The faerie lifts the thick curtain for me to pass through. But the moment it closes, he shakes his head and pins me with a pitying stare. “I’ve known Tauren for many years. My cousin isthe Lord of the Faerie Court, and he and Tauren are firm allies. But perhaps I did not know him as well as I thought…” Nerves flutter inside me. “Has he hurt you?”
I stare at him blankly.
“I see the collar around your neck. I can feel its magic connecting you to him.” Running a hand through his auburn hair, he sighs. “I don’t care how long I’ve known him, or how much power your husband-to-be holds, I will not dress a bride who does not wish to be married. Tell me, Princess, are you here against your will?”
My lips part, then close again. Two nights ago I would’ve begged for his help. Faerie or not, I would’ve cried tears of joy.
But now, even behind the safety of a heavy curtain, with help staring at me in the face, I find myself hesitating.
Evenifthis faerie can remove my collar and sneak me out of here without Tauren noticing, where would I go?
He could send me home to Father, but I doubt I’d get to spend long reuniting with my sisters. I’d be shipped off in another foul-smelling carriage to Lord Elheart’s palace before dawn.
I could ask him to take me to Night Alley, to live with my eldest sister and Kasimir, but for some reason that doesn’t sound as appealing as it did the night of Blossom’s party. I don’t even know if she’d want me there. Of course, if I told them my situation, she’d let me stay for a while. But could I spend the rest of my life there? Would I want to?
Maybe Blossom was right. Maybe I should’ve just chosen a boring, ‘safe’ prince at her stupid party. Visions of custard-blond hair and wine-fuelled kisses dance through my mind. A strong hand dragging slowly up my thigh. My back pressed against the wall.
I might not like being his prisoner, but I’m definitely having more fun than I would with any other prince right now.
And I’m not sure if I’m ready to stop just yet.
“The situation with Tauren is under control.” I hold my head high. “There’s no need for you to jump to any conclusions.”
Girabalt narrows his eyes, unconvinced. “Are you certain of this?”
“Yes,” I bite out.Am I?Maybe a back up plan would be a good idea. A smart idea. It’s what my older sisters would do. “Actually…”
The faerie arches a brow.
“Would you be able to send a message for me?” I twist my hands together. “The circumstances of my arrival in Tauren’s court were quite… unexpected. And I really should let my family know I’m here.”
Girabalt nods, seemingly satisfied with this. “Of course. I’ll fetch you a quill.” He moves towards the curtain but stops before heading out to the shop floor. “One last thing.” He smiles warmly. “Any preferences for your gown? I pride myself on the diversity of my designs, and anything that doesn’t quite fit you can be altered. I’m very quick with a needle.” He tosses me a wink.
My plan from before bubbles up inside me like a wicked creature in a pond. “Oh yes,” I tell him, unable to help my laugh. “I know exactly what I want.”
15
TAUREN
When Dahlia finally emerges from the changing room, my first instinct is to rip the damned gown off her. My second is to cover Claren’s eyes, which I almost do before he scoops up Pumpkin and hurries out of the wedding dress section.
The child is smarter than I thought.
“Does Claren not like my gown?” Dahlia pouts in mock offence.
“No, I think he liked it.” I rise from my seat, flexing my hands. “In fact, I think every male at our wedding will like it.” I clench my jaw. “Girabalt, what the fuck have you put my bride into?”
“Only what she asked for, Tauren.” The coward dips his head, hiding a smirk.
Stalking closer, I drag my gaze over her perfect figure. It’s hard not to. The practically transparent gown doesn’t hide anything. Sheer, shimmering fabric hugs her skin, running down her hips and thighs until it spills out in a white fan below her knees. Thin sleeves swoop below her shoulders, and as I pace behind her, I freeze.
Her back is completely exposed, from her swan-like neck to her curved rear.
“I think this is the one,” Dahlia sings. Gathering up her hair, she twists it to reveal more of the gown’s open back. Arousal pulses inside me. “Girabalt, do you have any hairpins? I’d love to wear my hair up for the ceremony. I think it’ll look so pretty.”
“Of cour?—”
“Absolutely not.” Words finally crash through the anger in my throat. “To the hair and the gown. Girabalt” – my breath is ragged – “put her in something sensible or I swear I’ll be sending you home to your cousin’s court in pieces.”
