My head shoots up. I meet her gaze and realise, with a sharp intake of breath, that this wasn’t a throwaway comment.
“You knew my mother?”
“I knew her as Wren Mothwing, of course—her name before she met your father.” Saleen’s smile softens. “Oh, she was every bit the Warrior. Feisty, rebellious, full of herself. We met while she was training at the castle for the Thorn Guards. She would often come into the tavern with the other recruits.”
She pauses, looking me over with something like fondness.
“You’ve grown into such a beauty—just like her.”
My eyes blur. A tear escapes down my cheek.
Saleen reaches out and gently brushes it away, but I flinch as her hand nears my scar. Rather than pulling away, she cups my left cheek in her small hand.
“You are beautiful, Alaya. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.” Her voice drops as she folds back the top of the bodice on one side. “I added something just for you to your dress.”
There, sewn with golden thread, a tiny moth is hidden.
My throat tightens. I carefully fold the fabric back, tucking the secret moth away. Something that is just mine.
“You don’t treat me like the other Fae do. Why?”
Saleen’s eyes dart to the door. She moves closer, her words barely audible.
“The King keeps his subjects in check by fear, by nurturing their natural unease for anything different or unknown.”
I hold my breath, afraid to interrupt.
“We are taught that we are the superior Fae race. We are taught to hate those that threaten our tentative life here, and we are also taught to trust no one, especially those that are different.”
Her hand squeezes mine gently.
“I know there are many who are afraid of you because you are Desolate, who treat you poorly. But only because they don’t understand.” She glances at the door again. “There are those of us who remember our lives before coming here. Who remember that the Desolate were never anything to be feared.”
I’m shocked. I’d always been led to believe my state was a dirty secret, a shame I had to bear but hide—even by my parents. I’d never met another Desolate, never heard mention of any others.
“Thank you for sharing that, Saleen,” I whisper back and smile. I know how brave she was to speak against the King, even as alone as we seem.
Saleen steps back, her expression brightening. “Well, this is sure to be a spectacular wedding. Now, let’s get you out of this before you wrinkle it.”
Her hands work quickly, unfastening the small buttons at the back and loosening the bodice. The golden fabric slides away, and I step down from the podium, suddenly cold in just my underwear again. She gathers the dress carefully, foldingit with reverent precision before tucking it into her large bag along with the remaining fabric and cutoffs as I pull my black day dress back on.
I catch one last glimpse of the golden skirt disappearing into the bag before she sweeps from the room in a flurry of movement.
In continued preparations for the wedding, I’m reminded that a week before the ceremony, we are to have a Commitment Ball—apparently a royal custom before marriage to affirm our intent to wed.
There’s a lingering lightness to my step from the unexpected fun I had during the dress fitting as I enter the Grand Ballroom for a dance lesson. The room is of exceptional beauty. Rather than dark and foreboding like the rest of the castle, this space is full of dancing light from a huge golden glass dome arching above the centre. A heavy-looking golden chandelier hangs down—larger than any I’ve seen elsewhere—covered in shimmering crystals like drops of ice. Tall plain windows surround the room, lending more light to saturate the dark stone walls a lighter grey. The floor is rich black marble, swirled with golden tendrils.
It’s breathtaking.
Three figures leaning over the grand piano in the corner turn towards me as they hear me enter.
I let out a sharp breath.
Prince Kiernan is looking annoyed, his cheeks flushed. The tall, willowy blond Fae beside him is laughing, her hand still lightly draped over his arm as she turns with a look of scrutiny. The General’s wife, here to instruct us. My heart drops into my stomach as I take in the third figure. Tall, black hair, blue glinting eyes and a cocky smile on his face.
Fuck.
I look back to Prince Kiernan. He’s staring straight at me, and I can’t quite make out the emotion that has replaced his annoyance. He looks almost apologetic, and a heat flashes across his green-eyed gaze.
