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Claudette has no idea what occurred. This entire time, she was under the impression he asked for me. It means her husband never told her he arranged my marriage, essentially offering to sell me like a piece of property, the way it’s commonly done in the villages of the Summer Court.
And at the moment, I don’t have the heart to tell her. Not now, and maybe not ever. Her marriage is solid, and her husband dotes on her. I don’t wish to spoil that.
“The prince married me because he knew he could do whatever he wished as long as we were married. When I found him dead, he was in bed with three other women. We never consummated our marriage.”
Claudette grabs my champagne flute and pours it down her throat, then leans back in her chair, thinks better of it, and pours us fresh glasses.
“Drink,” she says.
“I don’t want to be tipsy.”
“Sure you do. Not too much, just enough.”
“Why?”
“Liquid courage. Besides, it’ll hurt.”
I drink even though it’s threatening to come back up.
“Does D’Artaron know you’re a virgin?” she asks.
“He does.” He asked me to show him my hymen. I keep that to myself.
“He’ll be gentle.”
“I hope not.”
Claudette gasps.
I cover my mouth. “See what you did by making me drink? Now I’m talking out of order.”
We laugh, and I drink some more. And then a gloved hand appears before me. I look up.
Teal eyes. Sexy smile. A crown on his dark hair. “We should open the dance.”
42
CHLOE
The excited and drunk voices drifting from the gardens below through the open window up here tell me the party started once I left. Judging by the shouting of guards who are asking for more barrels of ale, champagne, and the questionable-tasting whiskey the savage horde has been distributing across the fae lands, D’Artaron isn’t there either.
This means he’s likely preparing for our night.
The one where we will consummate our marriage.
Actually, I’m sure he’s not preparing anything because he’s always prepared. Me, on the other hand? After our dance, I left for his chamber and nested with the supplies Fleur delivered in the trunk. Claudette’s nesting style is very routine and particular. Mine is more random and with more colorful sheets and scents.
Having no idea how the commander expects to be received, I’ve fussed over everything, including the position of the candles, the folding of the sheets, and don’t even get me started on the pillow arrangements.
He’s spent his life in the Summer Court, so he knows only opulence and excellence.
Candles on the trays light each corner of the largest and darkest chamber in the palace, which stretches almost the entire length of this private wing. Its hard edges and masculine feel excite me. I’ve tried nesting on the floor as is customary, but the commander specifically ordered me to hang lavish curtains around the bed. I must say, after I hung sheets around the boxed bedframe, the bed was like a massive tent. It felt safe and inviting, and I didn’t want to leave it for the cold floor.
Yet, I have a male to welcome.
My knees on the floor ground me and keep me from moving as my wings flutter. I’m excited. I wish I could control the fluttering of my wings, but I can’t. I’ve never had wings before, and when I got them, all they ever did was hang behind me during the spring courting season. Having them felt like a burden on my back, not an ornament. Now they feel like an ornament. They’re attractive and fluttery, and as we danced, D’Artaron touched them more than once.
And he let me touch his glorious teal mating wings. Just thinking about them makes me happy.
