Bastien’s massive hand landed on the back of Lucan’s neck and squeezed, cutting off the inquiry. “Leave him alone. He’s taking a mate tomorrow, not hiring a harlot.”
“He should hire a harlot tonight, then. Last chance before the mind bond rats you out.” Lucan shrugged off Bastien’s grip.
“She’s already bitten,” Rikard mumbled into his cup. Not by him, but still. Bastien and Lucan shared a look, but he couldn’t decipher it. “What?”
“That’s why you’re acting so dull tonight. You’re mated already!” Lucan smirked at him, his eyes slightly glazed with drink. He wouldn’t remember any of this after daysleep. “Tell me, is she a little moth in your ear, nagging you even now?”
“Shall I shut him up?” Bastien asked with his usual good humor.
Rikard waved his hand. Let Lucan tease him all he wanted. The truth was, the prospect of taking a mate, even just in name, had settled something in him. He’d always thought it didn’t matter to him whether or not a female found him worthy. He couldn’t please one anyway, not in the way they’d expect. But it was clear that, improbably, he could give Hanna everything she wanted and nothing she didn’t. The notion gave him…peace.
If enduring his friend’s jokes was the price of that peace, he’d pay it gladly. He’d certainly paid far steeper ones.
Chapter 9
Hannalinde
In the parlor of a rented townhouse that bordered the plaza, Cléa lifted the dress from its plain linen wrappings. Hannalinde felt faint. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Ivory silk that must have cost a fortune fell in a waterfall to the floor. Cut close through the bodice, the skirt had enough volume to disguise her swelling stomach. The neckline and long, trailing sleeves were edged with the same gold she’d chosen for her veil. It was perfect.
“I told you, gargoyle dressmakers are the best.”
She peered closely at it, admiring the nearly invisible weave and significant weight. It could have been a puddle of cream where it pooled on the floor. “You were right. I had no idea they had access to such fine fabrics.”
“Fae-woven, I think. They are the best at this sort of thing,” Cléa mused, holding it up to the lantern. It glowedlike the moon. She gave an approving nod and draped the dress over the changing screen. “No human will think you undeserving and no gargoyle will question Rikard’s choice if you have that on.”
“Thank you so much, for everything. I could never have imagined anything so beautiful.”
“It pales in comparison to you,” Cléa said fondly. “I can’t wait for my son to see you in it.”
Tears pricked her eyes. She’d been emotional all day as she waited for dusk, pacing the floor until the gargoyles woke. It was such a reversal, looking forward to the night. She couldn’t look forward to her husband’s admiration, but it was thislifeshe was marrying, this warmth and beauty and safety, and she looked forward to it very much.
“Don’t cry on your dress,” Carlijn said, already in her jade-green gown with her curls pinned up under a ridiculous hat, if it could be called that. “The silk will spot!”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Hannalinde dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, settling her emotions before she stepped behind the screen to dress for her wedding, careful not to muss her artfully arranged hair as she shimmied into layers of undergarments and then the glorious dress itself.
When she was decent, Carlijn came around the screen to lace up the back and fuss with the fall of the train. Cléa took the time to decorate her horns with ornately worked wire wrappings. When she’d finished, she brought a flat, wooden jewelry box to Hanna.
“This was once my mother’s mating jewelry,” she said, opening it to reveal a gold circlet with inset rose-quartz stones. “I had it reworked into a human shape. I think it will suit you very well.”
A family heirloom, remade for her. If Cléa knew it wasn’t a love match, she wouldn’t have done it. Overwhelmed, Hanna pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, it’s so beautiful!”
She didn’t deserve such a beautiful gift, did she? She ought to refuse it. But her future mother-in-law seemed so pleased by her reaction. And she did intend to fulfill all aspects of her agreement with Rikard. She would be a good mate to him, in every way she could.
So she didn’t object when Carlijn lifted it from its velvet rest and settled it on her head so the gold band crossed her forehead, the gentle point at the center facing down.
“It’s upside down,” Cléa said, frowning slightly. “It should sit higher on her head, and the crest should point to the sky.”
“It’s too large to sit any higher,” Carlijn explained, adjusting the gold band with delicate, practiced fingers. “Plus, if I flipped it, she’ll look like she’s wearing a crown.”
“Is that so terrible?”
“For a woman whose father was executed for treason? Yes.” Carlijn led Hannalinde to the large copper mirror that decorated the rented parlor. “You look stunning.”
She did. She could see it, even in the imperfect surface of the copper. The silk transformed her. It hid her shameful fall, her years of poverty, the abuse she’d suffered, and the illegitimate gargoyle child growing inside her. She looked every bit the lady she was born to be.
It was the biggest lie she’d ever told, and she didn’t have to say a word.
“I’ll check the courtyard to see if they’re ready for you,” Cléa announced, and disappeared in a bustle of silk and wings.
