved stair railing and looked out into the crowd to meet the glares of the gentry. Murmurs of her parentage were apparent in the sneers that she faced. She was an outsider here—an enemy.
But a shadow moved through the crowd, a blur of black striding with purpose. Those who didn’t move out of his way quickly enough were shoved by his wind.
He stood beside the page and murmured in his ear. The page’s tawny skin burned red before he announced to the room. “Escorted by Prince Wilder Moon Vale.”
Lyra froze and looked down at him. A smirk curved at the corner of his lips as he gazed up at her. His black jacket was embroidered with silver and sapphire—an identical match to her gown. But where hers were swirls of ocean waves, his were whirls of the wind.
He leveled his chin, daring her to refute his arm. And she did not.
Taking the steps one at a time, she reached his side and looked up into his sky-blue eyes that met hers without malice.
“Escort?” she murmured, her brow furrowing.
“Protection,” he replied, and stared past her and into the crowd that was still watching them.
Lyra nodded and took his arm, allowing him to lead her to the dais that King Oberon and Queen Aine sat on.
Wilder leaned towards her and whispered into her ear, “You look stunning.”
His voice was like a caress to her nerves.
“Thank you.”
Wilder walked her through the crowd, head held high, as they approached the king and queen.
Aine smiled down at her. “Lyra, darling, we’re so delighted you’re here to celebrate with us.”
Lyra grinned in return and dropped her chin low.
King Oberon’s face was unreadable. His antler crown gleamed when he nodded to her and then to Wilder. A cloak of crimson rested on his shoulders, and Lyra felt a thrill roll through her when she realized what it reminded her of—blood.
Queen Aine stood from her throne, and the murmurs that had bubbled were silenced. Her dress was like the night sky, navy and black, embroidered with diamonds that mimicked constellations.
“Let the festivities begin!” Queen Aine announced.
Strums of music began, and the crowd dispersed to the edges of the dance floor. Dancers took their positions in the center. Lyra stared on with a yearning she felt looking out at the sea. Swirls of color twined and flowed as the dancers twirled around the dance floor.
Wilder glanced down at a bouncing Lyra.
“Would you like to join them?”
Lyra bit her lip and tore her gaze from the gracefulness in the center of the room.
“I don’t know how,” she murmured.
Maelys was spun around by Ridge. His dark skin complemented her evergreen and floral gown. Like the gown itself had been made as the female equivalent of him.
“I’ll show you,” Wilder replied, tugging her to the dance floor.
Lyra’s heart rate increased, and her palms became damp. She had dreamed of this moment for most of her life, and it was finally happening.
They strode through the crowd arm-in-arm. Elves stepped out of the way and threw snarls at her. But she didn’t care. She was getting to dance on a holiday, something that was strictly forbidden for females.
Her attention was solely on the dance floor ahead of them.
Wilder grazed his hand across her waist before settling it low on her back. Her other hand was gripped in his. He looked down at her feet and then back up into her eyes.
“Just take a breath and follow my lead.”
He scooped her up, and her feet hovered above the ground before he was twirling them in line with the other dancers.
Lyra felt a wave of happiness from the top of her head to the tips of her toes as she flew around the dance floor. A smile stretched wide across her face, and a laugh bubbled up between her lips.
Wilder leaned back to look at her as he swept them across the floor, and an answering smile bloomed on his face.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Lyra blushed and squeezed his hand. “I have always wanted to do this.”
Wilder nodded. “I know.”
Her brow arched, and her smile dropped away. “You did?”
He nodded and spun her around. “You told me.”
Lyra frowned, not remembering such a conversation. “When?”
“At the cottage.”