Chapter 45
Dion had left his quarters early in the morning after the night of the ball. He’d announced that he wanted to assemble the males to brainstorm. I’d called his endeavor damage control, but he hadn’t agreed to my term.
One thing, though, had been very obvious. Dion didn’t wish to remain at Alaiann Palace for much longer.
As I slipped out of bed, my gaze roamed to the minuscule bedside table, where a dainty, wrapped box decorated with a red silk ribbon caught my attention.
Curiosity was one of my vices, so I picked up the item and examined the parcel from all sides until I found a small tag inserted under one of the lanes of the scarlet bow. My heart somersaulted as I recognized my name in Dion’s handwriting.
He’d left me a present.
Of course, I didn’t hesitate to unravel the silky band and unwrap the gift.
My breath caught in my throat.
Inside the box, on a bed of black velvet, nested the most beautiful set of earrings I’d ever seen.
Dangling strands of silver cascaded down from a single stud, each descending metal string cut to a different length.
Every single thread was adorned with small opals—Dion had remembered my fascination with the rainbow effect of Ireas’ irises and had kept his jealousy in check long enough so I could have jewelry decked with these stones.
The earrings were simple but stunning, and not only because of the opals.
I loved them.
But by Noelk, why had I never gotten my ears pierced?
Here in Galanta, I was also an anomaly in this regard, since most fae, male or female, wore piercings. Even Dion, although I’d never witnessed him decorated with such ornaments, had several perforations in his ears if I interpreted the slight indentations correctly.
I’d never had the wish to pierce my ears before today. But as I stared at the jewelry, deep regret churned in my chest, and I wondered if one of my friends could help me change my pitiful state.
Maybe Ireas—he was a medic, after all—and if he weren’t able to punch a small hole through my flesh, I would be surprised. Especially since he had so many piercings himself.
Or Thain could be an option, not because of any credentials I could think of, but because this seemed like something he’d simply do without a second of hesitation.
After I’d stored the box safely in my getaway bag, as Dion called the collection of necessities next to my bed, I sank down on the edge of the four-poster.
Memories of last night assaulted my mind.
So far, I’d managed to push everything far away.
The humiliation at the ball, Dion’s stupid, stupid decision to derail our plan and to antagonize his grandfather, the wrath in the eyes of the High King, and, of course, the prince’s confession and his overall irrational behavior.
What a whirlwind of events.
If I analyzed Dion’s demeanor rationally, most of his actions sounded like a folk tale constructed to touch the hearts of impressionable dreamers, starring a damsel in distress, rescued from certain death and whisked away by an otherworldly prince, who then fell for her.
Only, in reality, I didn’t long to be a damsel, nor did I believe in the existence of love, and the shadowy prince was convinced that he was the pinnacle of creation and only behaved like a hero by accident, although he was the villain instead.
Dion’s lengthy declarations yesterday—
Of course, they’d touched me deep within. The way the princeling had with words, especially when compared to Bryon’s fumbling attempts to win my affection, and how he, the most closed-off person I’d ever met, had basically dripped with unguarded honesty—
Yes, Dion had many flaws. No one could deny this. Yet something lured me closer and closer to him, and I’d caught myself often enough justifying his behavior. Fae were already so different from humans, and growing up under Galrach’s thumb must have added to the damage—
However, even if he had good reasons and I understood where he was coming from, my own morals and my integrity should be above such implications.
And still—if I were honest with myself, although the thought was scary, very wrong, and a major inconvenience, being wanted with such intensity was more than just a little flattering. Deep down, I didn’t yearn for him to stop fighting, regardless that I was certain my convictions wouldn’t change.
A sigh dislodged from my chest. To think that way was egoistic—as was enjoying the attention and affection he was showering me with. Effectively, I was holding him and his emotions hostage.
I wasn’t fair to him. But knowing him, I could tell Dion wouldn’t give up on his plan to woo me, even if I fought his advances harder—he’d ignore me and would continue acting like he had me completely figured out.
In his opinion, and I scowled at his audacity, I would come to terms soon about how wrong I was.
Like in a constant loop, his declaration on the balcony last night held my mind captive as I brushed my hair.
That Dion was capable of such tender and romantic expressions had come as a surprise—although he always had a way with words—no matter how his confession had been peppered by an extra dose of possessiveness.
Lately, his tendencies weren’t suffocating me as much as in the beginning, mainly because he accepted when I fought back. The instances where he hadn’t done so had been the ones he’d been right to keep me close.
For a long time, I’d believed that his territorial behavior came from pure egoism—not a too far-fetched speculation, given the size of his ego.
But ever since I’d comprehended a few weeks back that he not only wanted to possess me but also desired to see me thrive, my conviction had wavered.
He was demanding a lot of me—especially patience, nerves, and recognition—but on the other hand, he was more than generous to me.
Still, the prince remained an enigma. He could be sweet like yesterday, supportive, and protective, but also cold, murderous, and egoistic. And the weirdest detail was how these qualities intermingled.
To face the truth, it was highly unlikely I’d solve the riddle the fae prince posed someday soon or ever.
My brooding was interrupted by the chimes announcing someone at the front door, and an uneasy knot formed in my stomach.
Dion had assured me that no one would bother me in his absence, but obviously, he’d been wrong.
Given that he was spending the morning with the others—and there was a deal with them that they’d never ring but always knock—my mind was already busy with creating a lot of horrible options concerning the surprise visitor’s identity, and setting the hairbrush aside, I fished for my morning robe.
Please gods, I didn’t need more complications.
Inhaling deeply, I opened the door a few inches and came face-to-face with one of the chamberlains, who hadn’t bothered to introduce himself, glowering at me with disdain. If fae had one special talent, their ability to conjure mighty scowls was unmatched—Dion was the best example.
“Eachtrannach, I hereby convey a personal summons by His Royal Majesty, High King Galrach Folus Iadrann of Galanta. His Royal Majesty demands that you join him for morning tea. Attached to this message is a well-meaning explanation that denying such an honor can only be understood as a grave insult.”
Well, damn. This was not good at all. Forcing myself not to wipe my clammy palms on my robe, I locked my jaw and faced the chamberlain. “What a delight. When does His Royal Majesty usually take his morning tea?”
“I’m to escort you as soon as you’ve made yourself presentable. Since someone of your kind is most certainly woefully uneducated in terms of proper etiquette, the High King, in his graciousness, is providing you with suitable attire for such an occasion.”
The nameless chamberlain pushed a bundle wrapped in silk into my hands. What was it with males and insisting I had to wear certain clothes? Why would Galrach even bother?
Perhaps the garment he’d picked was a traditional Galantan funeral dress?
Gods, what a macabre idea. One not even sounding far-fetched.
My stomach turned at the thought of meeting the High King, potentially alone, and my over-imaginative mind already calculated how high my chances of survival were.
Yes, terror held me in its grip.
But I had no choice. Neither in escaping a potential attempt to humiliate me with a dressing disaster nor in avoiding the monarch at all.
“Thank you, nameless chamberlain.” Even in the face of death, my sarcasm prevailed. “I’ll make haste so as not to let His Royal Majesty wait.”
Shutting the door in his dumb face was at least a slight satisfaction. So what if I affronted him? He hated my kind whatever I did, so why should I be more polite than necessary? Ugh, the general unfriendliness all around me was infectious—and I hadn’t even been here for a whole week.
Hurrying into the sleeping chamber, I unwrapped the bundle on my way, distracting me from the anxious spiral holding me in its grip.
To my surprise, the garment was neither garish nor ill-fitting. As far as I could tell, the dress was tailored to current court fashion, with great care and quality materials.
The airy gown made from layers of silk and gossamer in various shades of pink hugged my curves as if the garb had been commissioned for me. Not unlikely, since the royal tailor had my measurements, after all.
The corset-style top closed over a white silky chemise and pushed my breasts up to form a shapely neckline, slightly lower than I preferred, but not indecent by far.
Still, Dion would race for a cover-up faster than I could blink if he saw my decolletage.
Despite the seriousness of my situation, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
The skirt was layered, expansive, and rippled like waves at the tiniest movement. Much to my surprise, there was also a jeweled necklace hidden inside the bundle, and the ruby pendant nestled on my skin at the perfect length.
This was too good to be true. Closing my eyes, I clung to the armoire and attempted to breathe the ever-rising panic away. But of course, this endeavor was in vain.
Slipping into soft, white shoes I’d received together with the rest of my wardrobe, I concentrated on the dainty glass beads in pinks and purples stitched onto them. At least my footwear matched the dress.
I left my hair unbound and opted against coloring my face—Galrach didn’t deserve that amount of effort.
My hope that Dion would return in time and prevent the meeting with the High King dwindled, and I had to accept I couldn’t escape the summons to a potentially lethal royal morning tea.
So I gathered my strength to face the brutal monarch, who most presumably hadn’t taken being humiliated on my behalf too kindly.
Gods, I was screwed.