14
ONE FOGGY MORNING
In the small looking glass on the wall of her bedchamber, Diana pinched her cheeks.Bright red spots bloomed there, making her look less dead.But she could do nothing about her eyes.Shadows and shadows and shadows.All gathered there to weigh her down.She glamoured them away.Better.The skin beneath her eyes brightened gently like the morning light from which she gathered power.She stole, too, from the fairy orb nearby, and her skin seemed illuminated from within.The softness of a foggy sunrise.Or the pale luminescence of a fairy lamp after night had nearly swallowed its strength.
She dropped the illusion.Her soon-to-be-husband could see through glamours, knew when they were being used.She must be careful.Every day she grew more adept at wielding her stolen powers, which meant she grew better at keeping them secret.
For the rest of her life, she must clutch them close, never let anyone see.
Not even Temple.
She’d vowed her loyalty to him.Surely loyalty meant not keeping secrets.
Her heart took off on a race against itself, and she pressed her palm against her breast to calm it.No use.She was lying to the man she was about to marry.And she was lying after last night.
In the dim morning light of her window, her new ring seemed gray.Colors danced, muted, on the surface of the thin strip of iron.The light that had tied them together last night—no illusion.She knew illusion.Temple saw past it.This had been real and sullying the ritual with a lie had felt like blasphemy.She’d done her best not to lie, thought she’d used the right words.
My loyalty is yours as long as I live.
For him to keep her loyalty, she must keep her life.And that meant keeping her secret, too.
A technicality.But it had been the best, truest vow she could make at the time.
A knock on her door.
She opened it.In the hallway, Miss Matilda Maple, buttons uneven and hair coming undone, didn’t bother to hide a wide yawn, and a perfectly polished Lady Guinevere looked at a pocket watch.
She snapped it shut and bustled off down the hall.“Come along.We cannot be late for your wedding.”
“Oooh, you look lovely, Di.”Matilda nodded her approval.“The color suits you.”
Diana stepped into the hallway and locked the door behind her.Temple said he would send Sybil for Diana’s belongings.Scant though they were, she did not relish the thought of leaving them behind.More than those she’d left behind at her cousin’s house, these felt like her own, worked for and bought with her own hands and labor.
Not like her wedding gown.That bought for her with her husband’s money and his family’s insistence.She didn’t regret it, though.It was almost entirely like the one she’d imagined the day Apollo had discovered her secret.Blue and green, the fabric had been soaked in potion for hours, the seamstress had said, to achieve the look of water flowing from one color to the other.Simple, only slightly puffed sleeves and a low, wide bodice, the waist cinched right at the dip above her hips and cascaded outward over too many petticoats.As she’d put them on this morning, she’d counted them, imagined Temple counting them, irritation growing with the discovery of each new layer.How many would she have to tease him with before he ripped one off, split it from hem to waist with his bare hands.
How strong they were.Even stronger and bigger last night than usual.Yet he’d touched her, held her, kissed her with such gentle passion.
She’d not been able to help herself.After he’d left, she’d nestled into her bed as if into the warmth of his arms, and she’d stroked herself where he’d kissed her between the legs.It felt so much better when he did it.
But last night… last night had been so very odd.She’d cupped her sex with a moan—his name on her lips—and where her new ring had rubbed against her sex, bursts of pleasure had exploded like fireworks, traveling deep into her belly and settling hot before spiraling out across her skin.One swipe of her ring against her sensitive skin had brought every nerve ending in her body to life.
The heat of the ring had felt like his heat—warming her, raking across her, forging her anew as he forged opal into iron.
She built her pleasure higher, imagining with little trouble that it was him.She’d imagined, too, what she’d have done to him had he stayed—stroked him, cupped him, explored every inch of him.Tasted it.
When she’d finally come, she’d imagined him coming, too, his shaft pulsing in her hand as it did against her belly through too many layers of clothes.He’d sputtered curses and called hersweetheartanddevilish Dianaand held her gently while his iron-shaped body curved around her.
My body is yours for protection and pleasure.
She shivered.
They left the stairwell and strode through the front of the shop, but Madeline stopped her.“Wait.You need some flowers.”
“Ah.You’re right, Miss Maple.”Lady Guinevere tapped her chin, perusing the hanging plants.“Not roses.”
“No.”Madeline made a face.“Nothing with thorns for today.What about pinks?”
“Hope?Hm.Yes.Grab some of those.And…” Lady Guinevere glided more deeply into the shop.“Ah.These.”She picked some pansies from a pot on a side table, and she bunched them together with the pinks Madeline handed her.She found a discarded ribbon on a worktable and tied the stems together then handed them to Diana.“Pansies are the messengers of love.Perfect for a wedding like yours.”She made for the door, and the bell above it broke the morning silence in the street.
