Page 10 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)

Aurelia

Now

M y guilt follows me from the fairy circle all the way to the royal palace.

As I step down from our carriage, assisted by a footman in blue and gold livery, all I can think about is that letter. About how unkind I was to Bene. About how that will now be his final memory of me—

Not the girl who once knew all his secrets.

Not the friend who once soared through the heavens atop his back.

But someone ungrateful. Cruel.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have listened to Mama. Perhaps I should have better explained the situation—about Papa’s worsening condition, about my pending engagement to Lord Reginald. But would it have made any difference?

Or would it have simply made it all the more difficult to say goodbye?

Bene will understand , I reassure myself even as I worry my fingers against one another and stare straight ahead at the looming palace. Its marble towers gleam against the twilight sky, drawing my attention upward to where more of King Friedemar’s banners snap in the breeze.

Bene is an adult. I am an adult. It is long past time we both grew up.

These are the things I tell myself as my mother appears at my side and slips her arm through mine.

But they bring me little comfort.

“Can I not at least open the birthday present he left for me?” I whisper, casting a look back toward the carriage and the beautifully wrapped box still resting on the seat. “Or read the letter that accompanied it?”

“Absolutely not,” Mama decrees, her tone leaving no room for argument. Pinning a smile to her lips, she gives my arm a squeeze. “Remember to breathe, my love.”

I inhale shakily and nod, willing my pulse to slow, trying to ensure my dreaded glow remains firmly beneath my skin. Right where it belongs.

Lanterns shimmer like fireflies in the dying light, leading us onward past a row of royal guards. Each one stands encased in a suit of armor polished to a mirror sheen. Stoic. Imposing.

Yet their eyes follow me as I pass, making me fear that against my best efforts, I am still shining too brightly.

At the door, the footman bows and extends his hand. “Your invitation, please, my ladies.”

While Mama presents him with the gilded card we received a fortnight ago summoning all of Briarhold to the king’s ball, I sneak a peek inside.

I have never been to the palace, though it was always Papa’s dream to one day be summoned here and asked to tailor something for the royal family.

A dream he never achieved.

Fresh pain wraps my heart in iron bands as I commit myself to memorizing every detail about tonight so that I can relay it to my father later this evening after I return home.

I study the yawning foyer with its checkered floor and glittering crystal chandelier.

The grand staircase leading upward to the second floor.

The brief glimpse of the ballroom I spy beyond a carved stone archway.

“Here, my lady.” The footman holds out a mask of golden filigree, so fine I almost mistake it for lace at first glance.

I hesitate. “What is this?”

“All unmarried women in attendance are to wear one this evening, at His Majesty’s request.” His smile is tight as he presses the mask into my hands. “So that he knows which ladies are eligible and which are not.”

“But—” I start to protest, about to explain my predicament with Lord Reginald. We are not formally engaged, it’s true, but there is still an understanding .

Before I can speak, Mama snatches the mask from my hands and nudges me forward. The moment we’re inside, she briskly ties it over my face.

My brow furrows. “But what about Lord Reginald?”

She waves me off with a dismissive, “Rules are rules, darling. We do not wish to upset the king.”

I sigh, weary of arguing with Mama today. I let the moment slide. Wearing the mask is a small concession to make in the name of peace. Besides, there is no danger at all that King Friedemar will notice me.

My gaze wanders, tracking the many women who float past me, laughing and chattering on their way into the ballroom. Younger women.

Prettier, too.

And then I feel it—a presence just behind me. A warm, familiar presence that smells of ink, machine oil, and peppermint.

Mama’s smile brightens. “Lord Reginald! There you are.”

Drawing in a deep breath, I pin a smile to my lips and reluctantly turn to face my future husband.

There is nothing at all wrong with Reginald Lockhart. He is tall and clean-cut. His back is straight. His smile is warm. He is kind and well-established without being stuffy—a self-made man dripping with new money and all the eccentricities that come from a lifetime of tinkering and inventing.

But he is nearly thirty years my senior and my father’s friend besides.

And he is no Bene.

“Mira, Aurelia,” he greets Mama and me, kissing the air just above our cheeks. Brown eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile, he extends his arm my way. “Please, do call me Reggie. You know I prefer it.”

“Lord Reggie,” I compromise, tucking my hand into the crook of his elbow. “You are looking well today.”

His smile widens, flashing gold-capped molars. “Well, I’m not dead yet,” he teases, patting my hand. “But you, my dear—you are exquisite. The most exquisite woman here, I’d wager.”

Mama watches us with an indulgent smile as Reggie leads me onward toward the tinkle of music and the chime of conversation in the near distance. I rack my mind for what I might ask him as we walk together. I have never been one for small talk.

But it would be rude not to offer small talk to the man graciously saving me from a lifetime of shame and spinsterhood.

I brighten my smile and ask, “Do you have any new inventions you are working on at the moment, Lord Reggie?”

He smooths his silver mustache. “Of course, of course. I always have something or another I am working on.” Lips twitching, he slants me a sidelong look. “But you do not have to pretend as if you are interested, my dear.”

My stomach tightens at his blunt speech.

Have I truly said something to offend him already?

An awkward silence descends between us and lingers as he leads me into the ballroom. The opulence of the space steals my breath. I’m not quite sure where to look first.

Chandeliers drip with crystals, casting golden pools across the marble floor. Metallic rivulets swirl through the stone beneath our feet. On a raised platform, musicians play a gentle tune.

But no one is dancing.

All the ladies wearing golden masks stand along one wall, forming a queue that stretches nearly the length of the room. At its head sits a man who can only be King Friedemar.

I have never seen him in person, but he is unmistakable all the same—handsome in a rugged sort of way, with broad shoulders, black hair, sun-kissed skin, and a well-groomed beard. The crown glittering atop his head rather gives him away as well.

Out of nowhere, Reggie asks, “Shall you like to join your masked companions, then?”

My breath hitches in my throat at the very suggestion. “Of course not. Why would I?” My gaze briefly flickers Reggie’s way before it returns to the king. “I am here with you, my lord, and no one else.”

But even as those words escape from me, the utterly unthinkable happens.

King Friedemar’s head turns. His eyes slip past the young lady curtsying before him and seek me out instead. Me . When his gaze locks onto mine, I see that his eyes are gray. Like storm clouds. Or cold steel.

For the briefest moment, I forget how to breathe.

“Are you?” Reggie asks, his voice adopting that teasing tone again.

Hastily, I pry my gaze from the king’s and ask my intended directly, “Have I done something to offend you, my lord?”

Reggie’s smile deepens, revealing a flash of gold again. “Not at all, my dear. I simply want us to be honest with one another.” Lowering his voice, he adds, “Your mother and I have an arrangement, you see.”

“Yes, I know—”

“No, you don’t.” He spears me with a look, as if to chastise me for interrupting him.

“We have agreed that these three nights of merriment will be your best chance to find a match more suitable for you than I could ever be. You will wear the golden mask each night, signaling to all the fine young men here that you are available. And I will play the part of the dutiful chaperone in your father’s absence.

If no other man shows interest, then and only then will we formalize our engagement.

” His expression tightens. “How is old Giles, by the by? I forgot to ask.”

I stare at him.

I work my mouth, but no sound escapes. My tongue lies frozen. Eventually, though, I find my voice again. “Forgive me, my lord, but I don’t understand.”

He shrugs, giving my hand another pat. “What is there to understand? We are speaking of common-sense matters, not advanced clockworks. You are young and beautiful. I am old and not.”

His eyes grow heavy. Sad. “Giles is my best friend. I will marry you if I must, and we will live as mere companions until the Three-Faced One calls me home. You will inherit everything, of course. My estate. My fortune.”

He speaks so matter-of-factly about it all that I am left reeling when he finishes with, “But your mother and I want you to have every chance at happiness first before you settle for a loveless life like that. There are plenty of bachelors here unaware of the former gossip. You stand a good chance of catching someone’s eye. ”

“Lord Reggie,” I whisper, my mind still spinning, trying to absorb it all. “I hardly know what to say.”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” he insists with one of his gilded smiles. “Thank your mother. It was all her idea.”

Love flares hot and bright in my chest as I glance about the crowded ballroom, hunting for Mama. I find her standing near the refreshment table, already in conversation. But when her eyes meet mine, she gifts me a warm, encouraging smile before turning back to her socializing.

Thank you, Mama.

“And look,” Reggie adds, amused, “it seems as if you have caught His Majesty’s special attention already.”