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CHAPTER FIVE

BELLE

I n under five minutes, I had already royally screwed this up.

I'd warned Queen Indira that it would happen. Now when she found Charlotte, if she found Charlotte—no, when she found Charlotte—the princess would have to pretend to know how to sew. Because that's what I was doing right now as her doppelg?nger.

"You've trimmed my nails. You've taken my hair. But you won't let me see your face?"

"No, Your Majesty."

"Highness."

Oh, for shooting stars. That's right. He was a prince, not a king. Charlotte would know that. It was another mistake. My fingers twitched as I sewed strands of his hair into the cuffs of Charlotte's wedding gown. I had been right; the color of his mane was the missing touch, and now the dress would be spectacular.

"You won't let me see your face, but you have no problems with me seeing your wedding dress."

I twisted my lips. He couldn't see the action because it was hidden by the veil.

The prince sat beside me. Well, not exactly beside me. We sat on a courting bench. It was a curved settee, shaped like an S. So that a young couple could talk without any petal plucking going on. I sat at the top of the S, and the prince sat at the bottom. Or vice versa, depending on perspective.

The prince was massive. He took up every bit of the curve of the S with both his top and bottom. His thick thighs were man spread in a way that showed off his obvious prowess. His chest was so broad that he spilled over his part of the S into mine. If I didn't keep my arms pressed into my body, I would curve into his.

I had heard the stories, of course. Whispers about the Beast Prince, who walked like a man but was something altogether different. Part lion, part human, and altogether monstrous. The gossips got it wrong.

Prince Adom was a beast—undeniably, overwhelmingly so. Everything about him was big. His broad shoulders stretched against the threads of his dark blue coat as though it might split apart at any moment. The rich fabric clung to him, powerless against the sheer size of his biceps. His narrow waist tapered into an arrow that pointed directly at the core of him—commanding, unavoidable, impressive.

Likely too big for the likes of Charlotte.

Poor girl.

Poor, poor girl.

Unlike his sun-golden mane, his fur was tawny brown. There was a coarseness to his mane, but the fur on his face and hands was soft. I knew because I'd rubbed the hairs on his wrist by accident when I'd been trimming his claws.

I wondered if the fur was all over his body. Was it over his belly? I could see the outline of a six—no, eight-pack of abs. Was it over his legs and down to his calves that disappeared into boots so large they looked like they could crush mountains?

No, Prince Adom of Solmane wasn’t beautiful—not in the way I had been taught to think of beauty. He was magnificent, majestic, magnetic.

"You don't find that ironic?"

The needled pricked my index finger, and I winced. "What's ironic, Your Majes—Highness?"

"That I can't see your face, but I can see the dress you'll wear to our wedding?"

"Well, I figure it's the two of them together at the same time that would be bad luck."

"On our wedding night, I'll see you without the veil or the dress."

I missed a stitch. I never missed a stitch. Sewing was as ingrained in my brain as walking. Though I doubt I could take a steady step at the moment if asked. My knees pressed together to stop the tremor running straight to my core. Weren't tremors supposed to go down, not up?

Prince Adom's nostrils flared like he could scent the nectar pooling between my thighs. His eyes were golden, like his mane, but darker, deeper, as if they held the elusive heart of the daughter sun within them. The low rumble vibrating in his chest sounded like distant thunder. Virility poured from him.

I gripped the folds of the gown tighter, grounding myself against the pull of him. He was overwhelming, imposing, dangerous.

For Charlotte.

"You truly aren't afraid of me?"

"Do you plan to hurt her—me?"

"And you don't find me revolting?"

"Revolting? No. Ill-tailored, yes."

Not for the first time tonight, I bit my tongue. I wasn't used to talking to royalty. Even Charlotte hadn't talked much during our fittings. As a commoner, typically talking to other commoners, I was used to speaking my mind unfiltered.

Prince Adom leaned forward, his huge body entirely taking over my part of the S on the courting bench. "I've given you my hair and now you're trying to get me out of my clothes?"

It was a joke. I knew it was a joke. But the entrepreneur in me saw an opportunity. "Well, not these. But your wedding suit? Might I have it?"

"What for?"

"To tailor it."

"You tailor men's clothing?"

"Not me. My dressmaker. She's amazing. Her name is Belle. She's an up and coming designer in Evermore. She's come to Solmane with me, and she's going to be a star once everyone sees the dress she made me."

"I thought you made the dress."

"I… designed it. You know how we ladies have our hobbies. I'm good with stitching." I held up my handiwork as proof.

He ignored it, eyes on me as though trying to peer through the veil.

I forced myself to straighten, to meet his gaze with as much defiance as I could muster. I was playing Princess Charlotte. The fairy was quiet defiance personified.

But I didn't want to defy him. I wanted him to speak to me in that growl of a voice of his. If he did, I'd do whatever he told me to do.

Of course I would. Because he was a prince, and I was a commoner. A commoner pretending to be royalty for the night. Tomorrow, I'd be back in my place, and Charlotte would be the one speaking with him, sitting with him, sleeping with him.

“You’re bigger than I expected,” he said.

Charlotte and I were the same size. That size was average for a fairy. When we were standing, I'd come up to Prince Adom's chin. But there was no mistaking that the Beast Prince filled the room with his presence.

“I could say the same about you.”

His brow quirked, a flicker of amusement breaking through the intensity. It was fleeting, but it had been there. “Is that a complaint?”

“No,” I said quickly, then bit my lip, giving my poor tongue a break.

The Beast Prince tracked the movement. "I'm not complaining either. I like that you speak your mind."

Another screw-up for Charlotte to deal with. Once they found her and brought her back. Charlotte was quiet most of the time. When she did speak, it often surprised me what came out of her mouth. Like the fact that the princess knew about oral sex.

Maybe that's why she'd run away. Some fae boy had kissed her between the stalks. Maybe he'd gotten so far as to poke her with his stamen.

"I know you were raised with the sole purpose to wed me."

She was? I didn't know that. Why should I? The royals didn't air their goings-on to common fae, like me.

"You were sent reports on what I liked to eat, to read. But it looks like you were able to carve some sense of your own self out of this ordeal."

Prince Adom looked at me expectantly. All I could do was nod my head. I had no idea that was Charlotte's childhood. I'd only come into the royal household a couple of years ago. If that had been her life, no wonder she rebelled. What woman wouldn't?

"I'm glad for that. One less life for this curse to have ruined."

Curse? What curse? I kept my mouth shut, finally mimicking the fairy princess I was pretending to be.

The spool of thread in my lap was empty. There was still a little ways to go in the cuff, but I was out of thread.

I looked up at Prince Adom. He shifted, leaning forward toward me. The firelight caught the strands of his mane, turning them into molten gold.

The first time he'd offered his hair to me, I had gone at it with excitement. This time, my fingers trembled as I reached for the dainty scissors in my work pouch. The shears felt small and fragile in my hand, almost laughable compared to the sheer size of him.

I raised the scissors, hesitating just inches from his mane. His golden eyes remained fixed on me, calm and unblinking. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance at the potential weapon in my hand. There was no fear in his gaze, no caution.

My fingers brushed his cheek. I told myself it was an accident. A slip of the hand as I reached for his mane. Deep down, I knew better. It was deliberate. I wanted to know what his fur felt like if rubbed the wrong way.

It was soft no matter which way my fingers ran through it. My index finger tingled as it grazed his jawline. His fur was warm and silken, as though every strand had been spun from sunlight. My fingers itched to explore more, to trace the strong lines of his proud chin, to brush the dark circles under his eyelids.

I wondered what kept him up nights. Did he have anyone to hold him?

He didn’t move as I snipped his hair. He just stared, his eyes boring into mine as though he could see through the layers of lace and fabric separating us. The firelight flickered, casting shadows across his sharp features, highlighting the quiet strength in his stillness. There was no growl, no threat—just an intensity that made my heart pound in my chest.

I forced myself to focus, to ignore the heat pooling in my cheeks and the urgent flutter in my stomach. My hand moved with practiced precision, the blades of the scissors slipping into his mane.

The strand fell into my palm, light as air. Without another word—because words would have broken this fragile thing between us—I turned back to the gown. My fingers moved on instinct, threading the golden strand through the fabric. It blended seamlessly with the intricate embroidery I had already completed.

The prince didn’t say anything, didn’t shift from where he sat. But I felt his gaze on me, steady and unrelenting, as I worked. My hands trembled again as I tied off the final stitch, my pulse loud in my ears.

"You're done?"

"I'm done."

"You've taken my nails, my hair. Do you require anything else of me?"

"Just your wedding suit. If you don't mind."

"So that we'll match?"

I nodded. "We'll give the people something nice to look at."

His smile fell. "Other than my face, you mean?"

I blinked up at him. The strong angles of his face darkened. I should've been frightened. I wasn't. I was flustered. "No—I—that's not what I said."

Prince Adom stood quickly. The loss of his weight on the courting bench sent me rocking. He reached out one massive paw to settle the settee. Then he bowed stiffly.

"I'll have the suit sent to you. I'll see you on our wedding day. Good night, my lady."

With that, he was out the room.

I had screwed up royally. Well, for Charlotte. Not for me.

For me, I'd just secured another job. Prince Adom was going to look amazing in the wedding suit once I got my hands on it. But there was a part of me that wished I'd get to have my hands on him out of the wedding suit as well.