“Or turn to ash,” I reply.
“Perhaps,” she mulls the word.
After some time, she taps my shoulder. And mindlessly, I stand, having gone through these same motions hundreds of times over the last few months. She brings tonight’s attire, a black slip dress, and helps me get dressed.
As she titters behind me, closing the last of the buttons, I stare at my reflection. Long, slender sleeves, high neck, clingy silk. Nothing outlandish or attention seeking. It’s a comfortable enough piece.
Even so, I look nothing like the demon I am.
Instead, I look fae.
Veryroyallyfae.
Ryc was wrong. This is my demonic deception.
Turning my gaze toward the door, unable to bear the sight of myself any longer, I sigh.
“Would you like help with your shoes, Lady Ves?” Oraphia asks, appearing before me.
A delicate pair of black heels rest in her hands.
They’re quite pretty.
Wrapped in silk with a high heel and pointed toe, they’ll adorn this pretty facade perfectly.
“No, thank you, Oraphia,” I grant, the words barely audible, and she places them in my hands.
“Then I shall see you in the morn,” she bids with a curtsy. “I hope you enjoy your evening with Lady Lilith and Lady Eve.”
“Thank you,” I reply as she retreats from the room.
I’ve learned a great number of things about this realm since my return. Too often things are rarely as they seem.
And the prettier they are, the more they hurt.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Lilith better makethis worth it,” Eve says in a low grumble as we approach the dining room doors.
Glancing at her, I smile.
She wears the same black silk dress as I. And like Eve, I’ve come to prefer the mobility of pants. But I’ll never tire of seeing Eve in finer attire. She’s a beautiful sight. Tall, lean, piercing eyes, and graceful in movement—but I can’t help but laugh.
Despite her polished visage, she’s opted to add her own touch to the ensemble: her leather bandolier of daggers lies strapped across her chest.
“Couldn’t leave the daggers?” I ask, grinning.
Her eyes dart in my direction, revealing a sharp mischievous glint. “A General can’t General without her weapons,” she retorts casually with a matching shrug. A mask to hide a threatening-to-emerge smile.
“Ignore the hundreds of Royal Guard in Castle Erus at any given time,” I laugh.
“They won’t stab Lilith should she grow obnoxious,” Eve counters, somehow maintaining a neutral expression. “I will.”
Guards posted beside the dining room doors swing them open as I burst into laughter. They offer a silent dip of their chins as we pass.
“You can’t stab Lilith,” I say in a quieted rush.
She rolls her eyes, turning them forward, and her brows raise. Following her lead, I find the eyebrow-raising source. The long dinner table, usually empty save for a few place settings at the far end—on typical nights Lilith, Eve, Cyran, Ryc and I enjoy dinnertogether—features a decadent array ofdesserts.
