The entire morning is surreal. My maids treat me like I’m some beautiful princess from a foreign land, not the penniless human thief who lived in a cellar for the last nine years. If I’m honest, their doting is . . . nice. I’ve spent all my time going unnoticed, being unremarkable, and I’m surprised to find that there’s some part of me that likes having them coo over the blazing red of my hair and the hazel eyes I’ve always found too plain.
They present me with half a dozen dresses of different shades and styles, each more lovely than the last. Jas would have swooned over the gowns as if they were priceless works of art, but all I can think is how much I’d rather wear pants. If I’d been in pants last night, I might’ve stood a chance when running from the Barghest. Now isn’t the time, though. I need to dress in something the queen will find appropriate for her son’s potential bride.
“Hair all up or half up?” Emmaline asks. She drops my curls and hides her delighted giggle behind her hand. “The prince thinks you’re lovely either way, I’m sure.”
I cock my head to the side, studying her in the mirror. “Why do you laugh like that when you talk about Prince Ronan liking me or asking you to do things for me? Is that uncommon with the fae?”
The maids exchange another long look. “Not with the fae,” Tess says. “But Prince Ronan . . .”
Emmaline shakes her head subtly and offers me an apologetic smile. “We shouldn’t say.”
“I wish you would.”
“It won’t hurt anything,” Tess says under her breath to her twin.
Emmaline bites back a smile, then lets it loose. “Our prince has been reluctant to choose a bride. He’s been doing what he must because this is tradition, but he’s not been involved in any of it. He alone has been responsible for all these delays in the ceremony.”
“He didn’t even show up the first night of the ball,” Tess says. “Rumor has it he told his mother he wasn’t ready, but she moved forward with it anyway. Eventually he had to comply, but he’s been . . . distant.”
“Until you showed up,” Emmaline says, pinning a curl at the back of my head. “Now he’s suddenly very interested in the process. So interested it seems he’s already decided. Make sure Abriella has coffee. Please prepare dresses for Abriella. Could you put a bouquet of day lilies on her breakfast tray?”
“And of course he also gave you the nicest guest quarters,” Tess adds.
“And the sweetest maids, it seems,” I say softly.
The twins giggle happily at the compliment, but it’s not just flattery. I know it’s true. Sebastian has done all this for me and I’m not sure I deserve it.
I sit still as they finish my hair. They pull the top half of my hair back and pin it in place, but they leave the rest down, using special creams to tame my curls and make them hang perfectly.
These women want to be my friends. That simple kindness fills me with guilt as I imagine how I’ll have to deceive them in the days ahead, but I lock up the feeling and push it aside. Starting now, I will use every tool at my disposal to get Mordeus his relics and free Jas.
Even these human servants’ kindness.
Even Sebastian’s blind trust.
Chapter Eleven
“LADY ABRIELLA KINCAID OF FAIRSCAPE,” the steward calls from the doors of the throne room. “Her Majesty, Queen Arya of the Seelie Court, and His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan, will see you now.”
I throw a glance over my shoulder at my maids. I need their confidence. They give me the smiles I’m looking for, and I take a fortifying breath, lift my soft white skirts, and follow the steward forward.
The queen’s gray-and-yellow-clad guards line both sides of the path from the doors to the dais, where she sits on her throne in a yellow gown that sparkles in the sunlight. The jeweled golden crown atop her head looks heavy enough to break a neck, but she keeps her head high. Sebastian stands beside her, turned away as he speaks with the armed sentry nearest him. He looks nothing short of regal in his uniform of steely gray, a velvet yellow sash hanging across his body.
The space alone is intimidating—too big for so few people, too polished for a girl like me—and each step forward is an effort. But I realize that’s the point. Any girl who doesn’t feel worthy upon entering this room has no business becoming the Seelie princess.
When I reach the foot of the dais, I curtsy deeply. I wish Sebastian would look at me. I need some reassurance—any at all—that he’s going to make sure I can stay, that it’s going to be okay. But he’s wrapped up in his discussion with his sentry. “Your Majesty,” I say, standing. “Thank you for seeing me this afternoon.”