22. Keira
T he following evening, guards lead me from my private chambers toward the ballroom. The closest two have their grubby hands on me, their gauntlets digging into my arms. My stomach sinks, because it means Titania intends to make a display of me at this event and doesn’t want anyone to intervene.
I will not allow her to win.
She has no idea of the cards I hold.
The High Chancellor called for an elaborate ball to be organized after Drake returned to her with the names of my falsified collaborators.
It is so painfully obvious that she intends to exact her wrath on them publicly, before the nobility and Senate of this court, to show them what happens at even a whisper of disloyalty. The woman loves her dramatics.
The fabric of my gown swishes around my legs with every agitated step I take.
This dress is the most revealing yet. There are thick gold-plated cuffs around my throat, waist and wrists that tell me I will be chained by them.
The rest is a completely sheer fine thread, so every line and curve of my body is visible through the tan fabric.
I own stockings that are less transparent.
Scattered across the gown are gold beads in long lines, inches apart, reaching over my breasts and down my hips. Between the gaps, my nipples, mound and bottom would have been on full display, no different than if I were walking around naked.
That was before I glamoured it.
I added finer beads between all the gaps, covering the essential areas but leaving my entire legs exposed and a gaping space between my breasts.
If I cover up as much as I would like, Titania will become suspicious and might even cut the dress off me in front of the crowd.
This way, she will think her seamstress incompetent at following instructions.
The mass of glittering courtiers funneling into the ballroom splits around me, many stopping to gawk.
Whispers about my clothing filter through to me, and I straighten my back and raise my chin defensively, until I register so many words of…
admiration. There isn’t a single fae who calls me a whore or ridicules this gown that can hardly be considered clothing.
Then I take notice of what they are wearing.
One woman with olive skin struts in a dress made to mimic the exact chain linkages of the first outfit Titania forced me into for humiliation, except the metal is copper instead.
The floor-length skirt sparkles as it drapes to one side, revealing the entirety of one leg through a split.
It comes to a point at the center of her belly, exposing all of her waist, connected by a ring to a tiny top.
Her large, dark nipples are clearly visible beneath and she wears the tiniest panties that completely disappear into the cleft of her well-sculpted ass, visible as she turns around.
Another fae with long pink hair in many tiny braids is in a colorful gown as transparent as mine, with elaborate lace and bead embellishments over her nipples and front.
A third doesn’t even pretend to wear something flowing and floor-length to pass as a ballgown.
Hers is a tiny tube, barely covering her ass, the neckline just fitting over her breasts.
If she lifts her arms, she will be revealed completely.
There are splits of translucent fabric from the top of her thighs all the way up her ribs, and a similar plunging neckline. Surely magic keeps it together.
Some men wear tunics that are completely see-through, and others are topless. Some have dinner jackets over bare chests or leather pants laced at the sides with such generous space between the two halves that the curves of their asses are visible.
I swallow hard at the show of so much skin on display. I have not just started a fashion trend, but a subtle hint of solidarity. The problem is, it is hard to tell which fae are supporting me in this attempted humiliation and which have jumped mindlessly onto a new fad.
None, absolutely none wear gold, as though they respect the color is my signature and right alone.
Gods, Keira, what have you done to my court? Aldrin laughs in my head. I have never seen such daring outfits that leave so little to the imagination.
I thought you said I shouldn’t be ashamed of my gown? That it wasn’t outlandish or scandalous, I say with indignation.
That was your first dress. Many of these here tonight are more revealing than what you wear.
Aldrin chuckles as a woman walks past in heels and not much else.
I think glitter has been applied to her skin, along with a few scraps of lace.
Not at a ball where it isn’t the theme, and not so early in the night.
Maybe a quarter of the fae are dressed as outrageously as I, and the rest are in full-length gowns of heavy velvets and silks.
They still boast splits high in their skirts and extreme plunging necklines that reveal enough to make any human blush.
Even the men in more conservative suits pair them with open shirts that display much of their chests.
My guard doesn’t allow me to interact with any of the guests, despite the ripple that travels through them as I pass. All eyes are dragged away from me when we enter the ballroom.
It is completely bare.
There are no musicians performing, nor are there tables with food or drinks. The walls bear no ornamental banners or flowers. There isn’t even any furniture.Just an empty room with a golden throne on a dais at the far end.
Titania sits upon it, wearing tight-fitting black velvet pants, ridiculously high heels and a long, tailored coat that hugs her bony figure and is embroidered with silver. She leans forward in her seat with her elbows on her thighs and a wide, cruel smile on her black lips.
She is enjoying this: the confusion on her guests’ faces as they look around, swiftly replaced by wide-eyed fear as realization dawns.
The High Chancellor curls her fingers at us, beckoning my guards, and they jolt forward, dragging me between them. I am pulled up onto the dais and multiple sets of hands thrust me down by the arms and shoulders, forcing me to crash to my knees.
I try to fight them. To remain standing and keep my dignity.
There are too many men holding me down. I grind my teeth as I resist the urge to blast them away from me with a whirlwind of fire and air. These fae are going to get the shock of their lives when I stop playing the damsel in distress.
Thick, gold-plated chains are fastened to the cuffs at my wrists, waist and throat. They are too short to allow me to do anything but kneel, and the restraints strain and chafe as I do so.
Titania claps her hands and laughs with delight. “It is about time you took your rightful place at my feet, pet. You need to realize that you are nothing but a pretty ornament in my shadow. You should be grateful that I allow you to join the ball rather than rot in the dungeons.”
Her eyes bore into me, waiting for a flinch or outburst, but I give her nothing.
Pure shame rolls through me at being manhandled before my people and forced into a position of supplication at my enemy’s feet. It doesn’t help that nobles gasp and discreetly point at me. Hot waves of humiliation roll through me, more than any outfit could garner.
Then the sensation of suffocation hits, because I am trapped here, arms spread wide and on display, made helpless by my self-imposed handicap. All these guards wouldn’t let me walk free even if I wielded my magic to melt these chains and slice a path through them.
My breaths come hard and fast through a tightening throat. I have to resist the urge to claw at my cuffs or thrash in my chains like a wild animal.
I can’t breathe.
The walls seem to close in on me.
All I can think is that I am trapped, trapped, TRAPPED.
My heart beats painfully against my ribs and pounds like a drum in my ears. I cannot help the panic attack that engulfs me.
I scan that crowd for any allies at all, and find Rainier toward the back, angling his body in front of both Sasha and Juniper. He nods to me in acknowledgment, and Sasha gives me a small smile and mouths a few words of encouragement.
I spot Jasper among the guards, and note his allies intermingled between them, ready to defend the people if our plan goes wrong. His eyes lock with mine and he mimics taking in a deep breath, and releasing it slowly. It reminds me of my coping mechanisms.
The anxiety rippling through me must flow all the way to Aldrin, because he pauses in his preparations for the fight to come. Do not fret, dear heart. Titania may win this first move, but we will be triumphant tonight. She will be the one humiliated by the time we are done.
A knot lodges in my throat. I don’t want our people to see me like this—vulnerable, beaten and chained.
You are far from beaten, Aldrin says into my mind.
Look closely at them. See their outrage.
They are not snickering at you and Titania is not getting the reaction she wants.
Head up, chin high, and show them that you will not falter, even when you are meant to be alone in an enemy’s court.
Show them the reason why you are a queen worth following, like you have every other time you have clashed with Titania.
Those words do something to me.
His warmth envelops my body and confidence surges through my blood.
Suddenly, the chains aren’t such a heavy burden, and all those eyes boring into me are witnessing Titania’s shame, not mine.
I stare straight ahead, watching the nervous crowd amass around the corners of the room, too afraid to come close.
Like they know of the twisted plan Titania has for the night.
Perhaps this isn’t the first time she has trapped them with her games and lies.
Florian marches into the ballroom with a cloud of guards in full armor swarming behind him. They bar the grand doors of the only exit and spread out among the people menacingly.