“There’s a dressing chamber that’s been crafted for your convenience,” Mora tossed over her shoulder.
Crafted?
She threw open a pair of heavy double doors with ease, leading us down another hallway lined with thick, deep green carpets. Those same red roses stood on pedestals beside each polished, dark-wood door.
At the end of the corridor, Mora turned expectantly to us as if waiting for some reaction.
When no one said anything, she pursed her lips, then continued with a wave of her hand to the left. “Through that door is a selection of formal attire, including boots and jewels. It will be much more appropriate to greet the queen in such.” Shewaved her hand to the right. “Baths are through there should you need, and perfumes, oils, and other necessities can be found inside. Someone will return shortly to retrieve you, but guards will remain at the end of the hall should you need anything.”
Should we try to wander, she meant.
Ophelia’s fingers fidgeted against mine at the leash they subtly snapped around us. Ritalia may be centuries older, but she should be very careful how far she pushed Ophelia Alabath.
“Thank you,” she answered, without even a beat of hesitation, despite the suspicious suggestion. “This will suit our needs well enough.”
Ophelia’s voice was cool. Even. As if this was precisely what she’d intended and the palace was grand but nothing unique. She flashed a virtuous smile that, on the surface, spoke only of pure gratitude.
But beneath the exterior, her teeth were as sharp as the fae.
“This dress is horrible!”Ophelia called from rows away.
In the distance, Jezebel yelled at the rest of our party, assigning them each outfits from the fae’s extensive collection. The dressing chamber was massive and honestly a bit obscene, with high ceilings and endless rows of options. Ruby red and gold hung from every candelabra, fire flickering off the dark wood and marble floors. Even the clothing racks and wardrobe doors were framed with carved gold roses, and the air smelled strongly of flowers.
Thematic opulence. Manipulative extravagance. A damn tricky show meant to make us feel relaxed and comfortable and entirely under their control.
I slid high-collared jackets along racks, looking for any in my size, not entirely caring which I wore. Baby Alabath would likely pick something else anyway.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” I called back.
There. I yanked a black piece with gold embroidery off the hanger and slung it on. I hated jackets—the sleeves never rolled up easily, so they were too restrictive—but I could wear it for this audience.
“Why does the queen insist we dress in the style of her court?” Ophelia grumbled. “And why am I listening?”
I laughed, striding around the end of the aisle. “Because?—”
Every word, every damn thought, vanished from my mind.
Ophelia blew out a breath as she looked over her shoulder at me. “What?”
“That dress is far from horrible, Alabath.” My voice was rough, but I could barely think enough to clear my throat. While the dress was different than anything I’d seen Ophelia wear before, and certainly not a warrior style,herin that dress was nothing short of spectacular.
The bodice was tight and strapless with a corset that was likely driving her crazy—driving me crazy, too. The gold fabric was so sheer that if it weren’t for the lining beneath, I’d see right through it. A beaded design looped around the front—an intricate depiction of roses, I thought, but I couldn’t focus enough to tell.
The skirts were full—she hated that, I was certain—but the material was thin enough that the outline of her legs was visible beneath. So fucking tempting.
And when she turned away from the mirror and stepped toward me… “I’m never going to survive this meeting,” I groaned.
One leg ending in a high golden heel slipped out through a slit, all the way to her hip, and my cock twitched.
The queen’s court may adhere to an outdated style of dress with the full skirts and tight corsets, but I could accept it if Ophelia looked like this.
“Jezzie added the slit for me,” Ophelia said, voice sultry. Dammit, she knew exactly what she was doing. “There were long sleeves and a collar to my chin, but she cut those away, too.” Golden hair tumbled around her shoulders, and her heart-shaped lips split into a tricky grin as she blinked those magenta eyes at me innocently.
“Not sure it still counts as fae fashion with your modifications,” I rasped.
Ophelia flicked her brows up. “Are you complaining, Vincienzo?”
“Not at all.”
