Page 47 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

Lark inhales. He’s about to speak, and I’m not ready for what he has to say.

Grant jumps in before I have to. “Is that why Eirian was so fixated on vampires then?” he asks. When Lark frowns, he adds, “The high fae who was trying to find someone to take a crown with her.”

Lark’s expression clears. “If I had to guess, I would say yes. But it is doubtful she would have ever managed to achieve her goal. Even had she returned with a vampire such as yourself in tow, I do not believe she would have had the power to wear the crown for any substantial length of time.”

“So, then—” Someone knocks at the door, and Grant gets to his feet in the kind of fast, smooth movement that reminds me, with almost shock, that he’s a vampire. “Who is it?” he hisses.

“The Unseelie tailor,” Lark replies. His magic brushes against me. “He will have brought our clothes.”

Grant trots eagerly over to the door and I tug my hand from Lark’s the second before he opens it. If I’m supposed to look like his pet, then I don’t think we should be sitting here holding hands like that.

“Everything is here,” the Unseelie fae says softly. “I can take your clothes to your rooms.”

“They’re only down the hall. I’ll do it.” Grant sounds faintly confused by the whole thing. “Thanks!”

I glance up just in time to see the Unseelie’s baffled expression before the door swings shut. Grant rushes over and drops the pile of clothing on the low table between us.

“Ooh, this is nice.” Grant picks up a seafoam green pair of trousers and holds them at his waist. They’re made of some silky, shimmery fabric and are obviously going to look great on him. “They really know what they’re doing.”

“They have been in their positions for centuries,” Lark says. “It is rare for a Seelie fae to be given such access to our court, but since they are soulbonds, there is more leeway.”

Huh. I push reluctantly to my feet and approach the table. Grant has picked his clothes out from the rest, leaving them in a neat pile.

Lark steps up beside me. “We should get ready,” he says, but when I look up, he’s glancing out the window. “The ball will begin at nightfall.”

Grant scoops up his new clothes and gives us both a quick nod. “Right. I’ll come back when I’m done.”

He flits out of the room and I let out a sigh. “He’s got to start moving slower than that.”

“There is no one in the hall,” Lark says, and when I frown at him, because that’s not the point, the corner of his lips curves up. “He was lucky,” he admits.

I shake my head. Lark picks up our combined bundle of clothing before I can and walks off, heading for the bedroom. I follow. My stomach churns because I’d love for this to all look good, but an entire outfit of purple seems like too much, and I’m never going to look good next to Lark and Grant, anyway.

I watch silently as Lark lays everything out on the bed. Well, everything for tonight, I guess. He sets a smaller pile of plainer-looking clothes to one side.

The trousers that I’m guessing are mine are a dark, bruised purple, which I actually like. A shimmer of gold threads through them, but I’m not sure about the shirt at all. It doesn’t have ruffles—I think I might actually cry if it did—but it is loose and flowing, and I’m fairly sure it’s going to be a little see-through.

“Lark,” I say, “I can’t wear that.”

He takes a step back and puts his hands on his hips, eyeing the outfit he’s laid out for me critically. “Whyever not?”

“It’s not—I’m not—”

“Just try it,” he says and blinks dark eyes at me. “Please.”

I bite back a sigh. Of course I’m not going to say no. I carefully pick up the clothes instead and scurry off to the bathroom.

Once I’m in there, I take a critical look at myself in the mirror. It’s a gilt, ornate thing, and far too big for the room, and I don’t think for a second that Lark picked it out himself. I don’t think he picked out anything in here. What I saw of the greenhouse—that’s the real him.

I shove those thoughts aside and focus on my face instead. I’m not hideous. I know that. I’ve been called cute enough that, even though it might have been said by guys trying to get into my trousers and girls who know I’m not going after them, it feels kind of true.

But everyone around me is more than that. That’s always been the case. Felix never had an awkward, gangly phase—I’m pretty sure he came into this world with a mascara wand in hand—and yeah, Ophelia did, but hers was different.

I roll my eyes. I’ll do what I need to do to get her back, and there’s not a chance I’m having Lark and Grant meet her at this ball alone just because I couldn’t suck it up and put on what feels like a very expensive outfit.

I shrug off the robe I took out of Lark’s wardrobe earlier, then shove my joggers down, too. The clothes didn’t come with underwear and I already left mine with my T-shirt when I showered. Fuck. I shake my head as I pull them on, surprised by the way they hug my middle and gently skim over my hips and thighs.

Okay. They don’t look too bad. The colour is a darker shade than my hair, and they complement each other nicely.