Page 18 of Fae-King It (Mystical Matchmakers #5)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Ronan clenched his teeth as he watched the dressmaker and his two apprentices flit around his fiancée. His arms were stretched along the back of the couch in his room as though he were relaxed, but his hands were balled into fists.

The only reason he hadn’t ejected them all from his room was that both apprentices were female. They were also the ones who helped Dominique into the dress while the dressmaker busied himself with gathering his supplies, his eyes deliberately turned away from Dominique’s nearly naked form.

Another man, one who knew his fiancée loved him, would have left the room then, confident that nothing untoward would happen, but Ronan couldn’t bring himself to walk out.

You don’t own me .

Dominique’s words echoed in his mind, making his jaw tighten further as he ground his molars together. It was a perfectly reasonable phrase, one he would have agreed with if it had been any woman other than her.

But hearing her say it to him made anger fire in his blood. She’d promised herself to him. He knew she didn’t love him yet, but she would. He just needed time. Time with her. Their sexual chemistry was off-the-charts. She intrigued and entertained him with the way her mind worked and her wit. She would see how compatible they were. That he was the kind of man she could love.

He may have fucked up in the beginning, but he could make it up to her. He was sure of it.

The first step in that was not grabbing the royal dressmaker by the collar of his perfectly tailored shirt and seat of his tight pants and throwing him out the window of the bedchamber.

Ronan forced himself to relax after the younger of the two apprentices glanced at him apprehensively again. The shadows of his magic were threatening to burst out of him due to his possessiveness.

He closed his eyes and focused on taking a deep breath, pushing the tension from his muscles with his exhale. When he opened them again, he forgot why he was upset in the first place.

Dominique stood with her back to him, her golden hair piled on top of her head and secured with the clip she’d grabbed before their shower. Her curvaceous figure was on clear display in the clingy dress. Her upper back was on full display, the garment cut in a wide vee that ended beneath her shoulder blades. Just above the bottom point, he caught a glimpse of something dark and curled on her skin. It looked like a tattoo.

How could I have missed that? he wondered.

Intrigued, he leaned forward, hoping that the fabric would shift down another half inch so he could see more. He realized it wasn’t a tattoo he hadn’t noticed but a piece of his shadows, shaped in a spiral. Ronan leaned back on the sofa, the breath leaving his body. He hadn’t placed the mark on her intentionally, and he had no idea how he’d done it. All he knew is that he wanted everyone around them to know who she belonged to. His magic must have reacted accordingly.

Then, she turned around, facing him, and he forgot all about the spiral adorning her spine. The shimmering white silk draped over her breasts, held up by two delicate straps. He understood now why she needed the undergarments she’d chosen and was glad she hadn’t decided to go bare beneath the dress. The soft silk showed the edge of her bra cups beneath it. He thought the dressmaker would demand she remove it since it ruined the line of the gown, but he didn’t.

It didn’t take long for the dressmaker and his helpers to adjust the dress to fit correctly. Relieved, Ronan was about to stand until the man reached into the hanging garment bag he’d brought and withdrew another garment. Carefully, he and the two girls helping him lifted the overdress above Dominique’s head, instructing her to raise her arms as they lowered it over her body.

This garment had the same draped neckline as the white silk she wore beneath, but that was where the similarities ended. The iridescent material was nearly translucent, long, tight sleeves beginning at the top of her shoulder and going to points on the back of her hands. Delicate silver strands looped around her middle fingers to hold them in place.

The bodice nipped in at her waist, but the skirt flowed down her hips and legs like water, ending just before it touched the floor. From her knees to the hem, the skirting was covered with thin silver, pink, purple, and blue embroidery so fine it was nearly impossible to see the design unless he squinted.

With each breath she took, Dominique seemed to shimmer with magic. He could feel it in the fabric of the overdress and even see it when the colors shifted ever so slightly and the material around her legs swayed gently even though she stood still.

Ronan realized the overdress resembled the waters at the heart of sacred fae land, where the gods were said to have been born. He’d only seen them once, but their beauty was unforgettable.

Dominique was talking to the dressmaker, answering his questions, but she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. Ronan knew he was staring at her intently, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

She looked like a dream. Or a goddess. A beautiful creature, immortal yet ephemeral, that would belong to him in this life and the next. Nothing so ethereal could last an eternity, yet this picture of her would be with him forever.

“Ronan.”

Her voice speaking his name broke through his trance. He cleared his throat before he spoke. “Yes?”

“Lydon asked what you thought of the dress,” she said.

Ronan let his eyes rove over her from her neck to her bare toes. He wanted to smile at the sight of the pale lavender polish on them, but he couldn’t manage it.

“It’s perfect,” he admitted. His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat again before he continued, “You look beautiful.”

Dominique gave him an odd look in return, but Lydon shot him a knowing smirk, which reminded him that he wanted to rip his arms off for touching what belonged to him. He wanted to have the little shit thrown out of the palace, but he couldn’t because he also wanted him to make more garments for Dominique. She would be his wife tomorrow, a princess, and, if the rest of his work resembled this dress, there was no other dressmaker in Magic who could compete with Lydon’s talents.

Ronan finally relaxed, watching as the dressmaker and his assistants fussed over his fiancée, making minute adjustments to the drape and fit of the dresses she wore. Finally, Lydon announced they were done and that he would deliver the finished dresses to her rooms in the morning.

Ronan stood, walking toward them as they removed the overdress from Dominique’s body just as carefully as they’d put it on.

“You’ll bring it to my room,” he commanded.

The dressmaker didn’t seem to value his life because he argued, “The groom shouldn’t see the bride before the ceremony on their wedding day.”

“This groom will do whatever the fuck he wants,” Ronan shot back, then bit back a wince when one of the girls gasped at his sharp tone. He never spoke to the staff like this, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. This dressmaker was getting on his last fucking nerve.

“Ronan!” Dominique snapped, bringing his attention to her.

She glared at him, though she did it in silence, he could practically hear her telling him to shut the hell up.

Suddenly amused at himself, and her, Ronan smirked. “Bring the dress to my room in the morning.” His gaze shifted to Lydon. “Or else.”

The dressmaker swallowed hard as Ronan allowed a small tendril of his shadow magic to leak from his skin. He could feel it creeping from beneath his collar and cuffs, curling around his neck and hands.

“Of course, Your Highness,” the man said, suddenly remembering his place in this room, bowing his head.

Ronan ignored the glare that Dominique was still shooting toward him and went over to the small bar area behind his couch. He needed a godsdamned drink or he really would throw the fucking dressmaker out a window.

He heard the hushed whispers of Lydon and his assistants as they helped Dominique out of the underdress. He kept his back to them all until he heard the door shut with a soft click.

When he faced his fiancée, he held two glasses of nightwine. It was a misnomer since nightwine was technically a type of moonshine made by pixies and sprites. For such small creatures, they could hold their liquor better than most of the species in Magic. As such, a glass of nightwine was enough to get even Ronan tipsy.

Walking over, he handed her a glass, noticing that she had belted her silky robe tightly. Whether it was out of anger or self-protection, he didn’t know, but he didn’t like the idea that she might feel the need to protect herself from him.

“Nightwine?” she asked. “Do you want to be hungover tomorrow?”

“We’re only having one,” he said.

“Planning to get drunk before dinner with your family?” she asked, about to lift the glass to her lips.

Ronan wrapped his fingers around her wrist, the gentle hold keeping her from drinking. “We’re not having dinner with my family. We’re eating in our room.”

She blinked at him, lowering her hand. “What? Why?”

“You had a stressful day, and you don’t need to deal with my parents’ bullshit on top of it,” he said.

At his words, she seemed to wilt before him, as though she’d forgotten what happened earlier in the castle gardens. Without speaking, she lifted the glass to her lips and took a healthy swallow. Ronan did the same.

Then, he walked over and took her hand, guiding her to the sofa. “Sit with me.”

Her blue-green gaze was curious and a bit guarded. She still didn’t trust him, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Once they sat down, Ronan reached over and lifted her legs, so they were draped across his lap. Her robe fell open, revealing their bare length. Dominique tucked the silk between her thighs, covering the top half of her legs. Ronan rested his hand on her knee, rubbing his thumb over the smooth skin.

She studied him as she sipped her nightwine again. After she swallowed, she asked, “Having second thoughts about this wedding yet?”

“Absolutely not,” he answered without hesitation.

His response seemed to take her by surprise. “Really? My scheming family wasn’t enough to change your mind?”

“Nope.” He drained the rest of his glass and set it to the side. “Though that reminds me…”

“What?” she asked, sitting up a bit straighter.

“When we get back to the human realm, we’ll need to arrange to have your things moved into my house.”

Dominique tensed at his words.

Ronan ignored it and continued, “We’ll have to make sure the house is safe for Oscar before you move though, so I’ll be staying with you until that’s done.”

She still didn’t anything, just sat there, blinking rapidly as she looked at him.

“I meant to hire a decorator when I bought the place but never got around to it, so you can bring whatever furniture you’d like with you, or we can purchase new things that fit the house. It’s up to you. I really don’t care either way.”

Still no response. Though she did drink the last of her nightwine in one long swallow.

Finally, Ronan asked, “Are you okay?”

Dominique nodded, her head bobbing slowly as she slipped her legs off his lap and got to her feet. He watched as she walked around behind the couch and poured herself another half a glass of nightwine.

He winced when her back was to him. This was not going well. He’d never had to work for someone’s attention or affection. Except from his parents, and he’d long since given up hope of attaining either from them.

Everyone else he met usually gave him both in spades, usually for their own agenda. He’d never had to work for either, so he wasn’t quite sure where to start.

Dominique settled back on the couch and some of his concern faded when she resumed her position with her legs over his lap.

“What happened to not wanting to be hungover?” he asked.

“This is my last glass,” she replied.

“Do you think that being married to me will be that horrible?” he asked.

“I imagine that being married to someone who dislikes you isn’t pleasant,” she murmured before she drank deeply from her glass.

Ronan’s hand clutched her ankle, his firm grip gaining her complete attention. “I don’t dislike you.”

“Okay, being married to someone who loathes you won’t be pleasant.”

He sighed at her snarky words. “I don’t loathe you either.”

Dominique lowered her glass, tapping her index finger on the side. “You certainly seemed to feel both when you came to my office two weeks ago.”

She wasn’t wrong about that.

“That was before I knew you better.”

Dominique scoffed softly at his words, taking another sip of nightwine. He could see that the pixie moonshine was affecting her. Her shoulders were more relaxed, and her cheeks flushed a deeper pink. His hand rested on her knee again and he could feel the heat rising from her skin.

“Princess, look at me.”

Her eyes flashed up to his. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth at her irritable tone. “I hate to break it to you, but everyone will be calling you that after you marry me tomorrow.”

She sighed, but her gaze didn’t leave his. Her aquamarine eyes were glassy and no doubt a little blurry now due to the liquor.

“You won’t regret marrying me. I promise.”

Her head cocked to one side, resting against the back of the sofa, and a sad smile curved her mouth. “I already do, and we haven’t even said our vows yet.”

The quiet admission pierced Ronan’s chest like a spear. It hurt. Not just her words, but the look on her face. The same look she wore earlier in the castle gardens when her mother and stepfather tried to attack him. He swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat.

“You won’t in the future,” he promised.

Dominique’s eyes were closing as she melted deeper into the back of the couch. “I guess we’ll see.”

With a sigh, she drifted off to sleep, leaving Ronan feeling unsettled and anxious. Two emotions he wasn’t familiar with.

Moving slowly so he didn’t wake her, Ronan slid from beneath her legs and took the nearly empty glass of nightwine from her hand. Swiftly, he drained both the dregs of her glass and the rest of his own. The potent liquor went straight to his head, making his face feel hot and his muscles lax.

He would figure out how to make Dominique happy. She would change her mind. She had to or what was left of his heart would crumble to dust, ruined by the curse of a fae sorceress and his own pig-headedness.