Page 162 of Blood of the Fairest

The princess beams at me from under her dark blue mask. It’s dusted with crystal beadwork to give it a frosted look. That same beadwork is incorporated into her ivory-and-midnight-blue ballgown. The fitted bodice is embroidered with blood-red roses to match her lips, with more roses scattered throughout her pitch-black updo.

“Me? Vera, you are ravishing!” she gasps, reaching out to touch one of my blood-like dangling earrings. Then she frowns. “Wait, is the Huntsman not attending the masquerade? But that’s such a shame! Wulf simply must see you like this.”

I laugh at my thwarted little matchmaker before Anika, Ingrid, and I take turns admiring each other’s ensembles.

Me, Ida, and the other seamstresses worked together to make Ingrid an elegant soft pink dress covered in hundreds of feather-like pieces of glimmer gauze. It’s feminine and gorgeous, just like her—and her mask completes the look with pink wings sweeping back from its temples.

And yet again, Anika looks like a fucking model. Her opulent gown is entirely made of golden wispfloss that cascades to the floor in sweeping layers. Delicate golden chainmail is woven into the bodice. Her mask is embroidered with a swirling golden pattern that catches the light of nearby sconces and chandeliers as she grins at me.

“My parents are already inside.” She offers her arm. “Shall we?”

I link my arm in hers as we start in the direction of the ballroom. “We shall indeed. By the way, I might owe you an apology.”

“For?”

I make sure Ingrid and Snow White are distracted with their own conversation before I whisper, “I kind of talked to Prince Leif yesterday.”

Anika is so startled that she halts in place for a second before walking on. “Oh. What exactly did you talk to him about?”

I catch her up on the agreement not to tell his parents the Bellevyrs are here, and how he seemed eager to speak with her at the ball.

By the time I’m done catching her up, we’re approaching the massive, wide-open gilded doors of the ballroom. Our group melts into a crowd of hundreds of people entering the castle to attend the first night of the festival. Everyone is dressed in ballgowns and masquerade masks.

They give the Isenmerian guards around us a wide berth, but I catch several wide-eyed stares directed at me. People seem to recognize who I am, probably thanks to the silver crown perched on my head, sans veil tonight since I thought the mask would suffice.

They whisper and gawk, but Anika has my attention as she considers everything I just said.

“You don’t owe me an apology,” she finally says.

“Then does that mean you and the crown prince…?” I begin, elbowing her teasingly.

She looks forward, at the horde of people pouring through the ballroom doors directly in front of us.

“If he wants to talk to me at this festival, I won’t shun him. He’s royalty. He can speak to whoever he likes, but…he is still betrothed.” She looks at me, resolve settling in her dark eyes. “Besides, as you’ve told Snow White repeatedly, we’re just here for fun. That’s all, so let’s enjoy the night.”

She’s right. That’s enough boy talk—especially when we’re officially stepping through the massive doorway into a gorgeous Baroque-style ballroom.

Gold accents gleam all over the carved walls. Towering columns are wrapped in carvings of lions and flourishing vines. The ceiling is painted with scenes of a faerie—Gilda, I assume—surrounded by real jewels of every kind, gleaming in the light of the intricate chandeliers blazing overhead.

On one end of the room, grand stairs ascend to a majestic dais, where two cushioned chairs wait to oversee the festivities. They’re empty for now, the king and queen not yet here.

The room fills quickly with attendees in velvet gloves, gleaming jewels, and more cape suits that make my designer heart giddy. The air feels alive with fruit-scented perfumes, candlewax, and excitement.

It’s all so fucking dazzling.

Tonight, I really do feel like I’ve fallen into a fairy tale, despite the persistent ache of thirst still twisting my stomach.

But…

“Why isn’t there any music?” I ask out loud.

I spot the orchestra on a long stage along one wall of the grandiose room. The musicians aren’t touching their many instruments. Behind them is a massive, roundish object of some kind, draped in a shimmering dark green veil to hide whatever lies inside.

“Perhaps they’re waiting for an official announcement to begin the festival,” Ingrid muses.

Snow White spots castle servants entering the room with platters of fruit tarts and candied nuts. She gasps and turns wide eyes on me like she’s waiting for the green light.

“Hey, don’t look at me, I’m not a fruit tart,” I laugh. “We’ll catch up later, but remember what we talked about: If anyone, especially a guy, lays a finger anywhere on you without your explicit consent⁠—”