Once I was certain he was well, free from the lingering grip of his curse, I retreated to my quarters.
From the shadows, I watched him and Thorne roam the devastated halls of Pyrrhus. Alaric moved through the ruins of his past, awash in equal parts of nostalgia and sorrow. His gaze drank in every detail as he revisited his home with the eyes of a man. I could only imagine the strangeness of it all—walking the world once more in a mortal body, after a lifetime spent as a beast.
Meanwhile, I was left with solitude, save for brief visits to Speck. The silence was unnatural—no Penelope barking orders,no endless chores to drown in. It unsettled me, as if the stillness itself were holding its breath, waiting for catastrophe to strike.
A sharp knock rattled the door. Startled, I set aside the book of fairy tales with its beautiful pictures, moving to answer. After spending the day alone, I was happy to find Myrna’s scowling green face on the other side. In her arms was a cascade of rich emerald fabric.
“Your king has requested your presence at dinner this evening.”
“My king, huh?” I eyed the clothing she held. “Am I to assume it’s a formal occasion?”
“It’s a celebration,” she informed me with a mocking curl of her lip. “That is what your kind does after all. Dressing in your ridiculous garments, carrying on, overindulging every time a shooting star enters our realm. My girls worked all day to prepare the king’s favorites. So you better get moving.”
“I suppose breaking a thousand-year curseisreason to celebrate.” The three of us had certainly earned a reward. I stepped aside, and she hustled into the room, draping the gown over the bed along with a velvet box.
“What is this?” I flipped open the lid and froze. “Oh… My.” Nestled inside was a golden necklace with an ornate dragon at the center. Emeralds instead of scales decorated the creature’s body.
“King Alaric asked that you wear it tonight.”
“This must be some party,” I muttered, though the words caught in my throat. The piece was exquisite, but heavy in a way that made it rather uncomfortable.
Once Myrna helped me dress, she wrestled my unruly curls, pinning them away from my face, leaving the rest to cascade down my spine. When she finished, I faced the mirror. Unlike the horrendous gown Penelope once stuffed me into, this garment was far more refined, likely from one of the chests in the family hoard.
Gold and jewels encrusted the bodice, the upper swells of my breasts on display. Dainty laces crisscrossed the back, leaving much of my skin exposed. The long skirt fit snugly over my round hips before turning flowy as it swept to my ankles. When I walked, a slit opened over my thigh, revealing a bit of leg.
For once, I truly resembled a princess. I couldn’t help but wonder what Thorne would think when he saw me. An image of him trailing his hand along my exposed thigh, his powerful body pressing me up against a wall, came to mind. Heat pooled at my center. For once, I looked forward to his reaction.
“Thank you, Myrna.” I bent low and threw my arms around the stout woman.
She stiffened, her gruff demeanor cracking for a moment. “You’re welcome, child. Now off you go. Don’t want to keep the king waiting.”
“The king. Right.” I’d almost forgotten about him; I was so eager to see Thorne’s reaction.
Instead of the hearth room, Myrna led me to a part of the castle I hadn’t explored. With a soft murmur of encouragement, she excused herself, leaving me to enter alone.
Warm candlelight flickered across every surface, casting golden hues on walls that had been scrubbed clean of centuries of dust. Above me, exquisite chandeliers glittered, crafted from delicate solar crystals that scattered the light like falling stars. Someone had clearly gone to great lengths to make the space presentable. Only a few stubborn cobwebs clung to the high corners, and—thankfully—there wasn’t a skeleton in sight.
It was…beautiful.
Romantic, even though it was an experience I’d never had myself.
My throat tightened. I’d never been theguestat a party—never the one welcomed. I was used to blending into the background, a silent servant ordered to pour drinks and clear plates while others laughed, danced,lived.
To be at the center of such an effort was surreal. Like I was once again dressed in Penelope’s ruffled dress, pretending to be someone else, wearing a role that didn’t quite fit.
In the middle of the room, a long table stretched wide enough to seat a dozen or more, though only a small section was prepared. Crystal goblets sparkled in the candlelight. Gilded tableware captured the flicker of flames, reflecting it in warm glints of gold.
And at the head of it all stood Alaric Blackwing, King of Pyrrhus, one of the last of his kind.
He rose the moment I entered, striding toward me with the easy confidence of a man born to command.
“You look incredible,” he murmured, reaching for me. I stiffened, bracing for another uninvited kiss, but he merely brushed his lips against my cheek.
“Thank you.” The way his hooded gaze swept over me pushed warmth into my cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
It was disorienting seeing him like this. Despite everything we’d shared together, this man was a stranger. I took a moment to take him in.
Unlike Thorne’s dark mane, Alaric’s was a deep golden color, the angles of his face seeming harsher than his brother’s. Over a silken shirt, he wore a finely cut suit jacket, the lapels richly embroidered with green thread, onyx gems sewn along the edges. Black pants hugged his muscular legs, his boots polished to a gleam. And those green eyes, they were still Alaric’s, yet there was little about him that felt familiar and safe.
