Chapter 41
ELLE
Ruby and Nora arrive at my wing unannounced, their relentless banging on the door luring me from the staring contest I was having with the ceiling of my bedroom.
When I open the door, Ruby’s mouth falls open in surprise, either from the state of me—currently in days-old clothes, greasy hair, and a general sour smell emanating from being tangled in tear- and sweat-soaked bedsheets—or from the sight of me, not Mae.
This is the first time I’ve seen Ruby and Nora since the wedding. I wave them in, then try to slam the door in the Serpent guards’ faces that follow closely behind them, but no luck.
Nora wraps me in her arms. She smells like five different flowers all at once, and a headache begins to bloom.
I don’t let go. I was never a hugger, usually offering my own mother some backwards version of one to satisfy her.
But I haven’t been touched like this in months.
I return it, content to hold and be held. She pulls away too soon.
Ruby clears her throat, gaze flitting around the room. “We’re here to prepare you for the ball,” she says, casting nervous glances to the guards that surround us and watch us like hawks.
Questions rise like bile—How much do you know?
Are you safe? Where have you been?—but I swallow them.
I don’t say anything as I lead them—and the hawkish guards—to the bathroom, nor do I apologize for the state of it.
Dirty clothes are everywhere, but I’ve learned I no longer care. I don’t have the energy to.
I lower myself into the makeup chair, and Nora reaches for the matted mess of my hair. My ends hang stiff and dry from her hand. “Oh, Elle…”
I open my mouth to respond, although I’m not sure what I was planning to say.
Why bother when they’re probably going to kill me soon?
I know Marik said he was going to get me out, but I don’t trust him for a second.
Even if my net didn’t snag when he said it.
Whatever my response was going to be, it’s cut off by the sound of a door banging open.
I know it’s Marik.
Think of the devil and he will appear.
To nobody’s surprise, he wears his usual uniform of all-black. His entire body is rigid with irritation. Good. He turns to Nora and Ruby. “You were supposed to wait for me to enter.”
Something in the back of my mind twitches at his words. Liar.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” Ruby says meekly, eyes downcast. “We were told we were allowed in.”
Marik’s gaze snaps to the guards. “Out,” he commands.
“But, Your Highness—”
Marik’s eyebrow raises infinitesimally, but it’s enough. The guards scramble, eager to exit the confined space of the bathroom and away from their master.
“I requested that Ruby and Nora assist with preparing you for the ball,” Marik says to me, harsh tone gone, replaced by something softer. “However, they do need to prepare you as Mae.”
I’m so tired.
One last time, little fawn, Marik’s voice whispers in my mind.
He hands me a blade, a bold thing to do. But I don’t have the energy to use it against him. I take it from him, then dig it into my skin and whisper the words. Mae’s image comes to mind swiftly, and I hate the ease with which I can become her. I feel as if I lose a little bit of myself every time.
Ruby and Nora do their best to not look fully freaked out, but they have a difficult time hiding their alarm.
“The guards will be close, but they won’t bother you,” Marik says, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment too long before turning and exiting the bathroom.
The duo work in silence, Nora working out the knots from my now-white hair, while Ruby pulls out bottles of liquid and powdered makeup. Nora’s brush tugs at every knot. She mutters apologies with every forceful yank, while Ruby dabs different liquids on my face, her movements tender.
Normally, I’d hate it. But right now, I’m just thankful that she’s in between the mirror and me, blocking the reflection. Maybe I can pretend it’s really me they’re getting ready.
“What are you thinking for your dress?” Ruby asks as she brushes shimmery blush along my cheekbones.
I shrug. “Pick something for me.”
Her expression turns somber. Mae must have had all manner of opinions about her wardrobe.
Yet another disappointing thing about me on the throne—I would rather spend my days locked in battle and drenched in sweat than wear a gown.
I would happily wear a pillowcase to the ball, if only to wipe the smirks from every single person there.
Ruby returns from the closet, holding a sleeveless jade green gown made of velvet. Intricate floral embellishments spun from gold thread cascade down the skirt. “What about this?” she asks.
“Sure.”
She sets the dress down with a sad smile.
“Almost done,” Nora says from behind me.
She managed to de-matt my hair, and it feels like my scalp is bleeding, but I’m grateful for it.
She comes around to face me, perfecting the placement of each curled lock, then motions to Ruby, who walks over with the High Crown.
She places it on my head, secures it around my ivory antlers, then steps aside.
“Ta-da!” Ruby says.
Mae stares back at me in the reflection of the mirror with dead eyes. I look away.
Ruby helps me into the velvet dress, every button done with care. When it’s on, I collapse back into the chair.
Ruby and Nora gather their supplies and give me hugs that are over too soon.
I could go entertain myself with a book until it’s time for the ball, but the guards never come back, and I don’t feel like being watched by them.
Not yet. So, I spend the remainder of the afternoon in the bathroom.
I resume my staring contest, but this time, I stare at the floor.
Anything to avoid my reflection. To avoid the reminder of the way I continue to slip away.
Half an hour later, footsteps come down the hallway. I brace myself.
The door opens, and the quiet sound of dress shoes on the tile grows closer. “Are you ready?” Marik asks from behind me. It’s too soft, and my skin prickles. How dare he treat me like I’m something fragile when he’s the one who made me this way?
He places something cold around my neck.
The necklace is back. After being free of it for so long, its weight feels suffocating.
“Just for appearances,” he says, his black leather loafers coming into view as he steps around the chair.
He crouches down and peers up at me with eyes like starless galaxies.
The necklace, the dark mark, the leash I wear that connects me to him. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t.
I snap.
I launch myself from the chair. He stumbles back, and we both collide with the floor. My teeth sink into his brow. Pain blooms as they jar against the hard surface of his skull, but it feels like a victory. He curses as metal coats my tongue, my blood mixing with his.
Crimson drips from his brow, cutting through his eyelashes and streaming down the curve of his cheek, the sharp angles of his jaw, the slope of his neck.
He does nothing to stop it. He just stares at me from the floor, me on top of him.
He grips my forearms, leaving crescent moons embedded in my skin.
I meet his gaze, loving the way the flames ignite in my chest, the way my anger feels like a simmering hearth, stoked and ready to burn him.
Underneath me, his chest heaves. His pulse thrums—rage?
Fear? Or…something else? Something dark and twisted that I cower at?
That I can’t stomach the thought of? That makes me want to hate myself even more than I hate him?
“I hate you,” I grind out.
He smiles at me with blood-drenched teeth.
“I know.” He pushes himself onto his elbows, his face now inches from mine.
His tongue darts from his mouth and he licks the blood from his bottom lip, his teeth scraping and tugging with the movement.
My skin tingles, and I fight the urge to run from whatever the hell this feeling is.
I’m the first one to back down, uncomfortable with the way his breath begins to mix with mine, the way his gaze goes from anger to something closer to hunger. I haul myself from him and stare at him on the floor, blood soaking into the collar of his pressed shirt.
“You need a new shirt,” I say with a sneer, then leave him on the bathroom floor.
When he exits the bathroom, he looks as if nothing happened. The blood is gone, and his eyebrow looks good as new. He flicks his wrist at me. I don’t feel anything, but when I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, it comes away dry, not a splatter of red to be seen.
Shame.
He straightens his black blazer over his shoulders. “I’m going to ask you once more, little fawn. Are you ready?”
“Never,” I hiss at him. His answering smile drips of pity, reminding me of the way he looked at Mae on the night of their wedding, right before he stabbed her in the back. “When this is over, I will rip you limb from limb.”
Looking forward to it, his voice slithers in my head.
The playful tempo of the violin thrums as the violinist pushes and pulls her version of a blade across the strings, her music a weapon of her own. The sound entrances me. On second thought, maybe it’s the three glasses of champagne I’ve downed in the last hour.
A female in all black approaches, hair slicked into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The light of the chandelier above reflects from a delicate gold necklace at the hollow of her throat. She holds a platter of bite-sized portions of salmon, crostini, and smoked shrimp. “Salmon, Your Highness?”
I wave her away, intent on drinking myself to death tonight while nobody notices. But she lingers, jade eyes staring into mine. Freckles line her cheeks.
“I have freckles just like that,” I say.
She frowns. “Yours are white, Your Highness.”