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By the timethe gala rolled around, I’d procured a total of three dresses, contacted my mother to tell her that I’d be bringing an extra guest the next week for our holiday dinner, and managed to not feel completely overwhelmed by my fiancé.
The latter took a lot of effort. Eli sent gifts each day: a brooch, a poison ring and pendant set, a scarf with a beautiful wire embroidery that was perfect to garrote someone. When he saw me—a brief moment here or there—he bent me into a dip and kissed me, or he pulled me into a hallway and pulled me tightly to his always aroused body.
Every embrace he whispered, “No intercourse?”
My resolve was not . . . weakening. I would not be married because my needs were spiking so intensely. I was stronger than that.
By the time the night of the gala was upon us, I was ready to torment him until he was as maddened with need as I had become. I chose not one of the reasonable holiday dresses I’d planned, but an ivy column gown. My throat was covered by a high collar, and my arms were bare. The back had a teardrop cut-out, the bottom of which was scandalously low. The left slit exposed a long thin dagger—Eli’s gift--strapped onto my thigh.
If I stood perfectly still, I was as covered as a matron. Only my arms were bared. If I walked or turned my back to him, bare flesh and weapons glinted at him. And if the light was bright, most of the dress was nearly translucent.
Eli met me at my home—and the light was, indeed, bright enough that his eyes dilated in desire. “You are radiant, Ms. Crowe.”
I twirled, and yes, I’d practiced to get that twirl just right. My leg with the dagger practically winked at him, and the hair pins that he’d gifted me that day were holding my tumble of blue hair in place. Tiny little sheathed throwing knives with jewels at the top held my masses of hair in an elegant up-do that had taken Sera and I an hour to create. The effect was, mostly, to expose my back, but it also let me wear his gifts.
“Winter at her finest looks less lovely than you,” Eli said, voice nearing reverence.
In fairness, my escort was gorgeous. Eli had elected to dress to his heritage. No glamour. No mortal attire. He was wearing leggings that made clear that his legs were all muscle, tunic, vest, and a circlet crown. The most unusual item was a codpiece that matched the crown. Although the codpiece was barely visible under the tunic, the glint of jewels made it challenging not to look.
“You test my resolve,” I admitted.
“Idotry, Geneviève.” He looked my over. “Your loveliness and strength would shame the queens that came before you.”
There was no reply that seemed suitable, so I brushed my lips over his gently and prompted, “Shall we?”
Arrivingat the castle again was different. Everything felt different, tonight. This would be our first official outing as an engaged couple. A couple. The mere thought made my stomach twist in anxiety.
“You have been busy,” I said as we parked.
Eli met my gaze. “I wanted to show you that I have no need to take upallof your time, peach pie.” He offered me his arm, and we approached the massive doors. “Being with me will not consume your freedom.”
I nodded.
“It’s not you,” I reminded him. “Any woman would be lucky to be chosen by you.”
He stilled briefly, not quite bringing us to a stumbling halt, but slowing us. “I would remind you that we have a bargain, Geneviève Crowe.”
I winced.
“You are not to be thinking of the future.” He began to walk, and I stayed in step—even when he added, “If I have not satisfied you with my touch or my gifts, you will tell me, so I might correct my errors.”
I blushed despite myself. “You have not failed to satisfy me.”
“You left without word. One might find that worrisome,” he said lightly.
I laughed. “It was that or fear that I’d fail in my own resolve. You are a very thorough lover. Already. Even with . . . not . . .”
The look he gave me was enough to make me well aware of my lack of knickers.
“You are remarkable as well, Geneviève.”
Then we reached the door and followed Eleanor to a ballroom, where we were swept into Beatrice’s soiree. Her attention was drawn to us as if she could sense our arrival. Perhaps, however, that was the ripple of whispers that carried through the ballroom.
I let Eli handle the speaking and mingling. I followed his lead as we danced. I meekly stayed at his side to enjoy hors d'oeuvres—and I slid in and out of the minds of the well-dressed corpses walking around the ballroom. Only about fifty people were present, so the search and scan wasn’t terrible. I was as uncomfortable as a lamb invited to the side door of a restaurant.
“You are a wolf,” Beatrice said, her voice a reminder that she could read me, too.
I didn’t flip her off, but I thought the visual at her and felt her answering laughter.
