She was a woman overly familiar with regret. Mistrust, caution and moderation had become Perri’s watch words for a decade now. But here she was, the possibility of closing that chapter of her life within her grasp. Regal punished. Levi safe and secure.
There should be a celebration for such an achievement. A parade. Fireworks. A night of illicit mayhem in the dark with a man who made her womanly bits ache with longing.
Perri was so tired of regret. And she didn’t want to add not taking up Brandth De’Luca on his offer to the mountainous pile. Good heavens, was she going to do this? Fireworks? Every woman deserved them at least once in her life. Heavens, yes, Perri Gloomenthrall Soutner was about to claim her turn.
She would have to carefully orchestrate the setting. Determinedly shutting down the clamouring voice of common sense that tugged at her subconscious. Nope, too late for all those arguments. For once she was going into a situation with her eyes wide open… if she was going to be plagued with regrets, then better to suffer them for taking a path of her own choosing for once. Bring on the illicit mayhem… for a night.
And really, what could possibly go wrong if she were to indulge in one night of passion with a man such as Brandth De’Luca?
Grrr, shut up common sense, you had your chance.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alia felt ridiculous. Playing dress up was a game for children. She could barely breathe, the fitted bodice of the dress was that tight. And her head ached, the up-do Perri had arranged was pinned and pasted far too tightly. More disconcerting, far too many eyes were drifting Alia’s way and lingering too long. No doubt the aristos thought she looked foolish also.
Although, at least her outfit allowed her freedom of movement, the draped glittering crimson paper thin tulle that fell in tiered lengths from her waist was as light as a feather, swirling in unseen breezes, constantly moving, as if she really were actual living flame. Lastonne was gifted, she’d readily acknowledge that. The costume - Blaze - was stunning, if only someone else were wearing it. Alia felt like an imposter. Clinging to the edges of the ballroom, impatiently waiting for the night to be over.
At least people watching was helping to pass the time. Her gaze shifting to the far side of the room, locking on Talac’s tall form. He looked dashing in his swordsman of Kelope costume, with its distinctive blue cross in the middle of his long white tunic. His face in permanent shadows thanks to the large hat he wore with a decidedly whimsical feather attached. His half mask black in colour, a simple satin that covered everything above his lips, only his eyes unencumbered, piercing out of the darkness, glittering. Even without being able to see his expression, his body language was stiff and haughty. He looked the very picture of unimpressed Prince. Refusing to mingle, waving anyone who tried to engage him in conversation away with a disdainful flick of the hand.
Automatically Alia ducked as Lady Cannon waddled by once again, her large ungainly wings threatening to topple her backwards any moment, but not before they had smacked everyone she passed by in the face or head. The young lady had decided to emulate a flit, but had gone to the extreme, her attached wings far too large and bulky. So instead of grace and lightness, she was unbalanced frumpiness.
Worse for Lady Cannon, two of the other bridal candidates had also chosen to attend as flits. As had more than a dozen other ladies. Though none of their faux wings could in any way match the size and scope of Lady Cannon’s.
Lady Evagene, dressed as a water sprite, looked particularly beautiful in her seafoam glittering draped creation. Her raven hair studded with blue and teal gems, falling like a silken waterfall to her waist. The other stand out was Miss Freer, dressed like Tineena, Queen of the Fairies, in silver and pink. Her costume reflecting little rainbows of light every time she moved. And the woman was always on the move, whether it be dancing with her father or brothers, or just parading back and forth under the Prince’s haughty nose.
“I swear.” Alia dropped her voice to a low urgent whisper. “If you adjust your mask one more time, I’ll tie your hands together.”
“But…”
“No. I secured it myself. Do you not trust my knots?” She turned to look at her sister. Wicked, was the name of her costume, and Perri looked beyond stunning in it, positively ethereal in fact. The deep rich black satin appearing like liquid onyx. And the accompanying mask a work of art in itself. It covered Perri’s face entirely, except for her eyes, lips, and a section down the right side of her face, exposing a little of her cheek and a small section of her jawline. The material giving off a glittering spiderweb effect whilst it somehow cupped her face.
Perri had stared at herself long and hard in the mirror once it was fitted in place, twisting and turning, but it was moulded to her face so perfectly the mask refused to move. Still, Alia knew it had taken a lot of courage for her sister to don it and the outrageously exotic dress that made her look dangerously… sensual.
“You move that hand and I’ll slap it.” Alia promised. “Just so you know, Regal hasn’t been able to take his eyes off us since the moment we arrived.”
“Where is he?”
“Don’t be too obvious.” Being so much taller it was relatively easy for Alia to keep track of everyone in the room. “To our left. Red shirt, black pants. I think he’s trying to emulate the notorious philanderer and lover, Lord Mainekerby. Typical.”
“I can’t… oh, yes, there. He looks angry.”
“He’s smiling.”
“Trust me. He’s seething. I know his smiles, and that’s his I’m mad as the nine circles of hell and someone needs to pay smile.”
“Don’t look at me. I haven’t spoken to the man since our initial meeting following the quarry-hammer game.”
“I haven’t crossed paths with him either. Perhaps it has something to do with Deacon’s intel regarding Regal being moved to one of the rooms directly over the kitchens. I understand they’re rarely occupied during the summer months because of the rising heat from below. His new accommodation must feel like a furnace.”
“He’d better get used to the heat. I understand the fires burn hotter still in the nine circles of hell.”
Perri tried to smother a laugh but failed.
“That’s the spirit.” Alia shared a grin with her sister. Pleased to see Perri’s shoulders were pulled back, her chin lifted, a smile gracing her lips. The sight of Perri looking so relaxed, confident, and glamourous, would hopefully only make Regal even more miserable.
A movement out the corner of her eye had Alia lifting her gaze, a man, dressed in black, was making his way through the crowd headed in their direction. Tall. There was something about the way he moved through the crowd… predatory almost. Those around him sensing it and unconsciously moving out of his way without even realising it. He was dressed like a highwayman, no, a pirate, in all black from head to toe. His loose drawstring shirt drawing attention to his tanned throat and muscular broad chest. The black satin sash tied at his waist matched the mask that covered his hair and everything from the nose up, tied tightly at the base of his skull.
All he needed was the deck of a ship beneath him and a sword to wave around and it would have completed the picture. There was something magnetic about the pirate. Alia was conscious she was staring, but couldn’t seem to stop. Maybe because the path he’d struck through the crowd would lead him directly to her. No, she was being ridiculous.
