Intrigued, he leaned forward, hoping that the fabric would shift down another half inch so he could see more. He realized it wasn’t a tattoo he hadn’t noticed but a piece of his shadows, shaped in a spiral. Ronan leaned back on the sofa, the breath leaving his body. He hadn’t placed the mark on her intentionally, and he had no idea how he’d done it. All he knew is that he wanted everyone around them to know who she belonged to. His magic must have reacted accordingly.
Then, she turned around, facing him, and he forgot all about the spiral adorning her spine. The shimmering white silk drapedover her breasts, held up by two delicate straps. He understood now why she needed the undergarments she’d chosen and was glad she hadn’t decided to go bare beneath the dress. The soft silk showed the edge of her bra cups beneath it. He thought the dressmaker would demand she remove it since it ruined the line of the gown, but he didn’t.
It didn’t take long for the dressmaker and his helpers to adjust the dress to fit correctly. Relieved, Ronan was about to stand until the man reached into the hanging garment bag he’d brought and withdrew another garment. Carefully, he and the two girls helping him lifted the overdress above Dominique’s head, instructing her to raise her arms as they lowered it over her body.
This garment had the same draped neckline as the white silk she wore beneath, but that was where the similarities ended. The iridescent material was nearly translucent, long, tight sleeves beginning at the top of her shoulder and going to points on the back of her hands. Delicate silver strands looped around her middle fingers to hold them in place.
The bodice nipped in at her waist, but the skirt flowed down her hips and legs like water, ending just before it touched the floor. From her knees to the hem, the skirting was covered with thin silver, pink, purple, and blue embroidery so fine it was nearly impossible to see the design unless he squinted.
With each breath she took, Dominique seemed to shimmer with magic. He could feel it in the fabric of the overdress and even see it when the colors shifted ever so slightly and the material around her legs swayed gently even though she stood still.
Ronan realized the overdress resembled the waters at the heart of sacred fae land, where the gods were said to have been born. He’d only seen them once, but their beauty was unforgettable.
Dominique was talking to the dressmaker, answering his questions, but she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Ronan knew he was staring at her intently, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.
She looked like a dream. Or a goddess. A beautiful creature, immortal yet ephemeral, that would belong to him in this life and the next. Nothing so ethereal could last an eternity, yet this picture of her would be with him forever.
“Ronan.”
Her voice speaking his name broke through his trance. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Yes?”
“Lydon asked what you thought of the dress,” she said.
Ronan let his eyes rove over her from her neck to her bare toes. He wanted to smile at the sight of the pale lavender polish on them, but he couldn’t manage it.
“It’s perfect,” he admitted. His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat again before he continued, “You look beautiful.”
Dominique gave him an odd look in return, butLydonshot him a knowing smirk, which reminded him that he wanted to rip his arms off for touching what belonged to him. He wanted to have the little shit thrown out of the palace, but he couldn’t because he also wanted him to make more garments for Dominique. She would be his wife tomorrow, a princess, and, if the rest of his work resembled this dress, there was no other dressmaker in Magic who could compete with Lydon’s talents.
Ronan finally relaxed, watching as the dressmaker and his assistants fussed over his fiancée, making minute adjustments to the drape and fit of the dresses she wore. Finally, Lydon announced they were done and that he would deliver the finished dresses to her rooms in the morning.
Ronan stood, walking toward them as they removed the overdress from Dominique’s body just as carefully as they’d put it on.
“You’ll bring it to my room,” he commanded.
The dressmaker didn’t seem to value his life because he argued, “The groom shouldn’t see the bride before the ceremony on their wedding day.”
“This groom will do whatever the fuck he wants,” Ronan shot back, then bit back a wince when one of the girls gasped at his sharp tone. He never spoke to the staff like this, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. This dressmaker was getting on his last fucking nerve.
“Ronan!” Dominique snapped, bringing his attention to her.
She glared at him, though she did it in silence, he could practically hear her telling him to shut the hell up.
Suddenly amused at himself, and her, Ronan smirked. “Bring the dress to my room in the morning.” His gaze shifted to Lydon. “Or else.”
The dressmaker swallowed hard as Ronan allowed a small tendril of his shadow magic to leak from his skin. He could feel it creeping from beneath his collar and cuffs, curling around his neck and hands.
“Of course, Your Highness,” the man said, suddenly remembering his place in this room, bowing his head.
Ronan ignored the glare that Dominique was still shooting toward him and went over to the small bar area behind his couch. He needed a godsdamned drink or he really would throw the fucking dressmaker out a window.
He heard the hushed whispers of Lydon and his assistants as they helped Dominique out of the underdress. He kept his back to them all until he heard the door shut with a soft click.
When he faced his fiancée, he held two glasses of nightwine. It was a misnomer since nightwine was technically a type ofmoonshine made by pixies and sprites. For such small creatures, they could hold their liquor better than most of the species in Magic. As such, a glass of nightwine was enough to get even Ronan tipsy.
Walking over, he handed her a glass, noticing that she had belted her silky robe tightly. Whether it was out of anger or self-protection, he didn’t know, but he didn’t like the idea that she might feel the need to protect herself from him.
“Nightwine?” she asked. “Do you want to be hungover tomorrow?”
