Page 20 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

He’s the son of a queen. Looking like that, there must’ve been some girl he was supposed to marry. Some Spring High Fae ready to fawn over that eight-pack and his Royal Academy degree. I wonder what ghosts hide behind his compassionate expression.

I take a long swig of coffee, the hot liquid grounding me against the desire to erase the sadness on his face with a kiss. Two royal Fae single past fifty… maybe Seth and I aren’t so different after all. “Why did you never marry? You seem like the type.”

He blinks, caught off guard. “I’d never met anyone I wanted to marry. Before now.”

My chest tightens. Well, damn. I believe him—believe he’s not just playing with words to butter me up. Maybe I’m having a crisis of faith. Or maybe I’m just tired.

Either way, this is new.

I probably just need more coffee.

Byron flies in, interrupting our conversation. He doesn’t say anything but hovers in the back, and I know he’s really waiting for Percy to show up.

Lori comes back from her run and unhooks her earbuds. “Where’s Elio?” she asks.

“Three of the seven crowns have arrived, Your Majesty. The King has gone to greet them,” Byron answers.

Her face falls. “Oh.”

Just as Lori’s about to say more, Elio enters the room with Sara on his heels, the royal chief of staff scribbling furiously on her clipboard.

Elio pours himself a drink and slumps into a chair, slicking his platinum-blond hair back with a quick sweep of his hand.

“I’m already exhausted,” Sara clips, still taking notes. “Freya wants peaches for breakfast, for Thanatos’s sake. Where am I supposed to find peaches in Wintermere?”

Byron flies to her ear to whisper something.

I swallow hard. “Freya’s here?”

Seth raises his brows. “Doesn’t she know the sceawere has been compromised?”

Sara rolls her eyes, the question clearly stretching the limits of her patience. “She doesn’t seem to want to let a detail like that get in the way of her peaches .”

Elio rubs a hand down his face, having already gulped down the Nether cider. “With three crowns in attendance, we’re still two short of a quorum. Damian still hasn’t returned from the Solar Cliffs?” he asks Byron.

The Faeling gives a decisive slice of the head. “Not yet, Your Majesty.”

“Ethan hasn’t set foot in Wintermere since you became king, right?” I ask.

“Right.”

Considering how Ethan cut Elio’s wings in punishment for leaving the Sun Court—scraping the roots clean off the bone—their relationship is disastrous at best.

Lori pats her husband’s arm. “He doesn’t have a choice.”

“We might all be better off if he refuses to come,” I grumble.

“Seeing as the summit can’t take place immediately, I organized a matinée ball to occupy them while they wait,” Sara says.

A big, unladylike grimace twists Lori’s face—an expression I’d never seen on Iris. “Is that really necessary? This is hardly the time for a party.”

Sara nods in the affirmative. “The Reds, Spring, and Summer delegations are less likely to tear each other apart—or us, for that matter—if they’re kept entertained.

The new Red Queen looks even more lethal than the last one.

” A full-bodied shiver rocks Sara from head to toe before she checks her planner.

“The Reds sent eight High Fae to protect their queen, same with Spring, but the Summer King trusted us enough not to bring bodyguards, thank Thanatos.”

A knowing smile stretches my lips. “Typical Aidan, thinking he’s too powerful for bodyguards.”

“We all should get dressed and meet in the ballroom in half an hour. We can’t keep the other crowns waiting too long,” Sara says.

She leads by example and exits the room, Byron perched on her shoulder, and Seth and I stand up to follow.

“Lori, do you have a minute?” I ask the queen, preventing her departure.

She meets me in the middle of the room, and Seth lingers in the doorway behind her before finally disappearing from view.

I lower my voice in case he only pretended to leave. “I noticed your makeup… Especially around the eyes. You can access Iris’s magic, right?”

Lori’s cheeks turn crimson, like she’s embarrassed to be caught using a magic that doesn’t belong to her. “Only a little.”

“I can’t use mine, a fact that I’d rather not share with anyone else. Elio already knows, of course, but he can’t exactly help me do my hair…” I trail off, trying to infer the predicament I’m in. I’m a Spring Fae who can’t do what most Spring Fae are best at: doll up for a ball.

Our eyes meet, and her voice trembles in a breathy, “I’d be honored.”

She accompanies me to my room, and I lock the door behind us, not wanting Seth or anyone else to sneak in and witness how far I’ve fallen. Unable to weave my own dress, or even style my hair right. The shame.

The guest room holds an understated warmth in spite of the muted palette.

The walls are paneled in pale stone, accented with soft gold trims that catch the light from the chandeliers.

The furnishings are carved from white birch—sleek and elegant—with a high-backed chair near the hearth and a writing desk facing the tall windows.

Heavy drapes, the color of late-winter dusk, are drawn back to reveal a sweeping view of Tundra below, its spires and chimneys dusted in snow.

A thick fur blanket covers the bed, and I run my fingers through it, imagining what marvels I could craft with a piece of this size if I weren’t cursed.

“Any special request?” Lori asks.

I bend down to grab one leg of the cushioned ottoman at the foot of the bed. “Do your best.”

Dragging the velvety piece of furniture in front of the large free-standing mirror, I sit on it, offering her easy access to my head. She starts with my makeup, pairing smoky cat eyes with dark red lipstick.

“May I?” Lori motions to my hair next, and I give her a quick nod. She bites her bottom lip and tentatively reaches for my red locs, running her fingers through them to familiarize herself with their texture.

Her lids drop, and magic prickles across the sensitive skin of my scalp. The locs unravel and twist back together, the process taking no more than a minute. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and draw in a sharp breath.

My hair is now styled in tight, precise micro braids.

Hundreds of them, small as thread. Just the way Iris used to style them.

The weightlessness of them is so eerie and yet familiar.

Their luscious glide over my shoulders when I turn my head feels like a kiss from beyond.

The way they whisper against my skin twists my heart.

I haven’t styled my hair this way in more than fifty years.

Percy stirs awake on the windowsill and lets out an audible gasp. “Oh my…”

“Does it look wrong?”

Lori pulls her shaky hands away, and I meet her gaze in the reflective glass. “No. No, it looks just right ,” I say softly.

Her hands fall to my shoulders, and she gives them a soft squeeze, but just as I’m about to address Iris directly—to reach her inside the body of a stranger—she slips back out of reach.

Lori’s tear-filled eyes dart to the ground, and she jolts away from me, clearly spooked by the phenomenon. “I— I wouldn’t know where to start with a gown… But I’ll bring you one. And other clothes, too. Just wait.” She rushes out of the room, the shadows around her almost palpable.

I sit on the ottoman for a moment, feeling vulnerable, helpless, and simply…bereft.

Percy perches on my shoulder and caresses the shell of my ear. “I love you, diamantay .”

Tears glass over my eyes, and Percy opens his mouth to add something, but a soft knock at the door is quickly followed by the creak of the hinges. In her haste, Lori didn’t close the door all the way, and an elegantly dressed Seth steps inside my bedroom, oblivious to what just transpired.

Sin dipped in velvet, his midnight-black coat highlights the shape of his shoulders, the collar high enough to frame that chiseled jaw I’ve already stared at for too long.

His waistcoat is decorated with gold brocade, and the crisp white of his shirt opens just enough at the collar to make my pulse skip, revealing the shape of a rectangular, metallic pendant.

No cravat, no apology. Just him, standing there like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

I turn my back to the thick white door to hide the tears.

Percy braces both hands on his hips and stares down the intruder. “You, again.”

“Afternoon, Perce.” His voice grows louder as he draws closer. “I came for a preview of your Mistress’ splendid ballgown. I’ve heard wonders about her capabilities.”

“Bet you could do better, right?” Percy cracks, goading him and buying me a bit of time.

I stare out the window and force my eyes to widen, keeping the tears from spilling out. I haven’t cried in decades, and now twice in two days? What the fuck is wrong with me?

“I might,” Seth says with humor. “I’ve got style.”

I arch a brow, spinning my problem on its head. “Then prove it. Make me a dress, pretty boy.”

“You’d let me dress you?” he murmurs behind me.

“Why not?” I shrug as though it’s no big deal and walk over to him, the tears all dried up.

“Isn’t that too controlling ?” he says in jest, one brow arched. He clearly thinks there’s a catch, but he’s also hooked on the idea.

“Are you chicken?”

The playful taunt hangs between us, our gazes locked until Percy clears his throat, inches from my ear. Shit. I’d completely forgotten that my Faeling was still on my shoulder, and my cheeks warm.

Percy flies off in a hurry. “I’ll be back in a jiffy, lovebirds. I need to look my best to remind Byron what he’s missing.”

“Take your time.” I wave goodbye, not looking away from Seth, waiting for Percy to be out of earshot before I ask again. “Tongue tied, pretty boy?”

I grab the pendant hanging around his neck and play with the rectangular piece of metal, gliding my thumb against the sleek dark piece of jewelry. I know these have to do with Storm magic, but I can’t remember what they do.

Seth raises his hands to my bare arms, giving them a gentle, almost tentative squeeze. “Never. Just hold still.”

Spring magic tingles across my arms, neck, and chest as Seth’s power coats my entire body, and I instantly regret my offer. It’s too personal. Too intimate. He undresses me with his magic, melding the red fabric of my turtleneck and black jeans and using them to line the dress.

Threads borrowed from the silk pillows, the fur, the drapes, and molten gold from the chandeliers drift toward us. Unwoven fibers and liquid metal glide against my skin to form golden rose petals that sew themselves together.

I spy on his progress in the mirror.

The opulent gown is springtime frozen in gold.

It clings to me at the bodice, petals and metallic vines mirroring the candlelight.

The off-shoulder sleeves threaten to slip, and the thigh-high slit draws attention to my legs.

I don’t wear this dress—I weaponize it. The plunging neckline dips down to reveal the curves of my breasts in a soft V-shape framed by a delicate floral appliqué.

Alluring but classic. Daunting without being overly flashy.

The kind of dress that lures stares in instead of shouting for attention.

A lavish fur coat hugs my shoulders, warm and soft. It cuts off just above my waist, leaving the full skirt of the gown untouched. The shoes are nude satin with a block heel, and two delicate straps snake around my ankles.

Fae don’t let things like the end of the world get in the way of throwing a good party. If anything, they dress louder for it.

Seth comes to stand behind me, the fabric still humming with the last traces of his magic, and I end up flush against him, my back to his chest. We both freeze at the sight of our reflection.

His hands settle on my waist under the pretense of checking the fit, his thumbs grazing the curve of my hips.

He drinks me in with his eyes, proud of what he’s made.

Subtle twines of gold are braided into my hair, reminiscent of a crown, and I swallow hard.

This is the filthiest fantasy brought to life. I can’t stop staring at the two of us together. We look good—more than good. Royal.

His large hand settles on my belly, and my core pulses. This dress didn’t come with underwear, and it’d be too easy for him to slip a hand underneath and find out exactly how aroused I am. I wouldn’t stop him if he tried.

“I thought you were more of a little black dress type,” I say to break the spell.

A zap of electricity goes straight to my heat, and I don’t know if it came from him, or if it was just static, but I’m panting.

Seth winks at me in the mirror. “Any man that wouldn’t cover you in gold is a fool.”