Chapter 15
TAUREN
When Dahlia finally emerges from the changing room, my first instinct is to rip the damned gown off her. My second is to cover Claren’s eyes, which I almost do before he scoops up Pumpkin and hurries out of the wedding dress section.
The child is smarter than I thought.
“Does Claren not like my gown?” Dahlia pouts in mock offence.
“No, I think he liked it.” I rise from my seat, flexing my hands. “In fact, I think every male at our wedding will like it.” I clench my jaw. “Girabalt, what the fuck have you put my bride into?”
“Only what she asked for, Tauren.” The coward dips his head, hiding a smirk.
Stalking closer, I drag my gaze over her perfect figure.
It’s hard not to. The practically transparent gown doesn’t hide anything.
Sheer, shimmering fabric hugs her skin, running down her hips and thighs until it spills out in a white fan below her knees.
Thin sleeves swoop below her shoulders, and as I pace behind her, I freeze.
Her back is completely exposed, from her swan-like neck to her curved rear.
“I think this is the one,” Dahlia sings. Gathering up her hair, she twists it to reveal more of the gown’s open back. Arousal pulses inside me. “Girabalt, do you have any hairpins? I’d love to wear my hair up for the ceremony. I think it’ll look so pretty.”
“Of cour—”
“Absolutely not.” Words finally crash through the anger in my throat. “To the hair and the gown. Girabalt” – my breath is ragged – “put her in something sensible or I swear I’ll be sending you home to your cousin’s court in pieces.”
“Perhaps my attendants should dress you in a different gown.” As he leads her away by the small of her back, I resist the urge to slice off his hand.
It takes me several seconds to drag myself back to the chairs. When I finally get there, my head falls into my hands, and I scrub my palms over my face. If her goal tonight is to drive me insane, she’s doing it.
I haven’t forgotten the way she rubbed her soft arse against me at the cake stall.
Or the way her eyes found mine as she slid that icing-covered finger inside her—
“Tauren.”
I lift my head to see Girabalt standing in front of me, and he’s not happy.
Unluckily for him, I’m not either. “Do you have a death wish? Tell me the gown was not your idea?”
“The princess has a very creative mind,” he muses.
Any other faerie and I’d knock him to the floor. Peace treaty be damned. But Girabalt and I have been friends since we were children, though we won’t be for much longer if Dahlia comes out in another see-through dress.
The smile falls from his face as he studies me. “I asked your bride if she needed my help in the changing room.”
This time, I spring up, ready to punch him. Until my brain catches up with my fists, and I let out a breath. Girabalt’s been married to his husband for years. He’s not interested in any princesses, let alone mine. “What kind of help?” I manage.
He gives me a look. “Normal brides don’t walk into my shop with collars around their necks.” His stare hardens. “I asked her if she needed help getting away from you.”
Panic grips me. I storm towards the changing room, half-expecting to find it empty.
A firm hand on my shoulder stops me before I can tear open the curtain. “She said she didn’t need my help.” Dragging me back to the seats, Girabalt forces me down. “But it looks like you might.” He laughs knowingly.
Air lodges in my throat. I should’ve been more careful about bringing her here. I should’ve known Girabalt wouldn’t approve of the sacrifices I’d make to rescue my sister.
But then what he said hits me. “She didn’t accept your help?”
He shakes his head. “She said, ‘the Tauren situation is under control’, and after seeing your reaction to the gown she chose, I think I understand what’s happening here.
” He chuckles before his tone turns serious.
“But, Tauren, the collar needs to be removed. I don’t know what the circumstances of this wedding are, but I cannot sit here and allow you to keep an innocent woman prisoner. ”
Innocent? After what she did tonight, I almost laugh. But the weight of Girabalt’s stare is enough to flatten my tone. “The collar is a necessary precaution until I can trust her not to run from me.”
“That is no way to win a lady’s heart.”
My jaw tenses. “I am not interested in her heart.”
“Really?” My friend smirks. “Then perhaps you will see no issue with her next gown choice.”
I narrow my gaze, but the curtain to the changing room opens before I can reply.
My chest seizes. If I thought the previous gown was bad, this one has crawled straight up from the depths of hell.
“I love it,” Dahlia beams, swaying her hips with each step.
I force down a groan. One tiny white band of fabric covers her nipples, while her lower body is completely bare aside from the long, narrow strip of fabric covering her sex, hanging from a chain around her waist. Silver, chain-like straps decorate her shoulders, while a matching strip of white fabric teases the seam of her rear.
I shoot a murderous glare at Girabalt, who holds up his palms innocently. What kind of twisted bride would even want a dress like this for her wedding?
Dahlia catches my gaze, grinning wickedly.
Mine, apparently.
“Leave us,” I bark at Girabalt, not taking my eyes off the gown.
“Are you sure that is wise?” His voice lowers.
“Unless you wish to have your gowns stained with the blood of anyone who has looked at my fucking princess tonight, you will leave this room and lock the doors behind you.”
He glances between us before finally making the smart decision.
As he shuffles out along with the female attendants who’d helped dress Dahlia, the confidence in my bride's grin fades. By the time the locks slide into place, her lips open and close, as if she’s considering crying out for help.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I stalk towards her. “I thought you enjoyed tormenting me?”
“In your dreams, demon,” she snorts. “I just like these kinds of gowns.” She won’t meet my gaze as I loom over her. “Call the faeries back in. I want to keep trying on dresses.”
“I think we’ve seen enough.” I tip her chin up, but she keeps her gaze on the doors. “They won’t come back to save you, my darling. It’s just us now.”
Her eyes finally meet mine, but there’s a danger in them I wasn’t expecting. Like a goblet of poisoned wine. “How unfortunate for you.”
She attacks before I can stop her. One hand whips across my cheek while the other shoves me back a few steps. Before I know what’s happening, she’s disappeared down an aisle of dresses.
My pulse races. The shock of her slap sends blood rushing to my cock.
I could force her back by her collar, use my magic to make her drop to her knees. But where would be the fun in that? If she wants to be chased, I’ll chase her.
But when I catch her, and I will…
I’ll be giving my bratty princess a well-deserved punishment.
“Dahlia,” I snarl, heading in the direction she ran off in. Her strike barely hurt me, but I’ll make her pay. Deep down, I think she wants me to. A grin pulls at my cheeks. “You can’t run from me forever, little princess.”
I turn a corner down a long aisle of white wedding dresses. The skirts are long and thick enough that she could be hiding anywhere. Pausing, I listen for footsteps, but the shop is silent.
She’s stopped running.
Pacing down the aisle, I dig through fluffy skirts and pull gowns from their hangers to toss onto the floor. I know she’s here somewhere. I can smell the sugary notes of her hair, the chocolatey scent of her skin, and something much sweeter.
Something I’ve been fantasising about tasting since I pushed my fingers in her tight pussy outside her father’s ballroom.
“Dahlia,” I purr. I think I hear the short whoosh of a gasp, but I’m not certain.
“I want you to slide your fingers up your skirt for me, darling.” I turn my head over my shoulder, listening. “I want you to touch yourself.” Magic coats my tongue, and I can sense the compulsion has reached her. “Tease your clit and let yourself moan for me.”
A soft beautiful noise comes from the other side of the aisle. “There’s my good girl.” I grin, turning towards it.
Dresses shuffle in the rack, and when I part them, the tightening at my hips is near unbearable.
Fucking hell.
Dahlia’s shaking body is pressed against the wall, one hand stroking her sex while the other covers her mouth. Her nipples have hardened to points beneath her poor excuse of a bodice, and her chest rises and falls as she lets out another moan.
“Found you.” My voice turns predatory.
“You cheated,” she breathes between her fingers.
“So did you. I thought I told you not to hit me again.” I grin at the memory of my whip against her rosy arse.
“You told me not to kick you. I slapped you. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” I lean forward to pry her off the wall. “Don’t stop touching yourself.”
She groans as I scoop my arms under her legs, lifting her out from the rack and through the aisle. I can tell she’s close to finishing as I place her down in one of the chairs by the changing room.
One leg hooks over the armrest while she fingers herself shamelessly, her face as red as fire.
Hatred fills her dark eyes, along with embarrassment, lust, and something else that makes me want to take her back to my bedchamber and keep her there for a very long time.
“Stop,” I command just before she tips herself over the edge.
Her hand falls away, chest heaving. “You’re a monster.”
I grin. “Tell me something I don’t know.” Inching closer, my fingers graze her calf, sliding up towards her thigh. “You shouldn’t have hit me, sweetheart. Hitting isn’t nice.”
“Says the demon who whipped me last night.” There’s anger in her tone, but her lower lip is trembling. I can’t stop staring at it. Fucking pretty lips.