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Chapter Thirty-Four
Aika
This morning was quiet and filled with an eerie semblance of normalcy. Damian hasn’t said anything more on the subject of my being the vigilante, and Mother hasn’t acted any stranger than normal.
She’s not the type to hold off on herdisciplinewith us, so I have to imagine that she still doesn't know anything.
Maybe it will be fine.
I ignore the voice in my head that tells me this marriage is another shackle on my long chain leading back to Mother. She has owned me since the day we met.
At least with this role, my bedroom will have a better view.
As soon as the thought enters my mind, guilt crashes over me in waves. She has taken me in, given me a home, and I balk when she asks something of me in return.
My stomach churns as I glance around the room, trying to remind myself of all that she’s given me. But when my eyes land on the large, fake family portrait above the hearth, there is nothing I can do to make that sinking feeling go away.
Will I always be trading one lie for another?
I run a hand through my hair and sigh.
Celestial Hells,it was better when I didn’t care.
I pour myself a dram of whiskey and down it in one go before a knock sounds at my door.
“Come in,” I call out just before three maids bustle into the room holding the obscene gown Mother has chosen for me tonight.
For someone who enjoys the shadows, this dress is an unwelcome foray into the bright light. The fabric itself is a deep crimson, but iridescent beads glimmer in various shades of orange and yellow, each of them resembling a spark... or a flame.
How fitting.
I suppress a sigh and strip off my robe while the girls begin my transformation. Though their lives here are better than that of the servants at the Chateau, they still have very bleak prospects ahead of them with Damian around.
So, when they giggle or titter or gossip about the ball tonight and the other ladies there, I let them.
Especially once I see what they’ve done to me.
My long black hair is down in loose curls, with the sides pulled tightly back and pinned. A cascade of curls falls down my spine, right between mechanical works of art that resemble wings.
My lips are a crimson slash, like a streak of blood on my otherwise pale face. Even my eyes have changed, Mother’s drops turning my irises golden with flecks of red throughout. Gold dust and long, false lashes complete the transformation.
The last thing they pull out is a golden, bejeweled mask, definitely not one of the ones Mother showed me before. It has high, tendrilled points like flaming horns, inlaid with rubies. The mask parts at my nose, a tendril coming down on either side to brush against my jawbone.
I am unrecognizable, even to me. A dragon, fiery and fierce.
The maids are pulling on a set of matching gloves when Mother’s voice sounds from the doorway.
“Perfection,” she says. “You are even better than I’d hoped for.”
I tell myself I don’t care about her praise, don’t lean into it like the leaves of a dying plant stretching up to the sun, desperate for the warmth and life it promises.
Mother is as put together as ever, but certainly not prepared for a ball.
“You aren’t going.” I inject the smallest lilt into my voice, unwilling to outright question her tonight.
“I want all eyes on you tonight, child.” The implication is that they wouldn’t be in her presence.
Her smile is brittle, though, and I can’t help but remember the way she changed her appearance for King Einar.
She couldn’t very well show up at court with a different skin color, even if the tonic was more stable. Is she hiding from him?
Something in my face must give away the troubled nature of my thoughts, but she misinterprets it because she makes a tsking sound.
“Remember, my daughter, that there is no need to worry,” she says, lifting my chin with her fingertip, her long obsidian nail gently scraping my neck. “As long as you make a reasonable show of being noteworthy and bonding with the prince, no one will have cause to raise any questions.”
With that bit of encouragement, she ushers me out the door.
Time to go meet my future husband.
