Page 43

Knock! Knock!

“Come in,” I call out.

Emyr definitely enjoys being punctual, I think to myself.

Tilly is putting the finishing touches on my hair when the door swings open. One by one, the Galrosans file into the large room, donning their obsidian steel armor. Their eyes widen, as their postures become rigid. None of them utter a word.

After several long moments of silence, I ask, “Is something wrong?” I look down at my dress, but I don’t see any flaws.

The crimson satin, off-the-shoulder gown Tilly chose for me is truly stunning.

Thousands of glittering sparkles spread out across the dress like a canopy of stars.

The sleeves are slightly puffed toward the ends nearest my hands, but two bands cuff the material at my wrists.

The corseted top cinches in at my waist, showing off my figure, while the skirt sweeps the floor, with a slit to the right that stops above my knees.

I don’t see anything wrong with the dress, yet not a single one of the Galrosans appears to breathe, let alone blink.

I shift from one foot to the other as Tilly places the last bit of black baby’s breath in the small waterfall braid she’s created through my hair.

She kept my wavy curls in their natural state, only leaving down a few pieces to frame my face.

I’ve yet to see her work, but with how they are boring holes into me, I am afraid to look.

“Looooivvvvveeiiiiley,” Tilly beams, grabbing my shoulders to turn me toward the large mirror.

My lips part slightly as I stare at the reflection before me. I think it’s my face, yet somehow it looks so different. No wonder the members of the Cadre are glancing at me as if I’ve grown a third head.

Compared to the drunk and bloodied woman they found in The Violet Lily, this woman is striking—confident, even.

The deep crimson accents my strawberry hair and pale skin beautifully, drawing out the rosiness of my cheeks.

My waves spill over my shoulders as the floral wreath woven into the half-braid makes me appear regal.

My outward appearance is in complete contrast to the worry and fear that swirls around inside of me. Perhaps this is a type of armor—distracting others from what I truly feel.

Is that why Emyr always wears his armor? I wonder. If so, then perhaps we have more in common than I originally believed.

One of the men clears their throat, forcing me to turn back toward them.

Virgil removes his helmet, crossing the room to me.

“You look radiant, Maeva,” he says, a gleam of pride in his features.

“I agree,” Riordan says, joining Virgil’s side. He whistles low, gesturing for me to spin once more.

I laugh, obliging him.

“You definitely aren’t the reeking woman from the floral shop anymore,” Riordan teases. “You look like a princess. ”

“You’re quite lovely, Maeva,” Laisren interjects from his place beside Emyr.

Emyr’s liquid amber eyes are cut into slits as he gapes at me. I offer him the brightest smile I can muster. “Well, High General,” I tease, swaying slightly. “Do I meet your standards?”

Yet, he doesn’t laugh or tease me as I’d hoped he would. There isn’t even a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Have you not received enough compliments for one day?” Emyr growls. “Or does your ego need to hear once more that you’re lovely?”

Ice runs through me as my features return to cold indifference.

I knew he said that things would be different here, but why’s he being cruel to me now?

No one other than the Cadre and Tilly are here.

This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever worn, so how dare he try to ruin this moment for me? I straighten my shoulders, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply his words cut me.

“No,” I deadpan. “You have enough of an inflated ego for everyone in this room.”

Riordan sucks in a sharp breath.

I don’t wait for Emyr to respond before I turn my gaze to Laisren. “I assume that the king is ready for me to join him?” I ask.

Laisren shifts uncomfortably as he glances between us. “He is indeed,” he replies. “The High General, Riordan, and myself are to escort you to the throne room for an audience with King Tiernan and Queen Orla.”

I didn’t even know the king had a queen. The stories whispered in the village only ever spoke of a mad king with a demon as his counsel. If there is a queen, is she as cruel as her counterpart?

I grab the sides of my skirt, hoping to hide my trembling hands with the action.

As I’m rethinking this entire encounter, something Laisren said clicks in my mind.

He never said Virgil would accompany us .

I look to the Galrosan that I trust the most in this room. Virgil won’t meet my eyes as he looks down at his boots. “Are you not coming with us, Virgil?” I ask.

He looks up then, reaching for my hand and lightly squeezing it. “I have a few errands that I must see to,” he replies. “Don’t worry, Maeva. I’ll be back before the Masquerade of Shadows tomorrow.”

My brow furrows. “What’s the Masquerade of Shadows?” I ask.

“A ball, in honor of you joining us in King Tiernan’s court,” Emyr says. “As the king’s newest prize, he desires to parade you around in front of his constituents.”

Everything twists tighter in my gut.

Not only do I have to interact with the king and queen, but now the entire court in the Palace of Nightmares.

Will they be different species, much like the staff that keeps the palace functioning?

Will they all be Galrosan with their shadow abilities?

What will they expect of me?

I think I might pass out or throw up—or both!

Though my heart is racing at the thoughts swirling around in my head, I try my best to appear calm to the soldiers. “When was I going to be made aware of such an event?” I inquire.

“When it was necessary for you to know,” Emyr snaps. “The king would have informed you in a few minutes, but apparently my fourth commander is impatient.”

Virgil’s eye glows a golden amber as a small growl rumbles in his throat, but he doesn’t move from his place at my side. “I assumed you would have already info?—”

“Your assumption was incorrect,” Emyr interrupts.

The tension in the air is so thick. Instinctively, I squeeze Virgil’s hand—the contact seems to ease him, and his glowing iris dims. “He isn’t worth it,” I whisper to my friend.

Virgil offers me a weak smile, turning his gaze to Emyr, whose eyes are trained where my hand rests in Virgil’s .

What’s wrong with him?

The alpha male nonsense is really starting to grate on my nerves.

Virgil dips his head, releasing my hand. “My apologies, High General,” he says.

Then he plants a light peck on my cheek and whispers, “Good luck.”

I offer a smile, which he answers with one of his own. My head aches slightly as I look at him. There’s something about his smile that feels like home, but I don’t understand why.

Without another word, Virgil slips out of the room, leaving me with the others.

Riordan and Laisren’s eyes are as round as saucers, looking between me, Emyr, and the door that Virgil just exited.

The cycle of awkward silence continues on for several moments before I finally have had quite enough of the stoic males.

“What?” I ask, perturbed.

“He kissed your cheek,” Riordan says, stating the obvious.

I shrug my shoulders. “It was a peck,” I reply. “It’s the Malvorian customary greeting or goodbye for friends or family. Is that not a custom in Zulgalros?”

“No,” Emyr spits, tightness lining his eyes.

“Virgil doesn’t usually do that,” Laisren states.

“It’s just a peck. Nothing more,” I deadpan.

In silence, they stare at me as if I’m a subject to study or decipher.

“For the love of Celestae, just spit it out!” I groan.

“Are you two… close ?” Riordan asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Are we close?

What an odd question.

Are they asking if we are friends?

If so, I’m fairly certain we’ve established that already. I don’t know how to explain it, but there is a strong connection to Virgil that helps me to feel safe and protected.

If I may cut in, my dear, Saoirse says. I believe he’s actually asking if you two are intimate.

Intimate? I ask, still confused.

Lovers, she laughs.

My eyes widen.

Oh! I say. They think we are… lovers?

It appears so, my dear, Saoirse replies, amused.

LOVERS?! I say, exasperated. Virgil and I? It’s absolutely absurd.

It’s not that Virgil isn’t handsome, but the thought of something more just doesn’t feel natural with him in comparison to another Galrosan I thought I was beginning to care for.

Indeed, Saoirse replies.

“Is that a yes then?” Laisren asks.

I look between the three Galrosan men and laugh. Laisren and Riordan exchange looks, while Emyr’s icy gaze is fixed on me. I laugh so hard that my sides ache.

“Do you find the question amusing, Rosey?” Emyr asks.

He hasn’t stopped glowering since Virgil left the room, and I’m not sure if it’s from his jealousy or curiosity.

“Yes,” I say, wiping the water from my eyes. “Because it’s absolutely absurd. Virgil is my friend, my platonic friend, and nothing more.”

“Then why is he so protective of you?” Riordan asks. “You always ask for him, and you seem disappointed when he isn’t near.”

“I agree,” Laisren says. “In the last decade, Virgil has always been more removed, never offering any sort of affection toward anyone . Yet, from the moment he met you, he’s been kind and reasonable. So, forgive our impertinence. It just made the most sense to us at the moment.”

I scoff.

The nerve of these men.

“He’s kind to me—compassionate even—and your first thought is that we’re lovers?” I ask incredulously.

“Well, it would make sense,” Riordan mumbles, fumbling over his words.

“I can be friends with someone and not be romantically involved,” I bite out .

“Yes, but romantic feelings would explain his protective nature toward you,” Laisren remarks. “However, we were all wrong, so I apologize?—”

“All?” I ask, interrupting what I’m sure is a lovely version of an apology. “Were you three placing bets on whether we were together ?”

Riordan looks to the side, whistling, while Laisren shuffles his feet. Emyr—ever the statue—continues to act as if he’s too good to even be in my presence.

I can’t believe it.

These idiotic men actually took bets… ON MY KINSHIP WITH VIRGIL.

Have they never witnessed a friendship between a male and female before, or are they truly that dense?

I scoff, gritting my teeth. “First of all, he’s ONLY my friend,” I say, scolding the men. “I won’t explain the bond I have to him, because it’s none of your business. However, I will tell you I’m more comfortable around him than I am with any of you”

The Cadre are both shocked and uncomfortable by the outburst, but I don’t care.

“Shame on all of you for suggesting that the only reason he would show kindness toward me is because of romantic ties,” I whisper.

Then, I storm past the three men into the corridor as hot tears prick my eyes.