Wear something that will ruin me. I intend to make tonight one you will never forget.
— Your mate
A slow, traitorous smile pricks the corners of my mouth before I can kill it.
“Asshole,” I whisper, even though the word tastes nothing like irritation.
I stare at the note for longer than I should, happy to know that he’s okay. That he waits for me.
Gods, I sound gross but for the first time…I’m not so sure I care.
A knock shatters the quiet.
I straighten, and the door materializes. Emmie, the girl he sent to me with a million dresses in tow, is on the other side.
“Hello again.” She smiles. “Shall we?”
“Shall we…what?”
Her eyes glitter. “It’s time to get ready for the ball.”
…
I stand in front of the tall window overlooking Rathe University’s inner quad, arms crossed, trying to ignore the girl behind me tugging at my hair like it personally offended her.
“Almost finished, miss.” Her voice is soft. Pleasant. The kind of voice designed not to irritate.
I hate it.
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter, watching students weave below in their pressed uniforms, all moving with purpose I don’t share. “I’m not your miss.”
“Of course.” A pause. “What should I call you then?”
“I told you before. Haide works fine.”
“Haide it is.” She threads something through a section of my hair. Pins, maybe. Or tiny weapons. Hard to tell with these people.
I glance back at her. Young face. Maybe mid-twenties. Blond hair pulled into a severe knot that makes her features sharper than they probably are. Her hands move with practiced efficiency, each twist and curl deliberate. Her simple gray dress screams servant, and the sight of it grates.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say.
“Do what?”
“This.” I wave a hand vaguely at the room, at her, at the stupid concept of royalty needing someone to touch their hair. “Play ‘yes ma’am’ for a bunch of overgrown children with crowns.”
Her laugh catches me off guard. Quiet. Genuine. “I know I don’t have to.”
“Then why??”
“I’m paid. Fed. Protected.” Her tone stays even. Factual. “My family’s served the Deveraux line for generations; this is the position I wished and worked hard for. It’s an honor to be part of the royal staff, not a shackle.”
I snort. “That’s what they tell you.”
“That’s what I choose to believe.” She meets my eyes in the reflection of the dark glass. “Big difference.”
I study her. No fear. No hesitation. Just…calm. Like she’s explaining weather patterns.
“You’re Argent,” I say.
