“This one!” Maxine displays an extravagant lace gown with long sleeves and a bell skirt, with pearls and tiny gems sprayed across the bodice. The goat kicks. The frog hops awkwardly to the edge of the table and tumbles off, croaking when it lands.
“Oh-ho, we have a competition. Never fear, my greedy girls, you can each have one.” She separates her hands and forms two identical dresses, one long and lean, the other with a sweetheart neckline that will highlight Stacia’s generous bosom. Not exactly tasteful, but she’s going to love it.
Indeed, my goat-sister writhes with excitement, so I set her down. She nearly tramples Cilla jumping and kicking her heels over the dress.
“Turn them back, now. Please.” Maxine huffs, but she does as I ask.
“Gah,” Cilla chokes. “I can’t believe youturnedme into a frog, you?—”
“One more word, and I’ll make the change permanent,” Maxine warns. I bite back a smile. Cilla wisely turns her attention to the gown, greedily holding it against her front and smoothing her palm down the elaborate beading.
“We’ll match. Won’t that be fun?” Stacia, who’s already taken off her day dress, steps into the wedding dress. “I can’t wait for Othmar to see me!”
“Ah, ah, it’s bad luck for a groom to see his bride before the wedding,” Maxine scolds. She snaps her fingers again, and the seamstresses unfreeze. “You. Help them decide upon veils and fetch the lady’s maid to do their hair. We don’t have much time.” Turning to me, she smiles gently and reaches into the rack once again.
“Maxine,” I breathe. It’s the dress I dreamed of. The one from the modiste’s workshop in Belterre City. The one with the overskirt of rose-pink, dotted with winking gems, melting into an underskirt of layered ivory silk.
“It’s perfect,” I breathe.
“I knew you wanted it. Now all you need is a veil and your groom.” Maxine smirks. I can’t help feeling like there’s a smug sort of knowing glinting in her eye. As if she has planned everything to her satisfaction, and my happiness is only an incidental side effect. But I feel guilty for even thinking it.
“Thank you, Maxine,” I say in a rush, throwing my arms around her. She smells of lilacs, a lovely scent that belies her shabby appearance. She stiffens with surprise, then gently hugs me back.
“You deserve the world, sweet girl. Make sure that villainous princeling gives it to you.”
I go off to find Alistair. He has one final task to complete. I would wait a day, or even years, if necessary, but my stepsisters don’t have the same patience. I’ve gotten most of what I want. If he needs more time to mend fences with Killian, I am prepared to let that slide.
It turns out that I don’t have to.
I catch sight of Alistair’s distinctive bright hair when I turn down a corridor. He’s standing beside a human thundercloud, their heads bent. Tremaine. My pulse skitters, torn between excitement at seeing my beloved and deeply ingrained fear of the man who tormented me for so many years.
He’s alive. I’m relieved and yet, part of me now wonders if that’s only because I’m afraid to admit to myself that I want him to suffer for his crime. A savage part of me does want him to pay. I recoil from it. I don’t recognize that part of myself. I refuse to admit that any part of me could be at all like my loathsome stepfather.
All I needed was reassurance that Alistair wasn’t like him. Now, I have it.
Both men turn to me as I approach. I nod coolly to my stepfather and move to Alistair’s side, keeping him between me and the man I never want to see again.
“A word?”
“Nice to see you too, Elinor.” Tremaine doesn’t smile. His eyes are flat and a little less bloodshot than usual. Perhaps he cut back on the drink for his daughters’ wedding. On some level, he does genuinely care about them.
“Have you told Tremaine the good news?” I ask Alistair, looping my arm through his. “Cilla and Stasia have found husbands, with a bit of help from the prince.”
I’m so proud of him. He smiles tightly. Everyone feels so stiff and off. Something isn’t right, but I can’t figure out what.
Before I can piece together the answer, an enormous shadow encroaches over the windows, darkening the sky outside. All around us, alarms blare.
“Dragon!” one of the guards yells as he runs past.
Stone-faced, Alistair grips my arm and drags me deeper into the castle. We abandon Tremaine.
“Killian has arrived.” He gives me a wry sidelong half-smile. “I have fulfilled every one of your conditions, my darling. Assuming my blackguard of a knight isn’t here to attack us. I presume he is here at my request that he act as my groomsman at our ceremony.”
My heart bursts with joy.
We rush past an open balcony overlooking the courtyard below. Alistair skids to a stop. I come within a hair’s breadth of tripping over my own feet—and that’s before the dragon’s nose pokes over the balcony. A dark-haired man dressed in black trousers and a loose black shirt leaps off. He sketches a bow, then raises one finger and says, “Stay right there.”
A moment later, a gorgeous blond woman wearing a simple blue dress and carrying a small bundle picks her way down the dragon’s nose. The man in black sweeps her into his arms. His sleeves fall back to reveal deep-red rose tattoos twining over his forearms. I stare, fascinated, as a single petal falls from one flower and disappears into his skin.
