Chapter 11 #2
I roll my eyes, the cobblestones clicking under my boots as we stride through the business district’s enchanting chaos. “Of course they’re light, Tier. They’re enchanted.” I can’t help but smirk at the marvel in his eyes—it’s the same wonder that hits me every time magic simplifies the mundane.
“Enchanted or not, let’s hope they don’t float away,” he chuckles, and we continue our trek, Khol’s steady presence on my other side grounding me despite the whirlwind of new experiences.
The boutique looms ahead, its silver facade reflecting the afternoon sun like a beacon of opulence. I groan, eyeing the grandeur with skepticism. “This is the kind of place where I end up punching someone for being too pushy.”
“Let them try,” Khol murmurs, the protective edge in his voice sending a shiver down my spine. “I’ll handle it.”
Tiernan interjects with an exasperated sigh, “No punching salespeople. We’re here representing the Prince; an inter-court incident is the last thing we need.”
“Adorable,” Khol and I retort in unison, grinning at each other before turning sheepish under Tiernan’s disapproving gaze.
Maybe the terror twin is rubbing off on me? Shit.
Pushing open the boutique’s doors, we’re immediately accosted by a clerk whose nose seems so high she could drown in a drizzle. Her eyes sweep over us, recognition flashing instantly. “Ah, the esteemed guests from Briarvale,” she purrs.
Khol leans in close enough for his breath to tickle my ear almost immediately when she greets us. “Watch what you say,” he whispers. “Identifying enchantments on the doors, maybe. This place feels... prying.”
“Great,” I mutter under my breath. “As if shopping wasn’t violating enough.”
We trail behind her, entering a changing room designed like a theatre of vanity.
A pedestal stands proudly in the center, with racks encircling it, laden with all manner of attire.
My eyes widen at the sight—casual tees next to lacy underthings, ball gowns brushing against leather pants.
A kaleidoscope of fabric and style meant to clothe every facet of Fae society.
“Damn it,” I curse quietly. The scope of this shopping excursion is daunting, each garment a reminder of how out of my depth I am in this glittering world. I’m going to hate every second of this and I’ll be even angrier when I have to change clothes for every fucking activity.
I am so out of my depth in Revelin’s world.
“Get used to it,” Tiernan says with a snicker, prodding me toward the sea of clothes. “This is just the first court. There are three more to go.”
“Shut it, or I’ll make sure you’re the one trying on lingerie next,” I grumble, jabbing him in the ribs with my elbow, earning a surprised grunt and a flash of his playful grin.
He winks and dodges my next swing as we dive into the heart of the boutique’s offerings. “Promise?”
My eyes widen and I choke on my own spit like a fucking moron as I try to sputter an appropriate retort.
That’s not my kink and I don’t think it’s his, but the imagery is hilarious.
Tier is bulky and muscled, designed to be a weapon even without one in his hand.
Putting him in frilly lingerie would be as amusing as sticking Fer’s grumpy ass dragon in it.
Now there’s an image I wish I could send straight to my sister so we could giggle over it.
“Alright, let’s get this shit over with,” I sigh. The Fae candidate for a Pretty Woman takedown leads me to the fancy changing area, and I kick off my combat boots with a grumble. She comes back quickly with the rack of the gown first, earning her a spot on my ‘To Be Hexed’ list forever.
Within minutes, I’m drowning in a sea of taffeta and lace, each gown more suffocating than the last. The heavy fabric of the latest contender—a monstrous confection of frills and bows—weighs down my limbs as I stare at my reflection with disdain.
“I don’t need this shit,” I grumble, plucking at the skirt. “These dresses are ridiculous.”
“Let me see,” Khol murmurs, his sudden presence behind me both unnerving and comforting in the cramped dressing room. His hands ghost over mine, feigning assistance with the gown’s intricate closures. I catch his eye in the mirror, his smirk telling me he’s not here for the zippers.
“Spin for me?” he suggests, coaxing me into a reluctant twirl.
The dress fans out, but the disapproval is clear on his face when I come to a stop. “Not you,” he declares, echoing my thoughts. “Hey, Tier,” he calls, his voice carrying over the racks of unwanted elegance. “Find something... dangerous. Something that screams our Sassypants.”
A muffled agreement filters in from the boutique floor, followed by the sound of hangers clinking in Tiernan’s search.
Alone now, Khol’s playfulness shifts into something more primal.
His fingers trail along the exposed skin at my back, igniting a trail of heat.
His lips find the sensitive marks they’ve made there, teasing them with bites and nips until my knees weaken.
Every touch, every whispered word melts my resistance, drawing a soft gasp from my lips.
“Khol...” I warn, but it’s feeble, lost in the haze of desire he conjures with alarming ease.
Hiis teeth graze my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “Shhh. Don’t want the nosy bitch to hear, Sassy.”
Fuck, no, I don’t.
Time blurs. Our connection is a tangible thing, distracting me until the door swings open abruptly.
Tiernan’s silhouette fills the frame, his eyes gleaming predatorily blue.
He thrusts a garment at me—a slinky black number that promises trouble—and yanks Khol out by the collar, growling low in his throat.
“Try this. Now,” he commands, all business despite the tension coiling between us.
As the door snaps shut, I draw a shaky breath, my body still humming with unsatisfied desire. I peel off the ruffles and lace with trembling fingers, letting the dress pool forgotten at my feet. I snatch Tiernan’s selection from the hanger, the sleek fabric whispering promises against my skin.
“Control yourself,” I mutter to my reflection, half-irritated, half-amused, as I look at the basilisk as well. “That goes double for you, buster.”
With a last glance at the discarded gown, I slide into the black dress, ready to face whatever comes next—even if it’s just another damn fitting.