I find myself laughing out loud, even as more tears prick my eyes. I’m only sorry the gift is yet another item I can’t wear to the party. Not by itself, at least. I return to my bag, and this time I’m not the least bit surprised to find a third item that isn’t gray. The color isn’t as bright as the first two; it’s mauve. As I pull it from my bag, I find a linen walking skirt. It’s practical yet modern, with a fitted waist, a smooth front, and gathered pleats at the back. Beneath it is a simple white blouse, a black waistcoat, and a silk scarf. Marsh’s letter is folded neatly just beneath the pile of clothing.
Miss Rose,
Since I am certain the other two will sneak something gaudy and impractical into your bag, I wanted to be the one to impart upon you the gift of sensibility. Whether you’re a princess or a governess or something else that you choose to be, every modern lady needs a smart suit for daily wear. Yes, I too read the fashion magazines. I know the latest trends, whether I wear them or not. Don this ensemble for either professionalism, travel, or stylish comfort. Tie the black scarf around your neck in a bow, and you’ll look like you jumped straight out of this week’s fashion spread.
Forever your teacher (and from now on, I hope your friend too),
Sister Marsh
Marsh’s letter has me tearing up even more so than its predecessors. Despite her stern demeanor, I’ve always known Marsh was hiding a soft interior, and this letter shows me a side of her I never got to see. As happy as I am to have been claimed by my parents, a pang of longing strikes my heart. I find myself yearning for Agatha’s sweet enthusiasm, Spruce’s comforting hugs, and Marsh’s calm leadership. Furthermore, I regret how I spoke to them earlier today, blaming them for keeping secrets from me.
They know I didn’t mean any of that, right?
My eyes fall on the new outfit draped in my arms, then on the chemise and ballgown strewn over my bed. A grin stretches my lips. Of course they know. They know what’s in my heart.
A pang of longing remains as I dress—in Marsh’s gift, of course—but I take comfort in the feeling. In the love of my three teachers. I carry it with me and don’t let it go, not even after my hour of solitude ends and the two little foxes arrive to take me to the dinner party. I let that pang bloom and grow, let it bolster my courage with every step I take down the palace halls.
* * *
By the timeI reach the ornate double doors that lead to the dining room, I’m a sweating mess. The realization that I’m seconds away from meeting an entire room filled with strangers-who-aren’t-strangers makes my stomach roil with anxiety. How will they respond? Will they like me? Will I like them? I know it’s folly to question such things when only a matter of heartbeats stands between me and the answer, but I can’t stop my mind from spinning or my nerves from fraying.
My fox guides sit back on their haunches before lifting their upper bodies until their paws reach the silver door handles. The knobs turn, the doors open, and I’m met with music, laughter, and the heady scent of alcohol. I’ve only experienced the latter aroma once—in Lumenas when I snuck out to a burlesque show. It was held in a dark club that served fae wine, and I was sure to indulge. I recall the delightful buzz it filled my mind with, the warmth that flooded my belly. Ever since, I’ve considered myself thoroughly fond of wine and have been eager to drink it again.
A servant whirls toward me, startled by my arrival. She’s in seelie form with white cat ears, slitted amber eyes, and long whiskers emerging from her cheeks. Her black hair is arranged in two braids that loop around her ears, each side pinned with a white ribbon. Her gown is black and trimmed in white ruffles. With her blocking my view of the room, I can’t tell whether she’s the only one who’s noticed me, though the continued chatter tells me it might be the case. My gaze falls on the tray she’s holding, one bearing flutes of some pale bubbly liquid.
“Princess Rosaline,” she says, whiskers twitching as she sinks into a curtsy. “Would you care for a glass of Moondrop?”
“Please,” I say and take a glass from her tray. I bring it to my lips and swallow a generous mouthful. The sweet and bubbly spirit tastes different from the wine I had in Lumenas, but it is delicious. Better yet, the calm heat it generates is twice as potent.
After another curtsy, the feline fae scurries away, giving me a full view of the dining room at last. It’s an elegant space, dimly lit by a single chandelier comprised of a large orb surrounded by tiny, illuminated crystals. The way the light reflects upon the ceiling is reminiscent of the night sky. Dark velvet curtains are drawn shut over the tall windows that line one side of the room while the opposite side boasts gilded frames around portraits I can’t quite see from this angle. I search the room for the source of music and discover an opalescent harp in one dark corner. Its strings vibrate, humming a gorgeous melody. At first, I think it must be enchanted to play itself, but then I note a shifting in the darkness, like shadow upon shadow. As my eyes further adjust to the dim room, I note semitransparent hands, a hint of a body. Is that one of my family members?
Finally, I let my gaze settle on the long table at the center of the room, around which nearly two dozen guests sit. I’m struck by an unexpected disappointment. Or perhaps it’s shock. When Mother said I’d meet my family, I didn’t expect there to be so few. Then I recall what she said about me being the only child born in decades. I suppose that would keep my circle of extended family rather narrow indeed. Then again, this might not be everyone. Mother did specify there would be onlyclosefamily.
“May I present Princess Rosaline,” says a baritone voice that nearly has me leaping out of my skin. I search for the source and find one of the foxes bowing on all four paws beside me. That’s the first time I’ve heard either of the foxes say a word, and I certainly didn’t expect such a deep tone from the cute creature.
Sounds of layered conversation cut off at once, and all eyes shift to me. A blonde head that I immediately recognize as my mother’s pops up from the far end of the table. She lets out a cheery squeal as she rushes over to me and gathers my free hand in hers.
“Oh, my darling girl,” she says. “Are you ready to meet your family?”
I swallow hard. I’ve been wanting to hear those words my entire life. My heartbeat slams against my ribs. I manage a smile, one I feel from the bottom of my heart, even through the rough edges of my nerves. I meet my mother’s gaze and give her a nod. “I’m ready.”
13
BRIONY
As Mother pulls me toward the dinner table, I down the rest of my drink in a single swallow. The feline servant scampers over and refills my glass while I walk. I’m impressed she doesn’t spill a single drop. The guests rise from their seats and face me with awed expressions. I imagine the same awe graces my face as I look into the eyes of my family members.
I know all the Briars are mahrts, but since I only learned about dream fae today, I can’t identify which kind of mahrt anyone is. Are most of them succubi? Incubi? I remember Thorne saying my father is an alp, but what other kinds of mahrts are there? My curiosity rises as I look from face to face. Most appear to be in seelie form, their visages humanlike aside from their pointed ears. Then there’s the shadowed figure, who has risen from the harp to approach the table. A few others have gnarled skin, elongated ears, and rather terrifying serrated teeth. All are dressed in fine dinner wear with dark suits and extravagant evening gowns, which makes me think I should have worn Agatha’s ballgown after all. But no, I couldn’t have donned that ensemble without aid.
“Rosaline,” Mother says, fluttering her hand toward the table, “meet the Briars. Briar family, this is Princess Rosaline. She’s a succubus like me!”
“Oh, I don’t…” There’s no use trying to refute her claim, for my words are drowned out by gasps of approval and the clinking of glasses. Sweat prickles behind my neck. While I’m thrilled to be so favorably welcomed to my family clan, I can’t help but worry I might disappoint their expectations if they prove incorrect. I shift from foot to foot, a spike of anxiety burrowing in my heart—
“Rosaline.” The voice has all others quieting in its wake. I turn to find a male figure standing next to my mother. He towers over her in height, but his frame is slender. He’s one of the frightening-looking fae, his eyes beady and his nose bulbous. His skin is tinged with gray, his head bald and freckled. His ears are thrice as long as a regular fae’s and are far more sharply angled, while his pointed teeth remain somewhat visible even when he closes his mouth. He’s dressed in a suit of violet brocade, his bearing dignified. His lips pull wide while his brow remains furrowed. The result is a hesitant smile that somehow sets me at ease. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time. I…I’m your father. Horus Briar.”
“Oh.” It’s all I manage to say. While my relationship to my mother is clear in our similar features, I’m surprised my father looks so different. But as I’ve already surmised, fae don’t always take after their parents. Realizing I’m being terribly rude, I sink into a curtsy. “I am honored to meet you, Majesty.”
“No, none of that,” he says, tone lighthearted. “If you aren’t ready to call me Father, please call me Horus instead. Though I do hope you’ll perhaps one day call me Father. Or…Papa.”
