Page 26

ELINOR

My temples throb with a pounding headache, and my patience hangs by a thread. With barely three hours to go before our collective wedding, my stepsisters have descended upon the castle’s dressmakers atelier with the frantic fury of an invading army.

“We need gowns if we are to be married,” whines Stacia, heedlessly yanking semi-finished gowns off hangers in the workshop. A wordless screech of frustration bursts out of her. “None of these are the right size.”

A seamstress follows her, gently righting the expensive unfinished fabric while glaring daggers at her back.

“Or color,” Stacia says, moving along the row right behind the harried seamstress. She yanks them askew, assessing each one before dismissing it. I can’t believe how rude they’re being.

On second thought, I can. I grit my teeth. “Just pick one. There’s no time to have a custom-made gown.”

Where is Maxine when I need her?

“We should postpone the wedding,” Drucilla says, watching me from the corner of her eye.

“Alistair will not wait.” He would, if I demanded it, but if he has truly worked miracles to make this wedding happen, then I am as eager to seal our bargain as anyone.

Alistair, an arrogant, ruthless prince, fought for me .

A nobody. A servant who scrubbed chamber pots.

The forgotten daughter of an extinct earldom.

The idea that my sons and daughters will sit on the throne of Belterre, marry into the highest-ranking families, and wield power in the realm, gratifies me immensely. Through me, the Scinder family will not only continue, but thrive.

“This isn’t fair.” Stacia stamps her foot. “None of these will fit me. I need a glamour.”

“Shh!” hisses Cilla.

“I want to feel pretty for my wedding day. For Othmar.” High color stains her cheeks.

She’s gone and fallen in love with him. That didn’t take long. I suppose it didn’t take Alistair and me very long to fall in love, either. I shouldn’t judge.

“Princess, there is an old lady asking for a word with you,” says one of the maids.

I step into the foyer of the atelier and find Maxine, her scraggly gray hair braided away from her face, her shabby nondescript dress clean, and her eyes alight with mischief.

Maybe I’m simply unaccustomed to seeing her outside of her cottage in the forest, but she looks younger somehow, abuzz with energy.

“Max. What are you doing here?”

“I wouldn’t miss your big day.” She chuckles and peers past me. “Besides, I thought your sisters might want a little assistance?” Dipping her hand into the pocket of her patched apron, she produces two fizzing bottles. Glamours.

“Put those away,” I command. “They’re illegal.”

Maxine winks. The glamours disappear into her pocket again. Every woman in the workshop stops dead to stare at the witch who bustles through the door.

“Perhaps I can I be of assistance?” she says. Cilla’s nose wrinkles. Stacia’s jaw drops as she gapes openly at the intruder.

“Get out.” Cilla points at the door. “We don’t want anything to do with a filthy witch.” She spits the last word.

Unbothered, Maxine snaps her fingers. The modiste and her seamstresses freeze in place. “Now that we can speak privately, I will have you know that I am the filthy witch who’s been supplying you with glamours for the past several years, Miss Tremaine.”

“ Lady Tremaine,” Cilla corrects, seething.

“I see only one lady here,” Maxine says, turning to me. She smooshes my cheeks between her palms. “I wasn’t going to let these colorblind twits ruin your wedding. What kind of fairy godmother would I be if I didn’t intervene?”

Abruptly, she releases me.

“I don’t need your glamours anymore, Maxine.

I have a supply straight from Prince Alistair himself.

” She sweeps aside her skirt to demonstrate her mangled leg.

It shimmers slightly, looking better than ever.

“A bribe for marrying Lord Layton, and it’s better magic than anything you’re capable of producing. ”

Maxine blinks. She wiggles her nose, and Cilla shrinks into a frog. I gasp, leaping back.

“What have you done to my sister?” Stacia shrieks. “Turn her back!”

Instead, Maxine blithely turns Stacia into a small goat. It lowers its head and tries to ram Maxine, but she twirls aside at the last second and Stacia butts the wall instead. She falls onto her rump. If goats could shed tears, she’d be sobbing.

“Maxine,” I say warningly.

“Elinor. I have wanted to teach these two idiots a lesson for years. Indulge me a bit of fun while I’m helping you.”

“As long as you promise to turn them back.”

Cilla croaks. I scoop her up and deposit her on a table. She hops awkwardly in a semicircle. One leg sticks out at an angle.

“I will. I’m just having a bit of fun at their expense.” She trails her fingertips along the unfinished gowns and pulls one out, holding it up for Cilla to inspect. The frog stares blankly. “I take it that’s a no, then.”

She puts it back. Stacia the goat ambles over to the gowns and begins nibbling on a hem.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I scoop her up, bracing the wiggling animal against my hip. She bleats irritably.

“This one!” Maxine displays an extravagant lace gown with long sleeves and a bell skirt, with pearls and tiny gems sprayed across the bodice. The goat kicks. The frog hops awkwardly to the edge of the table and tumbles off, croaking when it lands.

“Oh-ho, we have a competition. Never fear, my greedy girls, you can each have one.” She separates her hands and forms two identical dresses, one long and lean, the other with a sweetheart neckline that will highlight Stacia’s generous bosom. Not exactly tasteful, but she’s going to love it.

Indeed, my goat-sister writhes with excitement, so I set her down. She nearly tramples Cilla jumping and kicking her heels over the dress.

“Turn them back, now. Please.” Maxine huffs, but she does as I ask.

“Gah,” Cilla chokes. “I can’t believe you turned me into a frog, you?—”

“One more word, and I’ll make the change permanent,” Maxine warns. I bite back a smile. Cilla wisely turns her attention to the gown, greedily holding it against her front and smoothing her palm down the elaborate beading.

“We’ll match. Won’t that be fun?” Stacia, who’s already taken off her day dress, steps into the wedding dress. “I can’t wait for Othmar to see me!”

“Ah, ah, it’s bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the wedding,” Maxine scolds.

She snaps her fingers again, and the seamstresses unfreeze.

“You. Help them decide upon veils and fetch the lady’s maid to do their hair.

We don’t have much time.” Turning to me, she smiles gently and reaches into the rack once again.

“Maxine,” I breathe. It’s the dress I dreamed of. The one from the modiste’s workshop in Belterre City. The one with the overskirt of rose-pink, dotted with winking gems, melting into an underskirt of layered ivory silk.

“It’s perfect,” I breathe.

“I knew you wanted it. Now all you need is a veil and your groom.” Maxine smirks.

I can’t help feeling like there’s a smug sort of knowing glinting in her eye.

As if she has planned everything to her satisfaction, and my happiness is only an incidental side effect. But I feel guilty for even thinking it.

“Thank you, Maxine,” I say in a rush, throwing my arms around her. She smells of lilacs, a lovely scent that belies her shabby appearance. She stiffens with surprise, then gently hugs me back.

“You deserve the world, sweet girl. Make sure that villainous princeling gives it to you.”

I go off to find Alistair. He has one final task to complete. I would wait a day, or even years, if necessary, but my stepsisters don’t have the same patience. I’ve gotten most of what I want. If he needs more time to mend fences with Killian, I am prepared to let that slide.

It turns out that I don’t have to.

I catch sight of Alistair’s distinctive bright hair when I turn down a corridor. He’s standing beside a human thundercloud, their heads bent. Tremaine. My pulse skitters, torn between excitement at seeing my beloved and deeply ingrained fear of the man who tormented me for so many years.

He’s alive. I’m relieved and yet, part of me now wonders if that’s only because I’m afraid to admit to myself that I want him to suffer for his crime.

A savage part of me does want him to pay.

I recoil from it. I don’t recognize that part of myself.

I refuse to admit that any part of me could be at all like my loathsome stepfather.

All I needed was reassurance that Alistair wasn’t like him. Now, I have it.

Both men turn to me as I approach. I nod coolly to my stepfather and move to Alistair’s side, keeping him between me and the man I never want to see again.

“A word?”

“Nice to see you too, Elinor.” Tremaine doesn’t smile. His eyes are flat and a little less bloodshot than usual. Perhaps he cut back on the drink for his daughters’ wedding. On some level, he does genuinely care about them.

“Have you told Tremaine the good news?” I ask Alistair, looping my arm through his. “Cilla and Stasia have found husbands, with a bit of help from the prince.”

I’m so proud of him. He smiles tightly. Everyone feels so stiff and off. Something isn’t right, but I can’t figure out what.

Before I can piece together the answer, an enormous shadow encroaches over the windows, darkening the sky outside. All around us, alarms blare.

“Dragon!” one of the guards yells as he runs past.

Stone-faced, Alistair grips my arm and drags me deeper into the castle. We abandon Tremaine.

“Killian has arrived.” He gives me a wry sidelong half-smile. “I have fulfilled every one of your conditions, my darling. Assuming my blackguard of a knight isn’t here to attack us. I presume he is here at my request that he act as my groomsman at our ceremony.”

My heart bursts with joy.

We rush past an open balcony overlooking the courtyard below.

Alistair skids to a stop. I come within a hair’s breadth of tripping over my own feet—and that’s before the dragon’s nose pokes over the balcony.

A dark-haired man dressed in black trousers and a loose black shirt leaps off.

He sketches a bow, then raises one finger and says, “Stay right there.”

A moment later, a gorgeous blond woman wearing a simple blue dress and carrying a small bundle picks her way down the dragon’s nose.

The man in black sweeps her into his arms. His sleeves fall back to reveal deep-red rose tattoos twining over his forearms. I stare, fascinated, as a single petal falls from one flower and disappears into his skin.

Magic.

I can feel it wafting off the newcomers. It reminds me of Maxine’s glamour, only infinitely more powerful. The scent of roses fills the air.

“You’ll have to excuse our entrance. When we heard the news, I had to see for myself. Horses don’t exactly stay around Thorn Mountain.” The blond brushes past Alistair, giving him a cool, sidelong glance before giving me a curious once-over. “You must be Elinor.”

I bob a curtsey, feeling self-conscious. Briar Rose, the lost princess of Isanthia, is so much more stunning in real life than any picture could possibly portray. I can’t find my tongue until the baby in her arms lets loose a small cry.

“I know, darling, that was a lot of flying for one morning,” she says, shifting the infant to her chest.

“May I see?” I ask.

I’m smitten when she graciously places her child in my arms. Instantly, the baby stops fussing and stares into my eyes.

Wonder steals over me. I want a tiny human of my own. I’m drowning in those pure green depths as she stares into my very soul.

“Boy or girl?” asks Alistair gruffly.

“A girl. Her name is Alina,” Killian answers. I barely hear them. Alina’s tiny rosebud lips and chubby cheeks are so enchantingly plump, her black lashes a gentle sweep against the curve of her pale cheeks, and her hair a shock of sable like her father’s.

“She’s beautiful,” I breathe.

Briar smiles at that. “I hope babies are allowed at the wedding. I couldn’t leave her at Thorn Mountain alone.” She brushes a strand of hair away from her baby’s face.

“They are now,” I say. “You must be Princess Aurora.”

She makes a face. “My name is Briar. I don’t use my birth name or title. But I just had to meet the woman who tamed the wicked prince. What on earth possessed a darling like you to marry a selfish cad like him?”

I bristle.

“He’s not a cad. He rescued me from a bad situation. I will be forever grateful to him for that alone.” I shift the baby onto my shoulder. Alina makes a tiny gurgling sound.

“Sorry. I’m no fan of Alistair’s.”

The dark knight moves to her side. I edge back a step.

Goodness, the man is imposing. A wall of unsmiling muscle.

The only softness he displays is an occasional relaxing of his lips when he’s near his wife.

His eyes follow Briar wherever she moves.

When he holds out his hands to indicate he wants his daughter back, I hastily oblige him.

A rose blossoms on his exposed forearm as I’m passing little Alina into his arms. I stare at it in fascination.

“Shall we allow the men to speak privately?” Briar says, gesturing for me to follow her. I cast a backward glance at Alistair, who is standing with his feet wide, arms crossed. I smile as hope wells within me.

This wedding is really happening. Everything I dreamed of is within my grasp.