“Hmm?” I roll my hips, browsing the cakes. “Did you say something?” When I glance back, I almost buckle under the intensity of his gaze.
“Enough.” His hands grab my hips. “I told you to behave.”
I grin at him, sickly sweet. “So sorry,” I lie. “Won’t happen again.”
After purchasing a cake, Tauren stalks behind me while we continue through the markets. My chocolate muffin tastes as divine as it looks. I’ve almost devoured it before I remember I didn’t just make him buy me a cake so I could eat it.
Swirling my finger through the icing, I lift it to my lips. Then I push my finger into my mouth and suck in a way that would make Blossom cover the eyes of my youngest sisters.
A few male demons at a nearby stall pause, watching me with hungry eyes.
Three, two, one?—
“What are you doing?” Tauren steps in front of me, blocking their view. His gaze falls to my lips and his jaw clenches.
This is too easy…
I slide my finger out with a grin. “Just enjoying my cake,” I say innocently. Scooping up another clump of icing, I push it into my mouth again. Seconds later, my finger comes out with a wet pop. “Would you like to share?”
Tauren’s lips part. “Are you trying to torment me?”
Yes. But I don’t tell him that. “I don’t know what you mean.” I put on my best clueless voice. “Am I doing something wrong?”
He studies me for a moment before rolling his eyes. “Finish your muffin. I’m taking you to Girabalt’s.” Cupping my elbow, he whisks through the markets before I can ask who that is.
We stop outside a small blue tent near the back of the market. The entrance is hidden by a curtain of lilac fabric, and above that is a wooden sign withGirabalt’swritten in pretty gold letters. Claren stands beside us, watching Pumpkin as she sniffs around our boots.
“What is this?” My nose scrunches. It’s too small to be a shop. You could barely fit two people inside, but Tauren guides me in anyway, Claren and Pumpkin following closely behind.
After stepping through the curtain, my jaw drops. The small blue interior I was expecting is now a huge, bustling gown shop.
Faeries in blue uniforms flit between rails, arranging long, flowing gowns and corsets. The golden walls are barely visible through the layers of fabric-filled rails and shelving. In the centre of the wooden floor is a dais showcasing the prettiest ballgowns I’ve ever seen. The light from the chandeliers above makes the already sparkling gowns look ethereal.
“My sisters would kill for five minutes in here,” I gasp. Tauren doesn’t let me stop to soak it in. Taking my arm, he leads me past the colourful gowns and through a set of peach-coloured double doors.
I forget how to walk as I enter. This room is like the first snowfall of winter. Rows upon rows of stunning white gowns fill the golden-walled shop. Traditional cloud-white wedding gowns hang beside tight-fitting ivory dresses. Between them are long gowns with off-the-shoulder sleeves, shorter dresses with tulle skirts. Any dress a princess could dream of is here, twinkling under warm lights.
Beneath the gowns are endless racks of white shoes and accessories. Dainty heels. Veils. Sparkling tiaras.
If my sisters were here, we’d spend days trying on everything. Even Fern, who usually hates dressing up, would probably join in on the fun.
But my sisters are not here, and the dark-eyed demon beside me is my constant reminder that I’m not going to be seeing them again any time soon.
“It’s so good to see you, Lord Tauren and Master Claren.” I look up to see a tall faerie male dressed in the blue shop uniform but with a regal gold trim. His green eyes crinkle as he spots Pumpkin at our feet. Then he spots me and grins even wider. “I see you’ve brought me a gift.”
I want to scowl at the faerie, but there’s something so warm about him that I can’t help but smile back as he bows in greeting.
“Girabalt.” Even Tauren sounds happy. “I trust you received my letter.”
“I did.” Girabalt’s eyes gleam with curiosity. “Although last time we spoke, you didn’t tell me that you were planning a wedding or that you’d met a princess…”
“The wedding is not a love match.” The joy in Tauren’s tone is replaced by something more calculated. It makes my smile fall. “This is merely a political move.”
Girabalt’s gaze slides to me again before lowering to the collar at my throat. His grin vanishes.
“I’m happy to let Dahlia choose an appropriate gown,” Tauren continues, unfazed. “Please help her find something suitable.”
I want to roll my eyes, but I manage to hide my displeasure long enough for Girabalt to lead me towards a changing room, gesturing for Tauren and Claren to take a seat on some white chairs nearby.
