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“She makes her rounds. No fixed schedule. Why are you asking?”
“No reason.” My heart aches at the thought of them lying in bed alone, nobody allowed in except for my cousin who’ll only visit to hurt them more. “Thanks,” I say distractedly and turn to go.
There’s one good thing coming out of the fact that we’re cousins and look alike. For it to work, I’ll need some props. Still dragging my feet, I go down the stairs, cross the yard, then back up the girls’ dormitory stairs to my room where I rummage in my closet.
There’s the dress that Jason gifted me. I’ve worn it once, to the party on the dunes. It’s made from a soft black fabric I can’t identify, with a slit on the side.
Lifting it to my nose, I inhale and I think I smell him—earth and grass. Two images rise in my mind. A handsome boy, tall and muscular, dirty blond hair falling in his eyes. And a wolf lying on the lakeshore, blood in his gray fur.
I shiver.
Not leaving them alone, I tell myself as I shed my clothes and pull on the slinky, lacy underwear Emrys gave me—the panties and bra smell like fire and brimstone, making me think of his dragon form, of his human kindness, of the challenge in his dark eyes.
I struggle with tears as I slither into the long dress. It flows over me, hugging every curve, almost reaching the floor. Its cleavage cuts deep, the back, too, allowing glimpses of my bra.
Shoes on, hair brushed out, I head back to the boys’ dormitory. Some students stare at me—not everyone can pull this look off—but I lift my chin and pretend to be as comfortable as an unexpectedly-turned-goth chick can be. Respect, I mean… You need self-confidence to do this, and I’m more of a jeans-and-overlarge-blouses kind of girl.
Or at least jeans and fitted blouses. Jeans and whatever. My sense of fashion hasn’t improved. I only got improved clothes from the boys. I don’t care much about what I wear, as long as they like what they see.
As long as they like me. And I hope that the clothes are the least important part of me.
Though sometimes the clothes do make the woman, I think as I climb back up the stairs and pass outside Sindri’s room—with a vampire bodyguard, then Emrys’s room—with a fae bodyguard—and keep going. Jason’s room is the farthest. In this case, I hope they will.
Before I reach it, I stop outside Ashton’s room. There I find posted a werewolf guard who does a bit of a doubletake when he sees me.
“Ophelia?” he says. “Did you forget something?”
“Something like that,” I lie. “Now get out of my way. You’re not posted here to ask questions.”
He moves hastily aside and I guess I didn’t lay on the arrogance too thick, as I’d feared. That’s how he expects my cousin to behave.
I sweep inside and close the door behind me. I lean against it with a silent groan of relief.
I’m in.
“Ash,” I whisper, rounding the bed. “Ash, it’s me.”
He looks feverish¸ his eyes glazed as he turns them on me. Lying on the bed, drenched in sweat, he doesn’t look glad to see me.
“The Queen,” he whispers, his lips white. “I belong to you, don’t I?”
It makes me want to weep. “It’s me, Mia.”
“It’s a trap,” he breathes. “We’re all trapped.”
“I will get you out.” I stroke his face. “You have to hold on. Are you hurt? Have they brought you food and water?”
He shakes his head, his gray eyes dropping from my face to my hands. He reaches for me and I clasp his hand in mine. “Queen…” he breathes, then coughs, and I freeze. Blood flecks his lips.
“Oh God, Ash…”
“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me that my brother is still alive.” His eyes are suddenly clear, his gaze searing into mine. “I have to believe it. You said he’s dead but I can’t…” He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
A weight presses on my chest. Ophelia told him that? Is it true?
“I’ll find out,” I promise him, “and I’ll come back let you know. Now rest and hold on, Ash, please.”
His eyes close and his grip on me goes slack. He’s asleep or passed out. And this isn’t looking good at all.
