Ophelia’s several inches taller than me and has a wide smile. “Come, lady.”
The rest of the fae murmur congratulations, to which I nod in thanks as I follow her past them and get my first real glance at the castle.
On the outside, Castleview Castle is a gloomy, gray-stoned fortress. But inside it’s bright and full of life. The walls are painted a vibrant light blue, bordered with white arches that rise up to the ceiling. Potted orange and lemon trees are sprinkledagainst the walls, filling the hall with the scent of citrus, and great crystal chandeliers hang like heavy raindrops from the ceiling.
As Ophelia leads me up a spiral staircase, I spy gold rugs lining the stone floors and a set of glass doors that lead outside. The reflection of the light makes it difficult to see through the glass, but I manage to snatch a glimpse of a garden filled with thick hedges and a pool beyond it.
I slow and Ophelia glances back, following my gaze. “The gardens are beautiful during the day. I’m sure you’ll receive a tour from His Majesty.”
My stomach plummets.His Majesty.He really is a king.Great. I’m just a powerless witch who’s now fake-engaged to a fae king. Talk about having a heavy dose of imposter syndrome.
We pass a painting that’s lush with red and gold hues. It catches my eye enough that I pause and peer closer. It’s a battle scene of fae riding horses as they mow down what looks like a field of women and men wielding orbs of power. So, witches and wizards.
Witches lay gutted, thrown over rocks while fae women raise their hands in victory. Dead and bloody wizards litter the grass, impaled by fae swords.
Good night!No wonder my parents didn’t want me to come. This painting says it all—I’m in enemy territory.
My breath hitches and Ophelia stops, cocks her ear. She turns around gracefully, and her gaze skips to the painting.
Her chest falls. “It’s an old scene, one that His Majesty’s grandfather kept. The artist’s well-known, and so it’s stayed with us. Though our pasts are interwoven in violence, that isn’t how we are now.” I lift my brow skeptically. She smiles and glances at her feet. “Come. Your room is just here.”
We round a corner and she opens a door. My jaw drops at the huge canopy bed topped with a sage-green satincomforter. There’s a wardrobe, a desk, a vanity—all made of darkly stained cherry wood. There’s also a bookcase but no books on the shelves.
Where are the books?
A fire crackles cheerfully in a fireplace, filling the room with the scent of woodsmoke and throwing shadows over a line of leaded glass windows. Is this place gothic or what?
Ophelia crosses to the wardrobe and stops beside it. “You’ll find clothes in here. They’ll fit you.”
I lift my brows in curiosity. “Howwill they fit?”
“Fae magic. It’s different from yours.” She gestures to a door. “The bathroom’s through there. It’s fully stocked with shampoo, conditioner, soaps, bath bombs—most of the essentials.”
When did bath bombs become essential? Never mind. Stupid question. I will take thatessentialand use it to the fullest, thank you very much.
She smiles. “If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’m fine. Good night.”
“Night.”
She shuts the door, and I find myself alone in a place where I know no one, and where a painting of witches being ripped apart hangs on a wall. The castle doesn’t look like enemy territory, but all signs point to yes.
Wait.Stop, Addison. Feylin’s not going to kill you.
I exhale, remembering that he needs me as much as I need him. Right. There’s a part for me to play—the happy and cheerful fiancée. This I can do. I’m a naturally optimistic person who smiles often. If there’s anyone who can march into enemy territory and make it work, it’s me.
First things first—get out of this dress.
I half expect moths to fly from the wardrobe when I open the door, but they don’t. It smells of cedar, and the clothesinside are glossy silk and comfortable cotton. There are everyday clothes—jeans, tops, slacks and blouses in a multitude of colors, and gowns for formal occasions. Hanging in the very back is a set of pajamas—a light blue long-sleeved top and bottom that feels soft as butter between my fingers.
“Hope these fit.”
They look huge, but as soon as I slip on the bottoms, magic unfolds. In a blink, the fabric shrinks and the clothes vacuum seal to my legs, tightening before loosening to a perfect fit.
“Oh!” I gaze at my reflection in the head-to-toe mirror, admiring how the pajamas fit and nearly laughing at how ridiculous it is that I’m admiringpajamas. These aren’t even real clothes, and yet they fit perfectly. Even the feel is amazing, like I’m draped in a silk blanket. There’s not one tag itching anywhere. I could get used to this. “That’s some magic.”
After I slip into the top and it does the same shrink-wrap magic, I wash my face and brush my teeth, the whole time wondering how I’m going to pass my time in this castle.
