At six in the evening, Jeremy returns to escort me to the party. I pause outside the parlor, where the gathering will be held, and take a few breaths to collect my composure.
“Are you ready?” Jeremy asks with a furrowed brow as he gestures for me to enter.
After another breath, I nod.
I enter the parlor and find Dorian sitting in a chair by the fireplace, eyes crinkled in amusement while one of the two girls on the couch reads to him from a book. Glint McCreedy sits in another chair, sketching in his notebook, and Brother Billius sits alone at an empty card table. There’s something morose about his posture and the way he stares at nothing. I recall him skulking about last night, coming in from the alleyway after Dorian and me. Now that I know he was looking for Dorian to inform him of his sisters’ arrival, it makes sense why he was sneaking around in the dark. I assume he didn’t want to get Dorian in trouble for being out of his room and was trying to find him discreetly. Why does he look so sad?
Dorian glances up from his sisters, and his eyes immediately find mine. My breath catches at the sudden shift in his expression, his lighthearted mirth slipping away. I expect his cold mask to return, that he’ll reveal regret over what we talked about last night, over how close we became in more than just the physical sense…but that’s not what his features hold. There’s an intensity in his gaze, yet his face isn’t hardened with the same serious quality as it once was before. No, it’s something else. Something that makes me feel as if I’m dressed in my shimmery gown again. Next-to-naked. Desirable. I’m back to more modest clothing tonight—a simple silk evening gown in pale blue. Even so, his gaze seems to bore straight through me, beyond my eyes, my flesh, to my very core.
Noticing his shift in attention, the two girls turn toward me. Their faces brighten. Both look so much like their brother, with his bronze skin and black hair. They’re dressed in simple wool gowns with faded hems. One appears to be a year or two younger than me, while the other looks closer to Jeremy’s age. Their lips bear smiles, but I see signs of fatigue written in the circles beneath their eyes, their slightly slumped postures. Their arms, even hidden beneath long sleeves and plain gloves, look too thin. I’m stricken by the thought of either of them having just returned from a workhouse. I’ve never been in one, but I’ve heard rumors of their miserable conditions.
“You must be Miss Maisie,” says the youngest-looking girl.
“The pretty one with the pink hair,” the other whispers to her sister with a mischievous grin. Louder, she says, “We’ve heard so much about you already.” They fall into a fit of giggles. At first, I think they’re making fun of me. Then I realize their teasing isn’t for me at all.
Understanding dawns and my eyes flash to Dorian’s. I find him looking mortified. Ignoring their statement about me beingthe pretty one with the pink hair, he rises clumsily to his feet, and gestures for his sisters to do the same. “Miss Maisie is a princess, so we address her as Your Highness.”
“Princess,” the eldest says with a gasp. “He never mentioned that.”
“No, and now I realize I should have,” he says with a sideways grin. “Might I introduce my sisters, Beatrice,” he gestures to the eldest girl, then the youngest, “and Tabitha. This is where you curtsy, dear sisters.”
“Oh, right,” says Beatrice, and they dip low, their movements clearly unpracticed.
“I’m sorry,” Dorian says with a bashful smile for me. “Meeting royalty isn’t an everyday occurrence where they’re from.”
“What he means is we’re ruffians,” Tabitha says.
“That’s not what I mean at all.” His chastising tone is betrayed by laughter. He appears so at ease with them, so soft and playful. It seems their ten years apart didn’t strain their familial bond. I recall the guilt he expressed last night about being at school when his mother died. The way his sisters laugh so easily in his presence, I take it they don’t hold the same grudge he holds against himself.
“Fret not,” I say, “because I too am a ruffian, and Dorian knows how much I dislike being referred to as Highness.”
Tabitha’s eyes widen and she whispers to Beatrice, “Did you hear that? She called him Dorian. First name basis.” There’s no condemnation in her tone, only excitement. They laugh behind their hands and Dorian rolls his eyes. I cast a quick peek at Glint, who scribbles furiously away, catching our entire interaction in his notebook. Great.
Footsteps sound in the hall outside the parlor. A moment later, Greta and Briony are escorted inside by their initiates, and the introductions are made all over again. I note—with no small amount of pride—that neither Tabitha nor Beatrice says anything to the newcomers to suggest Dorian has spoken much aboutthem.
I chastise myself for even caring. It would be better if he’d said far more favorable things aboutanyonebut me. I’m not the one he can marry. I can’t secure his citizenship on the isle, because in three days, I might not be alive to…
Panic lashes through me, but I breathe it away.
Now is not the time to consider my fate. It’s time to considerhis.
Greta offers greetings to Dorian and his sisters, then floats over to Glint. He calls herdarlingand they exchange air kisses next to each other’s cheeks, then settle down for what looks like an interview.
Briony sidles up next to me. “At least one person thrives off the attention of the public,” she says with a laugh. “Aside from Vanessa, of course. Have you read her interviews in the papers? She does nothing but extol the virtues of chastity and fae salvation.”
I laugh but can’t bring myself to say anything against the girl. Ever since I stole Vanessa’s bracelet and ultimately got her punched in the face, I can’t help feeling at least a little bad for her. Not that I like her any better in spite of it. I glance around, seeing no sign of her. “Where is Vanessa, anyway?”
“Miss Courter isn’t feeling well,” Billius says, speaking for the first time. His eyes remain unfocused, brows knitted with concern. “She must be dreadfully ill indeed, for she didn’t even want to leave her room for confession. She adores confession.” He says this last part almost wistfully.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Is that why Brother Billius looks so sad? Does he fancy Vanessa?
“I’m certain she’ll recover,” comes Dorian’s voice. I find him approaching me and Briony with a sister on each arm. “Would either of you like to join my sisters for a game of Whist?”
Briony offers an easy yes while I confess I don’t know how to play.
Beatrice leaves her brother to take my arm. “I’ll teach you. Come, Your Highness. It will be fun.”
35
