Chapter 59
Fifty-Nine
After dinner, a team of goblin maids dresses me in a silver-beaded ball gown.
Off-the-shoulder puff sleeves droop down my bare arms while a revealing neckline accentuates the swells of my breasts.
Once my bodice is tightened beyond common sense, an attendant leads me silently down the corridor to the royal stylists’ chambers.
I enter the room filled with mirrors, fragrances, and beauty tools. Several human workers turn to inspect my entrance, their smiles not reaching their eyes.
The head stylist, a woman not much older than I am, gestures to the seat, declaring, “You’re quite the news around here. No one can stop talking about the prince sweeping in to save the day for you. We can’t believe how lucky you are!”
As they work on taming and curling my hair with hot tongs, the women take breaks and chat softly amongst themselves near the back, likely thinking I won’t be able to make out their hushed tones.
“I’m surprised. She’s rather plain…”
“She was a courtesan. They rely on that weird drink from the cathedral to glow, and now that she doesn’t have it, she’s just like any other court climber. I told you, lighting is everything!”
“Oh, it must have helped her quite a bit then.”
My face heats at their subtle barbs. I stare straight ahead in the mirror as I pretend not to listen.
None too gently, the head stylist comes back and yanks a jade comb through my hair as she twists curls around my circlet in loops.
I hear someone else whisper, “I suppose she must be made presentable, but why did they have to send her here? We could have sent one of the new girls to her chambers instead. I mean, what will some of our more conservative patronesses think if they see her here? She’ll run off the clientele!”
Another girl murmurs, “I heard she seduced the prince using sex spells. Disgusting.”
My internal composure cracks, but I sit still like a statue, trapped in this chair.
After what feels like forever, my hair, rouge, and lip stain are complete. The head stylist puts a gilded mirror in front of me and puckers her lips. “The prince will be so pleased.”
Not knowing what to say, I silently study my painted face—I don’t recognize her.
When I speak, my voice comes out light. “I’m sure you did your best.”
Her smirk disappears.
I stand and take my leave. Only once I’m alone do I allow myself to feel the sting of their words.
Also dressed in his formals, Rett saunters down the corridor with a group of demon lords.
When he sees me leaving the stylist’s chambers, he excuses himself from them.
I’m not quick enough to hide my lingering feelings because his smile drops as he notices.
He strides to my side. “Hey, what’s with the long face? ”
“It’s nothing,” I answer, fixing a hairpin that’s poking into my scalp in the worst way possible. Surprising myself, I admit, “I overheard some people talking about me. I just… thought it would be different here.”
“Gossip is in every court,” he says matter-of-factly with raised eyebrows.
“Yes, but I thought the Beast Realm was more accepting. Yet this place is just as merciless as Alexandria.”
He takes me by the elbows and gently makes me face him. He peeks down the corridor at the stylist’s door. “Tabitha, are you really going to allow some servant make you doubt yourself?”
“I suppose you’re right,” I softly say, placing a hand on his forearm, hoping the conversation will come to an end.
“They’ll be expecting us soon. Have they informed you that I won’t be escorting you into the ballroom due to our timed entrances?”
“No, not a single person has told me anything that might help me,” I say, exasperated.
Rett gives me a pitying look and leads me down the main corridor, my crinoline and petticoats bouncing between our legs. “You’ll enter from the antechamber when your name is called. After that, the ceremony will proceed as planned.”
I incline my head, but his instructions are difficult to focus on over the rising tide of emotion pulsing in my eardrums. “Can you at least show me where to wait?”
“Yes—but we should hurry.” He grabs my hand and pulls me through the long corridor until we’re at the servant entrance of the ballroom.
After climbing the service stairs, we enter a petite room with exit doors at either end.
It’s furnished with a few upholstered chairs and spindly side tables.
Ball preparations rumble loudly underneath us, much like the first night we spent above the tavern.
His arm catches my waist, and he lets out a hungry growl.
Spun around, I can only see a blur of his burgundy hair and emerald face.
When he releases me, I’m so dizzy that I don’t notice when his lips come crashing down on mine, adding to the confusion.
I clutch at my bodice, my ribs aching under the restraint of my stays.
They aren’t usually this tight, but the dressing maids assured me that this is the style for a formal Delamere Court.
Rett swings the door shut, enclosing us in darkness.
My heart flutters with a hint of panic. He whispers hotly in my ear, “You’ll become my Bonded Betrothed when we leave tonight, and everyone shall know my devotion to you.
” A light flickers to life on the side table as Rett strikes a flint and lights the candle.
Twisting my hands, I whisper, “You still don’t care that I’m not in love with you?”
Doesn’t he have any reservations?
“Not in the least,” he answers, his mouth a tight line. “That will come after I put my orclings into you. It’s in your nature as a woman to attach yourself to the father of your offspring.” He kisses the top of my head while I try to stay calm. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
He leaves.
And I wait.
Alone with nothing but my miserable thoughts.
I watch through a tiny crack in the doorframe as the guests file into the ballroom.
Across from me is a balcony above everyone, a place where a harpy perches, his voice ringing, “Let the promised betrothed come forth to complete the Bonding Rites.” After his announcement, he spreads his wings and glides downward to join the crowd waiting on the dance floor.
I take a shuddering breath, open the door, and step out to place one hand on the sandstone railing.
Dressed in their finery and jewels, the nobility glitter with curious eyes as they watch my descent down the curved staircase.
Rett emerges from the other entrance on the opposite side of the ballroom and meets me before his mother’s dais, where she sits on a new throne.
Instead of twisted branches, this royal seat is crafted from pure, solid gold.
Empress Erah rises—regal red lips stretching into a satisfied smile.
“The son of an empress and the daughter of a king. You two have come here to forge a solemn promise to complete a Bonding Betrothal and join our royal houses. A unification that will go down in history across the realms. Before these witnesses, do you promise to keep your vows, or will you allow your lifeblood to consume you until you are bonded no more?”
Rett gives a strong nod and solemnly says, “I do.”
Everything is depending upon me.
With a nod of my own, I repeat Rett’s determined words. “I do.”
An ice sprite bows and hands Erah a golden box. Erah withdraws two daggers, both hilt and blade made of shimmering diamonds, placing them into our outstretched hands. “With these blades, bleed to signify your vow.”
I clench my teeth as we prick our own palms. Erah takes our blades, and we entwine our fingers, letting our dripping blood mix. A numbness overtakes me. It’s as if I’m watching from the outside; everything seems off-center. Unbalanced.
Erah ties a golden cord around our wrists, binding us tightly together. After the ice sprite presents two rings, we slide the plain gold bands etched with the Dead-Fae language onto each other’s ring fingers.
“With the exchange of these rings, I bind you evermore,” Erah says, iridescent lines unfurling from the gold metal, snaking intricately up our fingers like living cords.
With that, the Bonding Ceremony is complete. Magic tethers us, for better or worse. Now the only thing left is the actual wedding—the Bonded Matrimony.
“Go. Dance. Feast. Rejoice.” Success radiates from Erah’s amber eyes as she sits, ruffling her skirts. “Tomorrow, the sun is to bless your union as it blesses our empire every day. The wedding vows will finalize the remaining phase.”
Rett helps me slip my elbow-length silk gloves on and then lifts my knuckles to his lips. “My future bride.” His voice caresses like velvet. “Will you dance with me?”
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He sweeps me across the dance floor, one hand clasping mine while the other firmly presses into the small of my back.
We twirl between the other couples, all of them smiling and offering congratulations.
As we move to the fast-beating music, Rett seems genuinely happy and proud, but when the song crescendos, I trip.
The marking on my finger burns, though Rett doesn’t seem bothered by his.
He only draws closer as the orchestra finally slows, nuzzling into my neck, unaware of the thoughts I keep buried.
I watch Erah over his shoulder as she accepts lavish gifts, celebrating our betrothal with a cunning smirk.
Behind her, between the blurred shapes of gowns and tunics, I glimpse something that makes me take a second glance.
It couldn’t be, could it?
I make my apologies to Rett under the pretense of needing to relieve myself. He laughs and jokes with a circle of his close basilisk friends as I dodge through the crowd to find her.