“It’s too bad about your personality.”
There’s a flash of surprise in his eyes before he barks out a laugh. His grin fades as he chews at his lip. “I promise this is what I really look like.” He cocks his head to the side. “Mostly.”
There has to be some kind of detectable clue the magic leaves behind. His eyelashesareunnaturally long. “Is it the eyelashes?”
He laughs. “No.”
“Will you take it off?”
“No,” he says, eyes flashing hard as he turns and starts back down the hall.
“I thought we made a deal?”
He lets out another weathered sigh. “It's a scar.”
“Oh.” I immediately feel guilty for pestering him about it.
“Told you it was rude,” he says snidely.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Would you like one?”
My face pales. “A scar?”
His eyes widen and he laughs. “No, a glamour.” He quirks a brow at me. “Wings? Horns?”
“Oh, no, that’s alright,” I breathe, very much preferring he keep his magic off of me.
“Cute little animal ears for the pet?”
“Fuck off,” I mutter. His answering laugh echoes down the hallway.
There’s nothing playful orjovial about Sitri when he returns the next evening. He doesn’t speak a word, countenance surly as he sets the bagged gown on the other end of the sofa. I’m already a tangle of nerves for which the daemon has been punishing me for.
The mirror works at my hair, binding it up into some kind of braided bun with a few loose dangling curls. The gown is black silk trimmed with gold. Heat colors my cheeks to find the shape of my body fully revealed under the tight fabric clinging around me and bunching in a way that gives me the appearance of curves I don’t possess.
It takes me several gulping breaths to coax myself out of the bathroom. I want to flee right back in when Sitri’s eyes slide down the length of me. He says nothing, throat bobbing with an audible swallow. He’s changed too, the sleeves of his tunic embellished in the same golden details as my gown. His face turns stern again as he strides over.
“Tonight, you’re water, pet. You pour when I pour you. No waves. Whatever they might say or do—let it wash over you. It’s all for show. Remember that.”
The daemon pelts me internally. I have to fight the urge to grimace against it as it reduces me down to something small and withered. I stare at him blankly and he sighs. “Be good?”
“I told you I’ll do whatever you want me to, Sitri,” I say heavily.
He leads me down red velvet hallways until we’re traveling parts of the castle I haven’t yet been to before. It feels like we’ve been walking for ages when the next hallway we turn down is lined with armoured soldiers, those same sinister masks decorating the front of their breastplates. This must be it.
They remain silent and stoic as we move past them. We stop in front of a large, set of double doors, one embossed with that same horned man I’ve become familiar with and the opposing door his female counterpart, flowing fabric draping the lush curves of her breasts and waist. Sitri’s gaze flickers over me once—searching as if to see what others will make of me as the guards heave the door open.
The chamber we step into is vast, vaulted ceiling arching several stories above us. Loud and jovial chatter fills the space—the majority of which comes from a large rectangular table positioned at the helm of the room. It’s filled to the brim withthem—witches. I swear I can feel the power in the air, coating the space with its thick and bitter tang. The daemon reacts to that power, searing patterns in my body like flashes of fire until I can hardly think around it. I clench my palms slick with sweat as Sitri leads us toward the middle table. The chatter in the room falls into hushed murmurs as they notice our entry, heads careening around to take us in.
The chamber is an odd contrast of dark and light—those same orbed lights scattered across the marble ceiling. There are so many of them that when I look up I’m forced to squint but the ceiling is so high by the time the light hits the floor the tables are instilled in a mixture of beams and shadows. They flash across us like strobes as we pass through the room.
I locate Morin at the hull of the table, her face filled with that same gleeful amusement she had at our initial ceremony—like this is all some sort of entertaining game.
The blond haired Mask that tried to pry the Shroud from my head is seated on her right, one arm slung over the back of his chair with a casual arrogance. A flash of surprise flickers in his cold, grey eyes as he finds me and sizes me up. This is the first time he’s actually seeing me, Shroud removed. I quickly look away, scanning across the rest of the table.
It’s evident by the fine, embellished nature of their clothing these people are all royalty.Introducing me to the other kingdoms,Sitri had said. Each strange face my gaze falls across is pointed at me—some in sneers, others with expressions of morbid curiosity. Nearing the end of the table, a white haired man’s eyes burn into me with what can only be interpreted as a blazing hatred. My heart sputters as I turn my face back to the floor.
