“I am Lady Vanessa of the Butterfly Court,obviously, and this is my sister Lady Annabella.”
Hmm, for two people who raised their eyebrows at my name, they sound like they could be plucked right out of my world. It’s giving classic Mean Girl vibes TBH, and I’m not here for it.
“Take a turn around the gardens with us, Heather,” Vanessa says.
It wouldn’t be a bad idea to try to learn more about the world, but I’m not sure how I feel about these two as my guide. Before I have a chance to protest, I have a butterfly sister at each side, parading me around the gardens like a new pet they’ve brought to school for show and tell. A few people whisper as we walk by, leading me to believe these ladies are just as well-known as they claimed. Whether it’s for good or bad reasons is yet tobe seen.
“So,Heather, are you the prince’s attendant?” Annabella says my name like it causes her physical pain.
“I’m his girlfriend,” I respond, making a mental note that she is the meaner of thesisters.
“His girlfriend, you say? Hm, what a quaint expression.” Vanessa hums thoughtfully. “Hm, he has always had a taste forbeauty.”
“You … know each other?”
“Not intimately,” she says, stealing a glance in my boyfriend’s direction. “But even in his absence, his portraits are admiredby many.”
“If I may be so bold, he has returned to us more handsome.” Annabella pulls me closer to whisper in my ears, her breath smelling of wildflowers.
I want Moth’s shadow to loom behind me while his large hand circles my waist. I want him to call me “my flame” right in front of them. More than that, I want them to see justhowhe looks at me because after that, they’d never be able to question how much he cares or kid themselves into thinking they have a chance to break us apart. But when I look for him, he’s seated at the table with his mother and Holly. He’s laughing, his pale cheeks flushed pink, his eyes bright. He’shappy,so terribly happy.
I don’t understand what happened. Two minutes ago, his biggest concern was how early we could leave, but now he appears as relaxed as he is during a cozy night in. I’ve tried to push down every serious thought about being here. It’s a glamorous break in routine, a staycation in a castle, a family reunion, but it’s also hishome.What does that mean for our future?
“Heather.” Vanessa beckons, holding out her hand. “Come, I think an audience with the prince is required.”
6.
“How many of these affairs must we attend?” Moth asks, dragging his feet as I walk into the privacy of our bedroom. We have about four hours before family dinner, and after anxiously stuffing my face with a million tiny appetizers, a nap is necessary before consuming more food or conversation.
“Why? You looked pretty comfortable to me.”
“I am exhausted,” he huffs, casting off his cravat with a moan.
“Well, you did use a lot of people skills in the span of a few hours.” I shrug. It makes sense he’d be feeling worn—even if he did seem to be having fun.
“Do my ‘people skills’ include having to be fashionable?” He arches his back, his body bending and cracking until feathers and bone replace his gold-speckled skin. His tight fitting garments are tatters on the bedroom floor.
He could have shimmied out of the pants before transforming. Sure, there are more in the wardrobe, but his ass really did look incredibleall day.
“I definitely saw some transformed people in the crowd,” I say. “You are the prince—I think that means you’re going to set the trend whatever you decide.”
“I am not accustomedto this.”
Snatching up his clawed hand, I press my lips to the warm skin of his palm. “I get that—and as a former trendsetter, I admit it can be pretty exhausting being a style icon.”
“I do not wish to be a style icon.”
“Babe,” I laugh. “They’re going to want to do whatever you do.”
“Then dare I rock the boat?”
“I feel like you’re just trying to figure out how to stop wearing pants in politesociety.”
“I—” He begins, then presses his beak shut, closes his glowing red eyes. “Yes.”
“Well,” my hand trails up the soft downy feathers of his neck until they rest on the side of his face, “you’re free now.” My other hand finds its way up his legs. “And I for one like you fine just like this.”
The bug-eyes I’ve become so accustomed to soften into an expression I recognize as the equivalent of a smile. “You do, don’t you?”
