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Her red hair had been straightened in an exercise that tested her patience like nothing else. She’d had no idea that the mass went down to her waist or that someone was talented enough to control the curls and frizz. That she could look like everyone else in an intricate updo. Even Darby had never managed something like this, and as a child, she never would have sat long enough. Benton had then darkened her lashes, colored in her eyebrows, added a line to her lids, applied careful rouge to her cheeks, and painted her lips the deepest, darkest red.
“You’ll be the talk of the evening,” Wynter said.
“Not next to you.”
Wynter’s own dress was just as extravagant but dyed the color of Kerrigan’s lips. As if the dress were bleeding on her. Her white-blonde hair was up in a braided crown on the top of her head, and a diamond tiara had been placed in it. In fact, she was consummately festooned in glittering jewelry. A blood-red ruby at her throat, diamonds at her wrists, dripping diamonds at her ears, and a silver ear-covering atop one of her finely pointed Fae ears that dangled with rubies and diamonds. Comparatively, Kerrigan looked like a blank canvas.
“You’re sweet,” Wynter said. “Are you ready for this ball?”
“I’m always ready,” she lied.
Wynter grinned, her teeth gleaming. “Ah, I see now.”
“See?”
“I wondered why my brother would choose you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“He wasn’t a proponent for human and half-Fae rights. He wasn’t that stupid,” she said, slowly stalking around Kerrigan, as if she were a predator trapping her prey. Of course, Wynter didn’t know that Kerrigan wouldn’t be easy prey. “But he never took a lover from either kind. In fact, he used it as a shield. As if he wouldn’t sully himself. And now, he’s shown up with you …”
Ah, Kerrigan saw where she was going with this. “Do you have a problem with him taking a half-Fae lover?”
Wynter laughed, a throaty thing. “Hardly. I just couldn’t figure out why he’d do it now.”
“Maybe he came to his senses,” she said with a look of carefree ease. She couldn’t be caught off guard or seen to have anger about how half-Fae were treated here. It certainly wouldn’t win her any points.
“Perhaps,” Wynter said with a twinkle in her eye. “Shall we?”
“I believe so.”
Benton held the door open for them, keeping her eyes down. Kerrigan touched her hand as she passed, a thanks, and then followed Wynter toward the ball, where she would have to bury her true self so completely that not even Fordham would recognize her.
The walk to the ballroom was shorter than Kerrigan had thought it would be. She had a matter of minutes to steel herself for what she was about to do, and then they were there. She could hear the music on the other side of the door. It was surprisingly comforting to have something so familiar. She’d been to dozens of balls just like this one. She’d be fine.
“There you are,” a voice said.
Wynter and Kerrigan turned as one to find Fordham standing before them. Two other people flanked him. Their distaste for Wynter was plain on their faces. One was a well-built Fae male with similar features to Fordham—black hair, high cheekbones, and a cutting look. But the blue eyes were different, and the bounce in his step matched his quick smile. The female was equally raven-haired with a lush, curvy figure and Fordham’s stern countenance.
“Brother,” Wynter said sweetly. “So, you have come out of hiding? I ran into Kerrigan in the halls, and we have been getting acquainted.”
“I have been in meetings,” he said stiffly. “You’d know that if you bothered to follow court protocol.”
Wynter’s hand clenched at her side was the only indication that Fordham’s barb had struck true. “And why would I bother with that when your pretty face is back to do it for me?”
“You weren’t saying that when he was gone,” the male said.
“Oh, dear Prescott,” Wynter cooed. “Has Fordham let you off your leash?”
“Enough, Wynter,” the female said, cocking her head. “Must we always play these games?”
“What games?”
Fordham’s jaw tensed. “It is good to see you.”
“As it is to see you, brother.” Wynter’s eyes flicked to Kerrigan. “And to see that you have come to your senses.”
Then, Wynter flounced away, and all of them heard, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Wynter Ollivier.”
Prescott breathed a sigh of relief at her absence. “Gods, she’s such a bitch.”
“Pres!” the female said, smacking his arm. “She’s merely misguided.”
“Kerrigan, these are my cousins, Prescott and Arbor York,” Fordham said.
“Pleased to meet you,” Kerrigan said. She dipped a full curtsy for the both of them.
Arbor laughed and put her hand to Kerrigan’s arm. “Dear gods, no. Please, we’re not even titled.”
“You are titled,” Fordham said.
“Not hereditary titles,” Arbor continued. “Which is all that matters here. Technically, because Fordham’s mother was our aunt, I am a lady, but you will just call me Arbor.”
