by JL Madore
Elani transformed from the weepy young girl I’d been speaking with into her servant-girl persona. Emerging from my walk-in closet, she offered me a sad smile. “Your marriage to Lir-Zale is the final event of the Leap Year Celebration. There will be five Eligible’s marrying. Your sisters arranged the ceremony months ago, but there are dozens of last minute preparations to be made. You will begin with beauty treatments, gown, hairstyle, paint colors, what gems you want in what pattern—”
Oh gods. Only by sheer force of will, I struggled against my instinct to kill someone. The dye was cast. Denying Zale would only put everyone in more danger. Gesturing to the little army of carts now lining both sides of the outer bathroom I sighed. “Okay, so what’s all that?”
“Your illusionist’s tools for your beautification.”
“My who . . . for my what?” I followed Elani’s pinched gaze to a skinny, green-skinned male wearing a glittery silver vest. “The Nobles and royal guests are here, gathered for the formal reception tonight. The festivities go well into the morning ending in the outdoor theatre. As the sun rises for the dawning of the new day, you and your sister Eligibles will be presented on stage and wed.”
“Gods, this is all such a nightmare.”
The expression on Elani’s face was far too old for a girl so young. I had seen the same look in too many faces since I came to Attalos.
I looked at the spot where I’d found Tham’s body and closed my eyes. I could still see every stab wound, every score of his ivory flesh, every bruise. What if that was done to Coal, Terran, and Rowan. This was so much bigger than me.
So many others had it much worse than I. If the only way to evoke change in Attalos was through the Noble Council then I needed to get access to the people on that council. With a sickening dread, I solidified my resolve.
Marrying Zale had become the option of necessity.
Mrs. Lir-Dickhead.
“Princess Grace.” A voice from the doorway had me turning. It was Stitch. Pale green hands fidgeted with the tie of his cloak and freed the knot. When he tossed it over the back of the sofa, his hair swayed like a baby duck’s down in a strong breeze. The sight of his mourning band sucked the air from my lungs.
He rushed across the floor. “Thank the Fates you are well. When you failed to return to my shop and I heard about the killings . . .” He pulled a kerchief from his pants pocket and rubbed his face.
“I’m fine.” With an arm across his back I helped him to the sofa and away from prying ears. “I’m sorry you worried. Things happened and I—”
He touched the soft black choker on his throat. “I know what happened.”
Thankfully, before he made reference to Tham, the wedding makeover team kicked into high gear. It seemed, my mother wasn’t convinced a couple of illusionists could whip me into any shape worth presenting to her royal ass-kissers. I ranked having the entire flock swoop in, squawking and flapping like geese. Ordinarily I would have ejected the whole gaggle but as long as no one was safe, I couldn’t make waves.
First came the acid peels, foot scrubs and all manner of spit and polish, thankfully minus any actual spit. Next came the pluck and primp. My put-yer-eye-out hair-spikes were replaced by downy soft curls while my skin was conditioned and my follicles scraped, shaved, moisturized and then massaged. The man was gifted. After stalking the streets on my assassin spree the past two nights, I could have suffered through that kind of torture all afternoon. I even managed an hour of sleep while he worked on my back.
The final makeover brought on the artistry. My nails and face were painted and then two supercilious teenage girls with iridescent wings went to crazy-town gluing tiny purple gems in intricate patterns of filigree down my right side. Their little Bedazzling trek moved across my forehead, down my neck and then headed south, decorating the modest curves of my breast, ribs, hip and thigh.
“I don’t recognize myself,” I said once they finished.
“Success,” the giggle twins chimed in perfect unison, “that’s what we were going for.”
Allrighty then.
In the end, every pore was breathing, every bruise was concealed and with all the customizing of my girl parts I was starting to panic. “Attaloseans don’t get married nude or anything kinky, do they? I will be wearing something at this reception, right?”
My entourage exploded into another fit of giggles as they headed for the door. Even Elani and Stitch chuckled.
“The jewelling is for the pleasure of your Noble,” Elani said, closing the door behind the troop. “It’s tradition.”
That gave me an idea. Shuffling to where I’d dropped my clothes, I retrieved my vest and removed the small spy camera disguised as a rhinestone from the front snap. A little dab of the giggle twins’ gluey-goo and it blended in with my decorated forehead and became my third eye.
The size of a postage stamp and almost as thin, I removed the control pad from where it remained hidden in the lining of my vest pocket. I turned it on and tucked it in my bra. “If anything happens to me, make sure this gets to my family in the other realm. They’ll finish what I started and make things right here, I swear.”
Elani retrieved a fabric garment bag from the back of my closet door. “Come. Let us dress you.”
Happy to be offered something to wear, I tested the stick of the gems as Stitch and Elani helped me into my outfit for the evening. No need to worry. Those sparkling little stones weren’t going anywhere.
Awed, I straightened in front of the mirror wearing Stitch’s masterpiece.
“It’s wonderful,” I breathed. Regardless of the growing dread that the Queen would hurt Coal if I didn’t marry Lir-douche-bag, and crazy about what she might be doing with Rowan in her consort quarters, the outfit was perfect.
Sleek gold slacks with Stiletto boots might seem understated for a wedding, but with the violet, backless top that dropped into a full-length train it was more than elegant. I ran my fingers up the crushed velvet halter to where the delicate ivory and gold lacework bib clasped around my neck, just below my mourning band.
Elani slid the dangling, gold leaf earrings in place and all I could do was stare.
“Your sisters chose traditional gowns,” Stitch said, “but I thought you’d appreciate something more functional. I gave you as much mobility as I could and incorporated hidden pockets in the underside of your skirt to hold your weapons. I would have put some in place, but the Strati are screening everyone entering the Palace. I’m sorry.”
My ache from having no knives swelled. And the fact that Stitch had recognized that had tears rising in my eyes. “It’s perfect. Thank you. I appreciate the thought.”
He bowed. “From the one with forethought and prudence, a leader shall rise.”
That must be an Attalosean proverb or something. I stepped back to the full-length mirror and it dawned on me. “What’s your true name? It’s not really Stitch, is it?”
He shook his head. “My given name is Bay. My matris is of water and my patris is of earth. Bay, fits both.”
Something occurred to me. “Elani, why is your brother named Rowan if your parents were both of water and your grandmother was of fire? Rowan is a tree.”
“Patris had a childhood friend who was like a blooded brother. When Rowan was born his friend became an Abbatis priest at the Fae Trinity Temple and forfeited his given identity. Patris said that since his friend no longer needed the name, it would put it to good use.”
“Rowan is a good name,” Stitch . . . no, Bay said. “It is strong and vital and a man’s name must reflect his identity in the community.”
I felt the presence of someone entering the room and turned. “In that case,” Zale said, “he should have been named Pornos, because that’s all he is and will ever be.”
I squeezed Elani’s wrist and considered the benefits of strangling Zale. He strutted into my suite as if he owned the place, primped, polished and preened to near perfection. He really was an Adonis until he opened his pie-hole and the sp
ell was broken.
“Would the two of you excuse us?” I asked. “My fiancé and I need a moment.”
Elani glanced to the mantle clock and back to me. Time marched on.
“I’m sure Zale can escort me to the reception,” I said, gesturing to the door. “Go back to your suite in case anyone is looking for you. Bay, thank you. This outfit is spectacular. No one could have gotten me and my tastes better.”
Bay dropped his gaze and bowed. “You honor me, Princess.”
When Zale and I were alone, his smile spread until it lit a malicious gleam in his eyes. “Well, well. Don’t you look the part of the blushing bride. New clothes, new hair and thanks to your mother’s forethought in giving you my little slave boy, a new attitude.”
He pressed a finger over his lips and looked me up and down. “Submissive is far more becoming than the slumsnipe bitch you’ve been thus far.”
“Oh, I assure you, it’s just the hair and makeup.”
“Well, with you on your best behavior, and me—well, simply being me—all eyes will fall to the two of us.”
“I’m sure we’ll be the talk of the ball.” I snorted. It was taking all my strength of will to play coy with this asshole, but for my boys, I needed to be in control. “What about Freya Love? You mean the three of us, don’t you?”
Zale rubbed his fingers over his mouth, covering a smirk. “This will be interesting. And since, the consummation of Noble marriages must be witnessed, the council is already abuzz. They pretend to be enlightened, but down deep they’re just as perverse as the common.”
“Witnessed?” Oh, this was getting better and better. “As in . . . a threesome peepshow?” When his smirk widened, my stomach flipped. I needed to find Coal and get my boy somewhere safe. “Voyeurism isn’t my thing.”
“That’s a shame. I’ve already arranged a surprise for you.” Zale strode to the bar console and slid the marble countertop backward until some hidden mechanism clicked. A moment later, a viewing-screen rose from inside the cabinet. He swiveled it toward me.
I was just about to tell him where he could shove his surprise when the screen flashed to life. No. Oh, hells no.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Rowan naked was a beautiful sight, but not like this. I closed my eyes but the image of his hands running down the silk sheets, contouring my mother’s curves, had seared in my mind. Wearing nothing but a gold slave band around his neck he kissed her arm, her shoulder, her collarbone.
Rowan—No, don’t!
I swallowed but my mouth remained dry. My fingers clamped against my thigh, searching for a hilt to grab hold of. My first impulse was to find a knife and the consort chamber and peg her through her shriveled black heart. My second was to turn the blade on Zale. Or maybe on Rowan.
In any case it would involve pain, a lot of pain.
“Truth is tough to stomach, isn’t it?” Zale said, smug amusement thick in his voice. “While you’re here worrying about your little urchin, how to escape, and what tomorrow will bring, your whore boyfriend is sheathing his sword inside another woman and telling her every little secret you ever whispered in his ear.”
Anxious, hurt, and generally mind-fucked, I stared at the screen. Rowan would not betray me.
“He was only too happy to let us ambush you, Gracie. He invited us in, even hid me in the back room.”
I wanted to smack the confidence from his perfect pretty-boy face. Rowan couldn’t do that—he wouldn’t—unless Elani was threatened. Then, maybe.
“See what he does when he’s not with you.”
My eyes widened as Rowan pulled back the sheet. My mother wore a midnight black baby doll, so sheer that I could see his hand as it slid beneath the fabric and cupped her breast. In the back of my mind I wished that she had declined more, sagged more, aged more. But no, she was a sleek cougar on the prowl and Rowan was caught in her clutches.
Her head fell back, mouth open, no doubt to let out a moan. Gods, I could feel it.
My skin tightened as a phantom memory caressed my skin, gentle in touch, but the slightest bit rough in texture. My eyes stung. I blinked quick, and then not at all. Gods, what a picture she made lying next to him, her long black hair strewn over the pillows, tangled around Rowan’s thick biceps, her eyes as emerald green as Jade’s.
Zale prattled off beside me, a steady stream of verbal diarrhea bouncing around in my ear. I was pretty sure that’s where the buzzing in my head was coming from. Either that or my cranium was about to explode.
Shut the hell up. “So what, Zale? The Queen and Rowan have sex tapes. That’s old news where I come from.” My chest cavity hadn’t been this cold since my meltdown at the pond, but I kept my tears at bay. “Does my mother know you’re circulating her porn?”
Zale scowled. “Just watch, this is where it gets good.”
Rowan lay perfectly still as she slid her hands up his chest and behind his neck. She fisted his hair and yanked his head back. I stiffened.
Zale’s smile broke wide.
As Rowan got pushed onto his back, the Queen mounted him. I drew a labored breath searching Rowan’s lifeless gaze as he stared straight up at the ceiling. Misery shone in his eyes—utter desolation—as the Queen leaned forward and moved her mouth slow and demanding over his. Broad mechanical arms wound around her, stroking up her back as it flexed and relaxed.
“Seen enough?” Zale asked. “Your white knight is quite literally a mother-fucking whore. You’ll do well to realize that, and stay in line for the next twenty-four hours. I’m respected in this city. I won’t have you embarrassing me.” All his posturing made me want to knee him in the crotch. “Ready to go to our reception and play your part?”
“Oh, I’m ready all right.” I met his smile with a genuine one of my own. He’d made one mistake in his screening. The Rowan in his little film noir didn’t have a shiner. His skin was beautifully unmarred. No sign of where my fist had connected with his face and no scratches on the back of his shoulders where I’d marked him during our own sextathalon.
This tape was old news. The knowing didn’t erase the ache in my chest completely, but I could breathe again . . . and worry. If they had to use an old tape in their ploy to break me, what was happening to Rowan right now?
Lifting my chin I sucked in a breath and cleared my throat. “Let’s get this party started.”
Following the crescendo of lutes and harp, the chamber orchestra slid into a light and lovely couples’ dance. The glittering crowd spun and twirled, hands and bodies linked, gowns trailing in graceful arcs. It was an Attalosean who’s who. All the Eligibles, past and present, wore all the right gowns and drank all the right multi-hued drinks. We sat on display on the raised dias, lined up for inspection while the aristocrats of the Noble houses, the Strati commanders, the upper echelon of the city and the respected clergy twirled around on the ballroom floor below.
The Princess to my right—Hope, I thought, but could have been Faith or Charity, they were all the same to me—was a bubbling fountain of intel for the evening’s festivities. She knew nothing of any use, clueless about where prisoners were held, or in which part of the palace I’d find the Queen’s personal consort chamber rooms.
“. . . after the introductory dancing, there will be a feast and then the actors will come and the finest dramas of the past cycle will be acted out. I attended one last year that. . .”
Blah. Blah. I gritted my teeth and scanned from right to left. Seventeen sisters sat erect in their cushy, junior thrones with intricate updos and golden armbands roping up delicate arms. Their ample chests were corseted and plumped up for view and their gowns were a veritable rainbow, reflecting the visual interpretation of their given names.
I scowled at my flat bodice. Thanks, Balor. When he’d done his magic enhancements, couldn’t he have given me more in the T-and-A category? I had the strength of earth, the passion of fire, but I got totally robbed in the boob gene pool.
As a tray-wielding waiter passed by, I swigged down
the remnants of my flute and swapped it for a freshie.
Freya Love, sitting prim and proper to my left, scowled. “Could you at least pretend you have manners? You reflect upon the Ninth House now. Who raised you?” She gave a polite wave to a couple swooping by on the dance floor.
“Maximus Reign,” I said, pasting on a smile. “The most feared warrior and slayer of the Realm of the Fair.” I batted my eyes at the men standing with our douchebag fiancé at the side of the room. “Reign was more concerned with his kids coming out on top of a fight than which fork to use. You know, he never even mentioned holding up our pinkies as we stabbed through the chest of our enemy.”
Freya rolled her eyes. “You don’t scare me.”
“I guess I’m the twin who got the lion’s share of the brains.”
“Gods, don’t say that aloud. It’s bad enough you’re a sister Eligible, but to be my biological double—it’s horrifying.” She smiled for the crowd, keeping her gaze straight ahead. “Why don’t you go get yourself killed? Then, Zale and I won’t have you thrust upon us like someone’s unclaimed laundry.”
I snorted. “Trust me, I have no interest in playing house with you, Zale, and the sister wives of the Ninth House.”
“So, go.” She sipped on her glass flute. “Slip away after the feast and be gone. No one will even know you’re missing until the dramas conclude and that won’t be until after dawn.”
“That’s a great plan, in theory, but I’ve got unfinished business here in the palace. I can’t just take off. Besides, where would I go?”
“Back to your pathetic little mountain, of course.” She paused as the song ended. Some of the dancers milled around before us, waiting for the next song to start while others escorted their partners back to find someone new.
I busied myself with my champagne glass until the music picked up again. “I can’t access the portal pond. Believe me, I’ve looked into it.”
Freya slid her gloved hand into the silk clutch looped around her wrist and pulled out a sapphire brooch. As she delivered a Cheshire grin to the masses, she slid the jewelry into my palm. “Give this to the night watchman at the portal. His wife loves trinkets and he’s willing to bend the rules to keep her happy.”