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Ainslee fluttered with excitement. “Oh, from all reports, the Ball soundssoexciting. As you know, the Queen handpicks the ladies who attend the Ball—”
“Because we failed our Season,” Phillipa reminded her.
Ainslee waived her tiny hand. “Because she sees something special in you. You’re destined for something far more exciting than a boring duke—” the fae gasped “—please forgive me, my lady. I meant no disrespect, but you deserve a life full of magic. If you were resigned to be married toanyroyal, you wouldn’t have resisted this past marriage Season. From everything you’ve told me about Wesley, he would move heaven and earth to come back to you if he were still alive.”
Even her best friend had given up hope. “He most certainly is alive.”
“His family could be in as much disbelief as you are.” Ainslee wrapped her little fingers around Phillipa’s pinky. “If you keep torturing yourself like this, you’ll wind up in that horrible hospital for real. You have so much love to give. Don’t let this ruin your life.”
Phillipa nodded, appreciating the sentiment. What was her place in the world without Wesley? In his absence, humans had rejected her. Fae had become her new family.
She promised herself she would at least dance with a monster. Let herself feel alive again. Wesley wouldn’t fault her for that.
She wondered what it would be like to kiss one of them under the moonlight. With their jagged teeth and unusual lips. What would a monster’s skin feel like against hers? The muscles between her thighs fluttered at the thought. She’d so looked forward to her wedding night, to see if all the stories whispered by her older sister and married friends were true.
To experience how Wesley would have his way with her…
She’d never found a way to shake the sense of curious frustration. More whispers had given her suggestions of how to take care of her needs on her own, which had seemed simply scandalous. In the dark of night, she’d given it a try, but she had a strong feeling it wasn’t remotely the same as having a man take care of her.
Or a beast…
“Please give one of the monsters a chance. You need someone who will take care of you.”
Phillipa blinked away tears. She couldn’t be mad at her friend for speaking the truth, no matter how hard it was to hear. “What kind of monsters will I see?”
“Oh, all kinds. I’ve heard that there have been serpents, gargoyles, demons—”
“Demons?” Phillipa exclaimed.
“Why yes, and I hear they are just as wicked as promised.” Ainslee laughed. “There are satyrs, wolven—honorable ones, worthy of the Queen’s invite—any kind of beast you can imagine. Dressed in finery like they’re at the most fashionable balls in London. The food will melt in on your tongue, and the countess has access to the best wines and liqueurs. Please let yourself have fun this week, Phillipa. Leave your troubles in the past and let yourself be someone completely new. You deserve this fresh start.”
Who would she be if she could start completely fresh? If she wasn’t holding onto the faint chance that her beloved was still alive? If she could truly let herself be free?
As Broadstone Hall came into view, she wouldn’t have to wonder much longer. It was a sprawling, gothic castle fit for a celebration of monstrous proportions.
“Look at those gardens.” Phillipa gasped as the horses slowed. The trip had seemed so normal, and they’d made it here in the blink of an eye. Would the host of the Ball realize these horses had been fueled by magic?
Would they care, considering the guest list?
“Promise me you’ll let a monster woo you. At least let him bring you to the pleasure garden,” Ainslee said before she dove into Phillipa’s bag.
The carriage door opened, and Phillipa realized, in the rush to leave the manor before the spell was broken, she never changed out of her stained morning dress, fixed her hair, or bothered to consult a looking glass.
“Ainslee,” she whispered sharply. “I need your magic. I’m a mess!”
Only the top of the fae’s head was visible from the bag. “I’m afraid I’ve used all my magic to get us here, my lady. It will be fine. Just go straight to your room.”
Phillipa smoothed her dirty dress and turned to find a dashing gentleman waiting outside the carriage. In a midnight velvet waistcoat and matching breeches with a jaunty cravat at his throat, he tipped his tall hat. A shock of light blue hair showed in contrast to his light brown skin.
“Miss Willoughby, I presume?” He offered his hand.
“Actually, it’s D—yes, Miss Willoughby.” Referring to herself that way felt like bitter defeat. Like the ultimate betrayal of her husband. She couldn’t shake the unfortunate feeling it may not be the last one of the Ball. “I—I don’t have a chaperone.”
That wasn’t completely true, but Ainslee could not reveal herself. The man who’d greeted her was dressed at the height of fashion, and the other ladies in the front yard were in their evening gowns. At a distance, they looked gorgeous. Perfect.
Phillipa never felt intimidated by any of the balls in her Season, but now, she feared she was out of her league.
You’re only here to get revenge, not a monster.
