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Chapter

Twenty-Five

O h, how I long for a ridiculous dress with layers of material to protect my floof and cushion my ass when I fall. I fidget with the silky fabric, making sure my breasts aren’t putting on a show of their own as we walk toward the front of the castle to meet Charming.

“Stop fussing,” Gwyneth grumbles.

“I am not comfortable. There are no pockets. I need pockets.”

She cocks a brow at me and swings a thumb over her shoulder at the twins. “You look fabulous, and these two can carry anything your absent pockets cannot.”

I huff, stirring the stray bits of hair from my forehead.

I would question Malachi’s choice of outfit if it wasn’t for the other females dashing around in similar clothing.

Gone are the heavy fabrics, dazzling gowns, and puffy skirts.

This sundown, I’m dressed in silky turquoise pants which hug my butt before the fabric drops to the floor.

Two slits showcase my legs, ending dangerously high on my upper thighs.

The matching top with gold edging wraps over my breasts before looping over my shoulders to float down my back.

Gwyneth is in a similar outfit, but hers is pink with a silver edging.

Metallic sandals grace our feet, their straps lacing up our calves.

“The view from back here is perfect,” Malachi adds. “This is my favorite look on you so far, Daphne.”

“I beg to differ,” Hart mutters. “I much prefer her naked and writhing on my tongue.”

My cheeks heat, and Gwyneth sneaks a side glance at me. We might be sisters, but I am not giving her a blow-by-blow account of all the things the brothers have done to me.

“Wait, when did that happen?” Malachi asks. “Daphne, you need to keep this balanced, or I’m going to get jealous.”

He’s right; he’s the only one who hasn’t given me an orgasm. In the interests of emotional balance, Malachi needs to give me one later. It’s a hard job, but someone has to do it.

We spill out into the night, and Charming turns to face us. His jaw drops at the sight of Gwyneth before he swallows, his throat bobbing.

I nudge her shoulder. “You rendered him speechless.”

“Long may it last,” she mumbles.

My broom taps my butt. I left my mirror man, my genie, and my capons with Theo and Nash. But the broom is a little clingy—it must need reassurance. But I’ll have to watch him for attachment issues.

“My lady,” Charming greets Gwyneth with a sweeping bow. I don’t even warrant a glance, probably because of the brothers at my back who scowl at any male attention we receive.

“Charming,” Gwyneth snips. She sounds bored.

That’s right, make yourself appear hard work. Perhaps he will lose interest and find a more agreeable female.

“I have commandeered the realm’s latest upgrade of carriage,” he declares, waving a hand at the giant pumpkin, which shimmers with magic under the moon. The door is open and waiting for us.

“I have also organized a separate one for your sister and her suitors,” he adds, jerking his head at a smaller drab squash behind the pumpkin.

Yeah, that’s not happening, Prince Grope and Glory.

“You are more stunning than the fairest of princesses who have bathed in milk and honey their whole lives.”

I step behind him and make a silent puking motion. Gwyneth, all credit to her, doesn’t bat an eyelid, but listens to Charming drone on about how bards should write sonnets about her beauty. Oh look, he has one ready. I doubt he wrote it himself, but I guess it’s the thought that counts.

Clearly, he’s going to be awhile. Maybe he is hoping he bores her into submission?

I climb inside the pumpkin, wondering why this is the latest upgrade of pumpkin.

The inside is luxurious, with soft spongy moss-covered benches and a compartment for snacks and drinks.

He even has two goblets of white liquid waiting.

I take a sniff. Milk? Yes, of course, Prince Charming, I will swallow your suspicious white gooey liquid.

That’s not happening. I tip both of them out of the window.

After stuffing the glasses under the benches, my gaze snags on the ceiling and the three button-like indentations there.

Hmm. What do they do? I press the first one, and trumpets sound from inside the carriage, making me chuckle.

Of course, he needs trumpets to announce his arrival anywhere. Charming turns and glowers at me.

“Get out,” he snarls and points to the wilted carriage behind this one. “I reserved this for me and your sister.”

“Who I am chaperoning,” I remind him.

He turns a shade redder as I foil his get fresh with her floof in the fancy carriage plan. Gwyneth doesn’t need me to protect her, and Charming should know that by now. But if I am around, he is less likely to try something which would cause a broken limb.

Ignoring him, I press the next button. “Ooh, what does this one do?”

A loud honking noise makes the shiny Hallowed milling around pay attention. The horses attached to the carriage whinny their displeasure. The last button is more of a dial. Maybe it’s a volume thing? I twist it to the right. Nothing happens.

“Stop touching buttons,” Charming shouts. Typical—the fancy pumpkin is broken. That’s the problem with new and untried models.

The twins shout in unison, “Daphne, get out!”

The pumpkin rattles as the open door slams closed.

Is it possessed? That’s an odd inclusion for transportation.

The walls ripple like jelly before closing in on me.

I jerk back but find the wall behind me much closer than it was a tempo ago.

Oh, holy Idol balls. The walls compress against my body while the twins stare in horror.

“Do something,” Gwyneth shouts.

Charming folds his arms. “Don’t worry, it has a failsafe. It will shrink around her, but not crush her.”

That’s a failsafe? More like a safety fail.

I gulp as the squash folds itself around my body, and a tempo later, I am no longer an occupant in a carriage; I am wearing a pumpkin like a costume.

My arms and legs are free, but the sides and top of my head are surrounded, leaving my face uncovered.

My broom darts forward and frantically dusts the skin of the vegetable.

A plus for effort, but no amount of sweeping will get this thing off me.

“Are you okay?” Gwyneth asks.

Malachi shakes his head and hides his smirk behind his hand while Hart glares at Charming like he is going to squash him.

“I’m fine,” I say as I twist my head to stare at the inside of the pumpkin. I wonder if... my tongue darts out, and I lick the inside. Yup, tastes like pumpkin.

“Did she just lick the magic pumpkin?” Malachi asks.

“I wanted to know what it tastes like.”

“And?” Hart drawls.

“Pumpkin,” I confirm.

“Get her out,” Gwyneth snaps at Charming.

Charming rubs his forehead. “I paid a fortune to hire this thing.”

“I don’t care.”

Idols, pumpkins are heavy. I think I’ll just... I drop to my ass, and the pumpkin explodes into pieces, falling free from my body. “Problem solved,” I say with a grin, proving I can save myself once again.

Charming’s mouth drops open. “We only had it on loan until midnight. The fairy godmother will have my head.”

“Hopefully,” Malachi says as he and Hart grab my arms and yank me upright. Malachi drops a kiss on my lips, his eyes alight with mischief. “Never a dull moment.”

“Luckily you got us another carriage,” Gwyneth says with a nod at the tired but tried and tested version.

We pile into the squash, Hart and Malachi forcing Charming to sit between them, leaving me and Gwyneth opposite.

My broom settles between us, ready to bat Charming’s hand should he get any bright ideas.

Charming looks two tempos away from exploding.

Did he really think this date was going to go in his favor? What an idiot.

The ride to the circus takes less than ten tempos.

The tent rises like a colossal jewel against the velvet night sky, its vibrant stripes of crimson and gold shimmering under the glow of a thousand enchanted lanterns.

It seems alive, the fabric breathing with the gentle whisper of the wind.

From its towering spire, a banner unfurls, rippling like liquid fire, proclaiming the wonders within to all who dare to enter.

At its apex, a constellation of fairy lights twinkles, cascading down like a waterfall of stardust to the edges of the tent, where they mingle with the earthy scent of sawdust and the sweetness of spun sugar.

The canvas gleams as if spun from threads of sunlight and moonbeam, an ethereal glow that beckons and promises magic.

The carriage jerks to a halt, and I fling open the door, too excited to wait for the doorman.

Around the perimeter, curling smoke from roasting chestnuts mixes with the distant sound of ethereal music, its haunting melody twisting through the cool night air like an invisible ribbon.

Shadows of acrobats dance against the illuminated walls of the tent, teasing glimpses of the impossible feats to come.

The entrance yawns wide, a grand archway framed with intricate carvings that shimmer as though alive, depicting roaring lions, soaring phoenixes, and a thousand other impossibilities.

Beyond it lies a darkness filled with mysteries, punctuated by flashes of kaleidoscopic light and the faint roar of an enchanted crowd.

The tent stands not merely as a structure but as a gateway, a promise of wonder, awe, and chaos that whispers to all who gaze upon it, Step closer. The impossible awaits.

Gwyneth loops her arm through mine. The reason we are here falls away into the darkness. This event springs up once an annus, for three diurnals only, and tickets are limited to the Hallowed. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would witness the wonders here tonight.