Page 45 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

“How long do I have before the meeting?” Breyla asks.

“Half an hour,” Ayden says.

“Then I should bathe and change,” she sighs, retrieving her sword and tucking her real daggers back into the folds of her dress.

“Would you like me to escort you?” he offers to Breyla’s retreating form.

“I haven’t forgotten my way to my room, Prince,” she says with a dismissive wave over her shoulder.

Ayden turns to me, serious once more. “You will be joining us at the meeting.”

I arch a brow, unbothered. “Why?”

“Like it or not, you are an heir of this kingdom now,” he says. “It’s time you met the council as a prince, not a mere emissary.”

“So, I shall play the role of bastard prince, then?” I ask coolly.

“Those are your words, brother. Not mine.”

“Those are everyone’s words, Ayden. I’ve always been a bastard of some sort. The difference was that my adoptive parents didn’t care. They loved me regardless. Here, I’m barely tolerated.”

The words sound harsh, but they’re true. The title of bastard had never really bothered me. Feeling like a bad smell that everyone tries to pretend isn’t in the room was what actually got under my skin.

Ayden doesn’t flinch. He leans closer, lowering his voice. “I know we are at odds right now, but I don’t just tolerate you. Despite the…” His lips twitch. “Female between us, I rather enjoy your company. I hope one day we may be more than brothers in name only.”

I stare at him, conflicted.

Truthfully, the more I got to know the male outside of what he was to my little demon, the more I was coming around to the idea of him. But with a Breyla-shaped chasm between us, I could never see us moving past this point. I don’t dare voice these things out loud, but just give him a slight nod.

“I’ll see you at the meeting.” Turning on my heel, I return to my chambers to bathe.

The meeting took place in the small council chamber, a room I had spent more time in than I cared for.

A long white oak table occupies the space with black cushioned seats surrounding it on every side. Windows line the opposite side of the room, their curtains pulled open to allow in the late morning sun.

Various council members occupy several seats, followed by the head of the castle staff, the captain of the guard, and several merchants from the town.

At the head of the table, Ayden sits in the chair reserved for the king. To his left is Queen Josephina. To his right is Breyla, her hand laced with his and a wide smile plastered on her face.

It wasn’t the smile she made when laughing or the smile she gave Elijah when he managed to say something that caught her off guard. Nor was it the unguarded one she donned while dancing. It’s the courtly, polished smile of a well-trained Princess. It was warm, but obligatory at its core.

But it’s for Ayden.

And that alone was enough to make my blood heat and my jaw tighten.

Inhaling a deep breath, I slip into the seat between Rowina and Charlie.

“Thank you so much for deigning to join us,” Queen Josephina says sardonically.

Her displeasure with my presence grows every day. It’s a wonder she hasn’t attempted to end me in my sleep.

I offer her a bored look. “It’s not as if I was given a choice.”

“That’s enough,” Ayden cuts in. “Let’s begin.”

“I think the first order of business should be deciding whether your engagement ball shall have a guest list,” Charlie says sweetly, “or if we shall open the castle doors to all of Elentia to celebrate with you.”

My mind stumbles over the words engagement ball.

Ayden had said this was an autumn equinox ball, but it sounded like there was far more going on here.

“I thought this was an autumn equinox ball?” Breyla questions before I get the chance to do anything rash, like call him a liar in front of this entire room.

“I did say that,” Ayden confirms, shooting a sharp look at Charlie.

Judging by her poorly hidden smirk, she knew exactly what she was doing when she asked that question.

“It is both,” the queen adds. “Certainly you must be excited! We should share the happy couple’s joy with everyone. The doors will be open to all.”

Breyla swallows hard, fighting back the normal sharp-tongued remark that would have come from her. Remembering her bargain with Ayden, she pastes a wide, glittering smile on her face and says sweetly, “Of course. It would be selfish to keep the joy to ourselves. All are welcome.”

Playing into her farce, Ayden leans down and brushes a kiss to her cheek before turning his attention back to the council. “Then open it shall be,” he agrees. He leans into her, whispering something inaudible.

It’s too low for me to catch, but I sense the lie roll right off his tongue, whatever it is.

Several more matters are discussed as the minutes tick on. It’s decided that it shall be a masquerade. There will be four courses of food, entertainers brought in from surrounding towns, and dancing, of course.

When they inform me I shall escort Charlotte, I suggest Rowina instead.

Predictably, I lose that battle.

The last matter of business is attire. Emery, a seamstress from town, steps forward. “I have brought the designs you requested for Princess Breyla, My Queen.”

“Delightful,” the queen replies. “Let’s see them.”

Emery pulls out the first dress, a black shimmering gown threaded with subtle gold overlays that shimmer in the light.

The moment I see it, I know it’s her.

The next is a gold A-line ball gown. It’s eye-catching, but doesn’t hold a candle to the black.

“I think the gold would complement your hair so beautifully,” the queen gushes.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Breyla says dutifully, but it lacks enthusiasm.

“Well, go on then,” Rowina encourages. “Try it on.”

Reluctantly, Breyla stands, following the seamstress from the room.

A few silent moments pass before they return. A gasp leaves the queen at seeing Breyla in the gown. Meanwhile, my heart sinks.

Breyla is beautiful in whatever she wears, but in that gown, it’s not her I see. Standing before me is Genevieve with auburn hair. Breyla’s emerald eyes shift to sky blue, the freckles vanishing before my eyes.

“You look lovely tonight,” I said, offering my arm as Gen greeted me outside the ballroom.

“Thank you, Aurelius.” Her smile was soft, wistful, as she adjusted the collar of my shirt. “The red lining suits you. You belong in our colors.”

I smirked, knowing the real reason I wore red. I couldn’t outwardly claim Breyla, but the signs were there if you knew where to look.

“It should be a crime how good you look in gold,” I teased.

“Stop flirting.” She laughed, swatting my chest playfully.

“I’m just complimenting my queen. If I wanted to flirt, I’d be much more obvious about it,” I said bluntly.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “Thank the gods for that.”

Before the door opened, I pulled her into a hug. “You’re the bravest female I know, Gen.”

“I’m filled with terror and anxiety, Aurelius,” she admitted softly.

“Bravery isn’t the absence of fear—it’s persevering despite it.”

“I tire of persevering,” she sighed.

“Then let me carry you for a while,” I offered.

“It’s a deal.” She smiled half-heartedly.

“Are you ready to put on a show for your kingdom?”

“No, but let’s give them one hell of a show anyway.”

“That’s the spirit.”

I grasped her hand, leading her into the ballroom.

I blink rapidly, my focus returning to the present.

The blue of Gen’s eyes fades back to green, the freckles dancing against Breyla’s pale skin.

Suddenly, she doesn’t look like Genevieve at all.

The gold washes her out even more, making her look sickly. The cut of the dress isn’t flattering on her like it was on Gen’s lean frame.

But the court swoons, praising her perfection.

Only I see the truth.

“Gold doesn’t suit you,” I say flatly.

The queen scoffs, offended by my assessment.

But Breyla, gods, she looks relieved.

“She looks stunning,” Queen Josephina insists

“Perhaps I could try on the black,” Breyla ventures carefully.

“Why would you?” the queen trills. “The gold is perfect. It will pair splendidly with Prince Ayden’s attire.”

“I really—” Breyla starts, hope lighting her voice.

Ayden squeezes her hand, cutting her off.

To the rest, it might look like reassurance, but I know it’s to remind her of their bargain.

“—love the gold,” Breyla grits out, a faux smile plastered on her face.

Watching Breyla bite her tongue and resist the urge to be her authentic self incites an anger and pain I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.

This isn't about a dress.

It’s about watching the brightest soul I’ve ever known dim herself for their convenience.

All over a fucking pair of boots.

Fuck this, I’ll buy her all the boots she wants if it means she isn’t forced to change herself to fit their desires.

“She’s clearly uncomfortable in the gown,” I grit out, fighting the growl clawing up my throat.

"Breyla can speak for herself," Ayden replies coolly, leveling me with a dark glare. “And her comfort is no longer any of your concern, Aurelius.”

I turn to Breyla, silently hoping—no, begging—her to tell them all what she thinks of the dress.

“It’s fine, Aurelius,” Breyla says, her voice monotone. “The gold really is lovely.”

Before I can do something I regret, I shove my chair back, the legs scraping hard against the floor.

“We aren’t done here,” Ayden calls.

“I am,” I bite back, storming from the room.

The door slams behind me with a satisfying finality.