“I’ll try, Nyxia,” I finally say.
Her shoulders relax and gratitude spills from her, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket. She steps forward, a dazzling grin replacing her serious expression. “Thank you, Franco. I do hope you’ll like Maisie, but I trust you to make the right decision.”
Guilt burrows inside me, but I try to force it away before Nyxia can sense it…and the reason behind it. While I’m determined to keep my word and court the princess, it’s not with the hope that things will work out between us. My romantic history has told me those chances are slim. But I will do what it takes to make Nyxiathinkmy efforts are real.
Sooner or later, I know I’ll have to let go and settle on a wife. I love my sister and Lorelei. I want them to be happy. But for now, I just want more time before everything changes. Before the one person I’ve always been able to depend on leaves. Before I’m forced to be king and stand beneath the scrutiny and pressures of a crown I never thought I’d wear.
I tuck those thoughts away and hide them behind an arrogant façade. Standing tall, I say, “You know, I always thought I’d look better on that throne than you anyway.”
Her sentimental mood shifts in an instant, matching mine, her grin widening with a mixture of pride and mischief. “That’s the spirit, little brother.” Her eyes flick over my clothing, a mock sneer on her lips. “But if you want to fill my shoes, you’ll have to learn to dress better.”
I chuckle as she walks away, but as soon as she’s gone, my smile slips. My shoulders sink. All I feel is empty in her wake.
7
EMBER
In the hours leading up to the ball the next day, I lose myself in my chores, trying to become as small and inconspicuous as I can to avoid further altercations with my stepfamily. I make it my particular mission to speak as little as possible, argue none, and do as I’m told. Keeping focused on my tasks, I dare not listen in on my stepsisters’ conversations as they gossip throughout the day, speculating on what tonight’s festivities will bring. I dare not even look their way.
Instead, I scrub. Mend. Polish. Cook. Scrub. Mend. Cook.
I can get through this. It’s a single ball. A single night where my stepfamily will use me and my friend’s generosity for their own gain. As much as I despise giving in, I can’t bring myself to reignite yesterday’s fight, the memories Clara’s words stirred, or the pain Mrs. Coleman’s demand created.
Two more weeks.
Then I’ll be free.
Scrub. Mend. Cook. Scrub.
My hands are raw and red by the time the afternoon draws near to dusk and Mrs. Coleman announces it’s time to get ready for the ball. My stepsisters erupt with cheers and race off to their shared bedroom. Once the door closes behind them, my stepmother turns her gaze to me. It’s the first time she’s so much as looked my way since yesterday’s argument.
I don’t wait to be told what to do before I rush for the attic stairs and head to my room to get ready. There’s no electricity in my attic bedroom, so I light a lamp on my bedside table. Then I throw open the shutters of the single window over my bed to reveal the hazy illumination of the setting sun. Everything in me itches to get outside, to climb up to my rooftop perch and watch the sun’s descent. But no. The New Moon Masquerade awaits.
I wish I could be as excited as my stepfamily is. This is my first ball, after all. Ishouldbe thrilled. Under any other circumstance, one where I hadn’t been granted an invitation under deception and coercion, I think I would be. Not that I care for the restrained human dances I’ve never been allowed to learn or the tense social formalities that are expected at such formal occasions; it’s the music I’ve always yearned for. The music I always wished my stepsisters could bring home with them. There was a time, years ago, when I’d sneak out of bed after my stepfamily came home from dancing. I’d seek out their dancing slippers and hold them up to my ears, hoping I could tease out strains of music written in the wear of their soles.
Then I got caught by Imogen.
Stupid Ember, listening to a shoe! Such a wild fae creature. Are you fifteen or a child? You’re lucky we don’t bring you out with us. You’d be ridiculed to death!
I turn away from my window and face my cramped room. Piles of chests and boxes line the walls and clutter the floors, leaving me just enough space for my tiny bed and dressing area at the far end of the room. I skirt toward my wash table and set about cleaning the day’s filth from my hands, arms, and face. Our apartment has no proper tub or washroom, unlike the finer townhomes we’ve lived at in the past. Which means by the time I’m done cleaning up and dressing in the nicest undergarments and petticoats I have, it still feels like a crime to don a beautiful gown.
The gift from Gemma hangs on the back of my dressing screen, as out of place as a poorly tuned piano key. In this case, however, the dress is the only fine-tuned object in the room and everything else stands in stark disharmony.
Including myself.
Handling the dress as if it were glass, I slip it over my head, cringing when any part of it brushes the dusty walls and furniture. Once I have it on, I find more to appreciate about it as well as Gemma’s foresight. Unlike most ballgowns, this one requires no help to close myself into it. The back is low enough for me to reach, with hooks for closures instead of pretty laces. And the puffed sleeves that cover my shoulders and upper arms make up for the modesty that the low back lacks.
I step out from behind my dressing screen to the cracked mirror propped amongst a pile of boxes, surprised at what I find.
Elegance.
My hand moves to my locket as I assess my reflection. I’m delighted at how much I look like my mother in this moment. I may not have her pointed ears—only full fae have that feature—but I have her hair, her eyes, and her smile, things this gown seems to bring out more than anything has before. I flip open my locket to reveal the portraits of my parents. A lump rises in my throat as I study them. My heart clenches as my eyes rest on my father, and I can’t bear to look at him for long. It hurts too much. Fills my stomach with the iron weight of guilt. When I look at Mother, I can almost recall the sound of her voice, the graceful way she walked, her smooth motions when she danced…
I shake the ruminations from my mind and snap my locket closed. Training my focus on my appearance, I note my hairstyle leaves much to be desired. Free from the bonnet, my turquoise strands hang in tangled waves around my shoulders. I take a brush to it, only to realize I have no skill with pinning my hair up for formal occasions. Then again…will Mrs. Coleman even allow me to forgo the bonnet for one night? Surely, wearing a tattered bonnet with a ballgown will draw far more undue attention than teal hair will. The ball is being thrown by a fae prince, after all—
The blood leaves my face at the thought.
Damn it, why haven’t I confronted this until now? I’m about to attend a ball hosted by the very royal fae I not only insulted but was also ridiculed by. My face grows hot at the memory of his lewd suggestions about my mistaken motive. I’m not sure whether I should be more fearful of being recognized by him or irritated that I’ll have to see him at all. In addition, I’ll be expected to pay him respect like I’m the simpering maiden he thinks all females are.
