AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I can’t tell whether she made the sound out of approval or distaste, so I say nothing.
“As you can see,” Dante says, “my fiancée does a wonderful job at designing after human sensibilities as well. This dress she wears now would have my mother emptying the royal coffers at once. But not before locking Miss Fairfield into an exclusive contract as her royal dressmaker.”
Queen Ilma’s eyes go wide, and she assesses my dress with renewed fascination. “You truly think Queen Mary would covet such a gown?”
“I do. Were my fiancée in Bretton, she’d be the wealthiest fashion designer around.” He releases an exaggerated sigh and casts an adoring gaze upon me. “If only those in Faerwyvae would catch up with Brettonish style and see what a prize my darling Amelie is.”
Ilma flutters an apologetic hand at my companion. “We have been known to be behind the latest trends here, Prince Albert. And you’re right.” She turns her gaze to me. Or my dress, more like. “This gown is perfection.”
I can’t stop the grin from stretching over my lips, despite how my mind tries to tell me I didn’t truly earn the compliment. It was gained more through careful coercion on Dante’s part than genuine appreciation of my work. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You’re too kind.”
“You must design a dress for me, Miss Fairfield.”
My heart jumps so hard, I fear it will tumble out of my ribcage. “Of course, Your Majesty. I would be honored.”
A bright light flashes to my right. From my periphery, I notice a photographer eagerly watching my interaction with the queen. I stretch my smile wider just as he takes the next photograph. Behind him stand two reporters, scrawling in their notebooks. For once, I’m gleeful over their presence.Please, document away, you troublesome menaces.
“Give your contact information to my butler,” the queen says, then gives us a magnanimous nod—a clear dismissal of our company. As we leave the queen’s audience, I feel as if I’m floating on air. I’m so pleased, I almost forget to speak with her royal butler. Thankfully, Dante guides us over to him where I relay the queen’s request and deliver my contact information.
Afterward, I’m too ecstatic to remain in the tent. Not even the ornate spread of tea, wine, and tiny confections can tempt me to stay. Perhaps I’m also a little worried I might ruin a perfect interaction if I overstay my welcome. Instead, Dante and I take our places before the fence that lines the track. We remain in view of the royal tent, a clear signal to those in the stands that we belong amongst the aristocrats. After meeting the queen, I might even believe it’s true.
There is one thing, though, that nags the back of my mind.
I cast a glance around, ensuring no one is close enough to overhear. The first race has yet to begin, so the fence line has yet to grow too crowded. I edge closer to Dante.
“You didn’t have to lie to the queen for me,” I say, keeping my voice low.
“It wasn’t much of a lie,” he says. “Albert’s mother would love your gown. The funny thing is, while many in Faerwyvae seem obsessed with Brettonish fashion, there are plenty in Bretton who seek a fae flair to their wardrobe.
I lift my brows. “Truly? Even with the discord between our countries?”
“Even so. Not everyone believes Faerwyvae is nothing but a wild wasteland full of monstrous baby-stealing creatures with gnashing teeth.”
“I suppose that’s good to know. Still, I don’t need you to rescue me. I appreciate what you did, but from now on, please note that it’s important to me that I build my career based on my own merits.”
His tone turns somber. “I apologize if I overstepped my bounds.”
I release a sigh. “I’m not upset.”
“Good,” he says, patting my gloved hand, still at his elbow. He doesn’t release it though. Instead, he rests his palm on the back of my hand. “Besides, you don’t have to worry about me rescuing you much longer. In ten days, you’ll be marrying the real Albert.”
An icy chill runs through me. Ten more days until my wedding? How did it come so soon?
Dante’s lips spread wide, but his grin doesn’t reach his eyes. “After that, our ruse will be over. It will be him at your side, not me.”
Am I imagining the note of disappointment in his voice? Does it have anything to do with how my gut sinks at his words?
A tapping sound fills my ears, and I note the way he drums his free hand, fingers fluttering, on the head of his cane. In the next instant, his hand goes still and he averts his gaze toward the track.
“Trust me,” he says, his tone so jovial it makes me certain I was indeed mistaken when I thought I sensed a hint of gloom in his mood. “The real Albert won’t even consider treating you like a damsel in distress when it comes to your career. He has a terrible sense of fashion.”
I chuckle, but I’m all too aware of the tightening of my chest. I may have imagined his momentary disappointment when he mentioned the end of our arrangement, but I can’t help wondering…did I imagine my own?
14
The fence line grows a little more crowded as the first race begins, but Dante and I manage to maintain some semblance of privacy. It seems those on the lawn—in other words, those worthy of standing within eyesight of the queen—know better than to lose their composure right now. The clusters of couples and small groups joining us near the fence keep their distance from us and others, daring not to crowd in too close or act overeager. The racers may be on display for us, but we are on display for the queen.
Half a dozen sleek black equine creatures race past us on the track, sending up a gust of wind in their wake. The brim of my hat flutters but the ample pins I secured it with ensure it doesn’t go flying off my head.
