“Calm down, Chosen,” he said snippily, clomping around me and yanking the dress over my head. “We haveto do this as quickly as possible. I have twelve other gowns for you to try on, and we still have to do hair and makeup.” With one last tug, he pulled the pink jeweled bodice down, throwing his beautiful white mane back, and ran his eyes over me.
“Can I get off the floor now?”
“No,” he snorted, curling his lip. “You look stupid. We will have to try another one.” He clapped his hooves together. “Come on. Arms up.”
A low chime rang through the air, and I flinched. “What was that?”
“It’s your doorbell,” Cecil muttered, trying to lift the tulle skirt. “Someone’s trying to buzz you.”
I frowned, wriggling out of Cecil’s oddly dexterous hooves. “I’ve got a visitor?”
“So it seems.”
I scrambled to my feet, looking around my enormous drawing room—an almost-replica of the morning room at the Palace of Versailles. The intercom phone by the door wasn’t there anymore. Neither, in fact, was the door. From the hallway outside, it looked like a normal-sized beige door with a standard silver handle. However from this side—the inside—my little apartment door was a huge cream oak double-door with gilt carvings all around it. “How do I check who it is?”
Cecil let out a huff. “I’m not putting that horrible plastic device back on the wall.”
I groaned. “Cecil. Please.”
“No. It’s an eyesore. An abomination!”
“How am I supposed to know who’s at my door, then?”
He sniffed. “They should have made a prior appointment with you, like a civilized person. Then you’d know exactly who it was.”
“Violet.” I hiked up the enormous skirt and startedshuffling towards my front door. “Please put the intercom back where I can see it.”
My house obeyed me immediately, and my gray intercom phone popped out of the wall by the door. Cecil was right; it was as attractive as a giant zit on a model’s cheek.
“We don’t have time for this, Chosen,” Cecil said bitchily. “You’ve got twelve other gowns to try on. Ignore it.”
“I can’t.” I reached out and picked up the phone. “Yes?”
The phone line crackled. A young woman’s voice rang through like a bell; a soft, lilting Irish accent. “Hello, Susan.”
I frowned, recognizing the voice instantly. “Seraphina?”
“Yes. I need to speak to you.”
My heart started pounding. What the hell was she doing here? I licked my lips and hit the buzzer. “Come on up.” I waited until I heard the downstairs door click, then I hung up the phone and exhaled heavily.
“Who is it?” Bart asked.
It took me a moment. “It’s Seraphina.”
Bart gasped softly. “No.”
Donovan tensed, then marched towards the door, pulling two daggers out of thin air with a menacing zing. “Get behind me, Chosen. I will deal with her.”
I almost laughed. “You can’t stab her, Donovan.”
“Youshouldstab her,” Bart muttered under his breath.
Donovan marched towards the door, brandishing his daggers, planting himself in front of me. “Who is this Seraphina? An assassin? A sorceress?”
“No,” I sighed. “She’s my husband’s fiancé.”
“Your husband?” Donovan glanced back at me, his face thunderous.
