Chapter Thirteen
Lark
Apulse of weak, unfamiliar magic drags me out of sleep, and I lash out without thinking, then hear a startled cry from the next room.
Where am I? What is happening?
It comes back to me all at once. My magic roils within me, glad to be let out of its cage and unleashed on another and, in my arms, Dante stirs. He makes a soft, disgruntled sound that has me melting against him.
We are here to save Ophelia. We are here for me to take the throne, to fulfil my fated destiny.
Someone knocks hesitantly at the door. I let go of Dante and sit up. My magic tells me that Grant is the one standing there, two weak, quaking fae somewhere beyond him.
“Yes?”
He pushes the door open a little way, only leaning his head around it. I am not certain what he can see of Dante from here, but I want it to be nothing.
“The fae are here.” At my blank look, he continues, “The ones who are helping us with our clothes tonight? They brought lunch, too, if either of you is hungry.”
I suppose I am, but more important is whether or not Dante is.
I incline my head in recognition and Grant’s eyes skip past me, just once, before he presses his lips together in a thin line.
His usually open expression is unreadable, but he merely shrugs and disappears again, closing the door with a quiet click.
The bed is warm and comfortable, which cannot be said for most of the other furniture in this castle. I want to surrender to it and sleep again, but when I look down, Dante is blinking up at me.
“They need us to get ready?” he asks. His purple curls are all in disarray, but they look soft, and having buried my face in them mere hours ago, I know they feel that way, too.
“Even with magic, they require some time to make our clothes for tonight,” I reply.
Dante nods. He watches me warily, and I do not know what he expects of me. I do not know what came over him earlier today. Soulbond or not, I know I would find him attractive. His smile is everything, and aside from that, the feel of his soft, warm body pressed up against mine—
“Lark?” he asks.
I have been staring for too long. I do not know how to express this to him, or even if I should. He cannot stay here with me. He does not wish to.
I move before I can do something sensible, like climb out of bed and get ready, and Dante gasps in surprise when I loom over him, one knee planted on either side of his hips. My own hair—as messy as it is now from sleep—falls around us in a dark curtain, shielding both of our faces from view.
He stares up at me. I shucked my glamour earlier, distressed as I was by the sight of my beloved plants all left to rot. Dante has seen me without my glamour before, in brief moments, but never as close as this.
Does he like what he sees? The thought seizes my heart and squeezes hard. Do my sharp teeth frighten him? Are my eyes too harsh and cold?
“Lark,” he murmurs. His lips part softly, pink and inviting, but I cannot bridge that gap without his permission, even as my entire body trembles with desperate need.
Only once would never be enough. Try as I might to set myself apart, I am much like other high fae. Greedy. Selfish. I do not believe I would ever force Dante to remain here, but one taste might change that.
His breaths come faster. “Lark, please—”
My heart skips a beat.
“Don’t.”
Ice sinks in my stomach. I swallow bile, and it is not his fault, not at all. I can only blame myself.
“Apologies.” I move off him and sit on the edge of the bed. “I did not mean—I am sorry.”
Dante says nothing, and I think, after his earlier reaction and my behaviour just now, he will not move until I do.
I cross to the wardrobe and take out the first robe I see.
It smells better than I anticipated, until I remember that Zomo said my rooms were refreshed, and I am not certain whether I am appreciative or not that no one was allowed into the greenhouse.
“Take something from in here to wear if you wish,” I say. “I will use the bathroom first.”
I dare not look at him, and I sweep off into the bathroom the second the words are out of my mouth, closing the door firmly behind me. Everything is fresh and clean in here, too, and I plant my hands on either side of the sink and stare into the mirror.
Distance would be best, but with Grant’s ruse, it will be impossible at the ball tonight. Dante will not wish to be left alone here when there is a chance Ophelia could be there, and as Zomo will no doubt have spread the news that I brought a pet along with me, he will be expected.
I run the tap—one of countless human inventions we have taken and use magic to power—and splash cold water on my face. A lifetime in this place… Already, the walls are closing in.
I clean up and shrug on the robe, and when I slip out of the bathroom again, Dante is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing the same trousers and T-shirt he was wearing earlier today. He watches silently as I pull a pair of loose trousers from the wardrobe and put them on under the robe.
“Uh, I wasn’t sure anything in there would fit me,” he says, and when I look over, his cheeks are stained red and his jaw is set.
“There are robes I am certain would suffice,” I reply. “They will wish to take your measurements anyway. It is the only reason they are here.”
The colour leaves his face in a rush, but he nods despite his pale complexion. “I—Yeah, okay. I’ll be out in a minute?”
I want to comfort him, but I sense my touch would be unwelcome. My presence feels unwelcome. “Very well. I will ensure the food is safe for us both, so you can eat and drink as well.”
“Thanks.”
I leave him in the bedroom, although it pains me to do so, and when I walk out into the sitting room, the two fae stand to attention. Grant raises his eyebrows at the sight. He is lounging on the sofa and looks no more rumpled than he did earlier today.
“They wouldn’t tell me their names,” Grant says with a sigh. He rolls his head back to look at them. “I asked nicely.”
Both fae are of similar height and build, but one stands slightly in front of the other, as though to protect him. My magic flickers out, tasting, testing, and I immediately sense what the problem is.
“One is Seelie, the other Unseelie,” I say, and the one at the back flinches. Seelie. “That is of little importance here. You have come to prepare us for tonight’s event?”
The Unseelie drops his eyes. “Yes.”
“Very well. Do your work.”
They both hesitate for a moment, exchanging a quick, worried glance, but the Unseelie recovers faster.
He gestures for me to move to the centre of the room, and when he bids it, I remove my robe, standing there only in the pair of loose trousers I put on a few minutes ago.
Grant watches on from the sofa. He has a bowl of grapes at his elbow, and he occasionally pops one in his mouth.
“It will be your turn after,” I say. The Seelie looks between us, his brow furrowed, when Grant merely shrugs in reply. I should have warned him to behave better when others were around, but I have to give him some credit—his magical disguise is still impeccable.
“And then—”
Grant shuts his mouth but smiles when Dante comes into the room. The Unseelie has his measuring tape around my waist, but when he calls out the number to his companion, he gets no answer in return.
I glance over. The Seelie is staring past me, at Dante, his mouth half open. Red stains his pale cheeks.
When I look back, Dante is standing in the doorway still, and he is clearly aware of the attention. He ducks his head, lips turning down miserably, and I do not know how to tell him that the Seelie is not staring at him for any other reason than that he finds Dante attractive.
I growl instead, and the Seelie squeaks and ducks his head. The Unseelie repeats the number. His hands tremble when he moves the tape to my hips.
Grant pats the sofa cushion next to him and Dante skirts around me to sit down. He is wearing another robe from my wardrobe, which fits him snugly, and the cornflower fabric is a delicious contrast to his bronzed skin. Grant offers the bowl of grapes, but Dante shakes his head.
“Don’t like them,” he murmurs.
The fae are on edge now, nervously watching my expression as Grant and Dante casually interact. I am not about to make Dante more uncomfortable by hinting that they should stop; besides, I believe Grant would simply ignore me.
And let them speculate. If I am to be here for the rest of my days, then at least wild rumours may make things more interesting.
Once my measurements are taken, I gesture for Grant to take my place. He does, chattering away—which does nothing to ease the nerves of the two fae—and I investigate the lunch that has been brought for us.
Platters of fruit, fresh in a way they can only be if they are coaxed into growing, and bread and cheese to go along with them.
I may not know Dante’s favourite type of coffee, but I know he likes strawberries, because when Drew experimented with strawberry croissants, he came in and bought one every day for a week.
I pile some of those onto a plate, along with blackberries, cheese, and some walnuts that I am certain Dante likes.
He stares up at me when I hand him the plate. “Eat,” I say. “I got things you like.”
The Seelie squeaks and drops his pencil.
I ignore both of them and pour Dante some water instead.
Nothing here has been tampered with, and I truly doubted that it would be.
Why bring us here simply to poison us? The fae here do not know that I intend to remain and sit on the throne.
They believe I am here to retrieve my soulbond.
Dante eats the fruit and looks at me through his lashes when I take the seat next to him on the sofa. Grant stays where he is once his measurements are done. “So, what are you planning on making for us?”
The Unseelie stares at him with wide eyes. “We—You will match His Highness,” he says, with a slight duck of his head. “The royal colours, but we will make something that fits the current styles.”