“Why so early?”
“Because the first engagement event is today. Important fae will be here.”
Alarm bells ring in my head. “Today?”
“Today.”
“Why not tomorrow?”
“Because once a king joins,” he says as if he’s explaining things to a child, “the first ceremony is completed the next day. That is today.”
“What will I have to do? Smile, look pretty? That sort of thing?”
His gaze sweeps from my head to my feet where the gowns are pooled, and slowly back up. Not one fleck of emotion shows on his face, but the way his eyes linger on my body makes my cheeks heat.
“You’ll not only be expected to be the doting fiancée, but you’ll have to work your magic.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“Your magic. We must work magic together to prove our union is true.” I cringe and he notices. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”
Workwhatmagic? But if I don’t try, I’ll be thrown back to the wolves of the ball. So I smile brightly. “Magic? Of course that won’t be a problem. I can’t wait.”
12
Ophelia enters a few minutes later. When she spies the pile of dresses, her eyes become big as plates.
I grab a handful. “Sorry.”
“Let me do that,” she says, reaching for the mound of clothing in my hands.
“No, it’s okay.” I smile. “It’s my mess. I can clean it up.”
She grabs a teal gown off the floor and shakes it. “But you’re my lady.”
The wordsmy ladysend a pang of guilt straight to my gut. She’s so sweet, and I feel terrible lying to her, making her think that I’m actually going to marry Feylin.
Not in this life.
Which of course makes me clean up the dresses even faster so that Ophelia doesn’t have to do it.
She serves me breakfast, which consists of buttery pastries stuffed with nuts and honey. I pick at one, and the sticky honey coats my fingers. I lick them off and grin. There are also quail eggs and coffee.
I take a bite of the pastry and moan. “Oh wow. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything so good. Would you like some?”
She looks at the already bitten half of the pastry I’m offering and shyly shakes her head. “No, my lady.”
I sigh and flatten my palms on the table. “Ophelia, if you’re going to see me every day, you have to stop calling me that. My name’s Addie or Addison. My last name is Thornrose.”
“But—”
“No buts!” I swish my finger left and right. “You can call me Miss Thornrose if Addie’s too personal.”
“Yes, my—Miss Thornrose.” She gives a slight nod.
“Better,” I say with my mouth chock-full of nutty pastry.
“His Majesty wants to see you on the grounds after breakfast to prepare for the ceremony.”
