Well, that was an overstatement. Because when I wake, Moth is nowhere tobe found.
I told him I didn’t want to be alone. Technically, I’m not. Sprout is still here, but the giant marshmallow has completely melted into the pillows and isn’t giving me much feelingof safety.
Still, I try to cuddle back into the bed, taking comfort in his furry presence, but with the sweat from my nightmare clinging to me like a second skin, it’s no use.
I’m frozen under the covers, as if the moment I move, something terrible will happen. It’s a nice calm, normal moment … just like the one last year when I walked across my cabin for a glass of water and ended up tied up in the back of a truck.
Every time I’ve had a nightmare like this, Moth’s arms are always right there for me to roll into. Falling back asleep is easy when I know he’s next to me—we’ve proven time and time again that no matter what, we’ll always protect each other. But that’s when I’m not alone … well mostly alone.
“Bud, you’d bark if there was anything scary in here with us, right?” I whisper to Sprout, whose snoring doesn’t give me much confidence. Sure, the giant ball of fluff might surprise me, but I’m pretty sure he’s more pillow thanguard dog.
It’s silly. I told Moth to go; I wanted him to, but now that he’s gone, it feels pathetic to be lying here with terror gripping my chest while I can still hear music echoing offthe walls.
Given the excitement of the ball, I doubt he’s hidden away in the library. His clothes are gone. That’s a good sign that he actually joined the party and isn’t just traipsing around the gardens naked, not that it would be an unwelcome sight if he were.
Moving to the mirror, I touch up my tousled braid crown and makeup. For my first grand ball, I had hoped I would have looked lessthrown together, but it’s good enough. I turn to fetch my dress from the closet whenI seeit.
Pale green fabric pops against the blush-colored fainting couch near the window. The little pink flowers look like they’ve been plucked straight from the garden, shrunk down, and placed across the billowing fabric.
My heart swells at the sight of the dress—my dress—from Widow’s windowdisplay.
Someonebought it indeed. I grin and, with greedy hands, clutch the impossibly soft gown to my chest, hugging it as if it couldhug back.
Moth is really something.
It’s a little tricky to lace the corset on my own, but I manage. Then I work on the strings of my dancing slippers, tying them into little bows at my ankle. These must have been from Widow’s shop too. The green leaves embroidered on the toe match the gown perfectly.
Okay, maybe this is a little more than good enough. I squeal, spinning around the room, watching the shining fabric bell out aroundmy body.
Do I feel better? No. But in this dress, no one will be the wiser.
Heaving a deep breath, I stand. I have a ball to attend and a prince to kiss.
21.
Instead of making my way down the grand staircase, I opt to use one of the many side doors to the ballroom. As much as I love a dramatic entrance, tripping in front of everyone doesn’t seem like my idea of fun. The décor Queen Plume and I worked tirelessly on is no less beautiful from below. The ballroom gleams. Crystals and ivy hang from the ceiling, and for a moment, I wonder whether I took a wrong turn and stepped into the garden.
Beautiful faeries in every shape and form crowd the ballroom. In the corner, refreshments are served on golden platters, including towers of tiny cakes and coupe glasses filled with amber liquid and topped with candy floss. A band plays a lively tune at the bottom of the staircase. Nobles and villagers mingle, the crowd spilling into the hallways. Though I notice a few sharp glances, everyone seems to be having a good time—and they all look incredible. Pride builds in my chest:We did this.All of Queen Plume’s and my efforts wereworth it.
I just wish I could find someone I know in this dense crowd; a flash of dark hair catches my attention, and with the grace of one of Rosie and Clara’s baby goats, I trip over my own feet. The sharp end of a stinger is inches from my waist as I topple headfirst into a member of the Bumble Court talking with their peers. The collision upends a goblet, and they’re soaked with their own drink.
“Oh my god, I am like … so,sosorry.” I try to find something to clean the mess—a cloth, paper towel, pile of cocktail napkins, but nothing catches my eye except for the growing scorn on their bug-like faces. Dozens of tiny, very angry eyes stare at me.
“You think your apology is enough for this offense?” The first puffs up–literally. The sharp stinger gleams under the lights.
I amso dead.
I let out a small squeak, glancing around the room for an ally. What are they going to do—challenge me to a duel?
I have way too much brain fog to figure out how to navigate this.
“I’m going to be real with you,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m like … the worst at sword fighting. Do you want to settle this with like a danceoff or…?”
At this, the group roars with laughter, and a large bee-like hand pats me on the back with the stinger safely pointed away.
“Let no one say the Moth Court is without humor.” The bumble-fae chuckles, giving me a turned-up expression I hope is the equivalent of a smile. “Be off with you, little moth.” I get the feeling he’s much older than anyone else I’ve encountered—the grandfather of all bumblebees. I leave with a polite curtsy and go back to my searchfor Moth.
Instead, a trio of redheads catch my eye. The butterfly sisters who have been mean-girling me this whole week flank King Magnus. The vampire king nods politely along with whatever conversation they’ve dragged him into, his shoulders stiff. He looks up, his light eyes catching mine from across the ballroom, and with a pleading glance, he mouths the words,“Help me.”
