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“Alright, I’ll leave you to…spruce up.” She raises a brow, her top lip curling slightly as though she doesn’t believe in miracles. “A servant will bring you a suitable dress.”
My guest chambers are larger than Mabel’s entire house.
The room is not warm, exactly, but exquisitely appointed. Woven rugs cover the bed and dressing areas, while the evening breeze pours through a line of open arched windows that overlook nothing but clouds and an enormous expanse of dark-blue sky.
A massive bed dominates the space, dressed in crisp ivory linens and layered with silk pillows. A chaise lounge sits beneath the windows, positioned to admire the stars rather than invite actual rest, while matching side tables hold crystal carafes and untouched fruit.
A folding dressing screen painted with radiant sun motifs shields a steaming copper bathing tub.
Someone has already laid out oils, soaps, and folded towels, all the necessary accessories to fix my current state.
I undress and slip into the bath, sinking into water so hot it stings, and immediately glance toward the opened windows, half expecting someone to fly straight through them. The sound of water shifting around me echoes strangely in the vast chamber.
E is doing the same thing somewhere in this palace, closer than my brother in the clutches of the Reds, yet impossibly far away. My only consolation is that Nick isn’t in imminent danger. As his twin, I’d know.
I scrub grime, dried blood, and sweat from my skin almost violently, but it does nothing for the knot between my shoulder blades, the soreness in my legs, or the creeping sensation that I’m being observed. The hairs at the back of my neck rise, and I feel as though I’m being weighed and assessed by some invisible force that has already decided I’m unworthy.
By the time I step out of the bathtub, pink from the heat and still emotionally flayed open, a dress is waiting for me on the bed. Looking at it, it feels less like a kindness and more like a costume, but I put it on anyway.
Soft, fluid fabric falls in elegant lines from my shoulders to my ankles, leaving my arms bare, and appearing deceptively simple until I notice the gold rope cinching the waist and looping delicately across the back.
The white dress is maddeningly translucent in the light, as though the Fae women who wear these gowns possess bodies too flawless to bother hiding them entirely.
My curls clash against the polished ensemble.
Hours of rain have fluffed them into a wild red halo. I drag a wide-tooth comb through them with minimal success, working fragrant oil into the worst tangles until the chaos softens into something more intentional, and I braid the unruly mass in a loose boho braid.
No one stops me as I retrace my steps toward the throne room.
The palace feels different now that night has fallen. Lanterns illuminate the corridors, and the marble reflects their light, making the halls beautiful, disorienting, and difficult to navigate.
I’m almost to the throne room when a woman’s voice reaches my ears.
“Oh, E,” she purrs. “Harder.”
The mezzanine is just ahead, but I hesitate. I still feel queasy about wandering this castle alone, uncertain whether I’m allowed to be here at all, yet the thought of returning to my room is somehow worse. Not after hearing that.
Feeling almost dizzy, I clutch the golden railing and peek at the scene below.
“Yes, yes!” Iris’s voice carries a hint of despair.
“You’re such a good girl for me,” he says darkly.
Her body is draped over one arm of the glass throne as the man behind her rams in and out of her.
His hair. His height. His wings… Everything about him reminds me of Ezra.
The mirrors lining the walls allow me to see every detail of their coupling, even from above. A glimpse of the man’s engorged cock sets my cheeks ablaze, and a sickening jolt travels up my stomach.
Iris’s dress clings to every line of her body, catching the light from the lanterns in a soft shimmer of silver and gold. The thin straps have fallen down her shoulders, drawing the eye to the delicate dips above her collarbones. The thigh-high slit of her skirt has been lazily brushed aside, the man holding both sides of her bare arse.
“Please, please, please,” she gasps.
He tugs on her hair and grabs her throat. “What would your husband say if he saw you like this? If he saw you coming aroundmy cock like a common whore. It would break what’s left of his cold, selfish heart.”
Long pale-blond hair falls past his shoulder, tucked behind his pointed ears. His face is narrow and sharply defined, with high cheekbones, a long aristocratic nose, and a strong jaw. Fair skin and pale blue eyes give him an almost ethereal appearance, further emphasized by the white and gold clothing favored by the Sun Court.
