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“I’m his sister,” Cerridwen said, grunting as she heaved open the moonstone door, arms laden with fabric piled high and her hawk-like wings beating furiously to help her keep her balance. “Come help me with this, Your Insufferable Majesty.”
“Your sister?” I asked, as Carnon rose in an infuriatingly unhurried way to help Cerridwen with the clothes. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?” I added, feeling the flare of jealousy die a sudden and violent death in my chest.
He shrugged. “It’s amusing to watch you get frustrated,” he said, taking the pile of things from Cerridwen and dropping them on to his bed. “Now, come see if you can wear any of these things.”
“No offense meant, brother dear,” Cerridwen said, putting a delicate hand on Carnon’s chest and giving me a warm smile. “But I think you’d better let Elara and me do this without you.”
Carnon glanced at me with something akin to anxiety. Did he think I would try to jump out a window if he left? Truthfully, I probably would if I knew I wouldn’t die in the process.
“She’ll be safe with me,” Cerridwen pressed in a voice almost too quiet for me to hear. I frowned, but Carnon nodded.
“Fine. One hour,” he said, giving me a warning look as he headed toward the door. “And please don’t do anything reckless, Elara. It’s exhausting having to rescue you.” He threw me a little wink as he left the room, and I rolled my eyes.
“Goddess, how do you stand him?” I asked Cerridwen, joining her by the pile of clothes she had brought for me to try. She tilted her head, brown curls bobbing as she smiled with warm amusement. Her brown skin was several shades darker than Carnon’s golden tan, and I would never have believed she was his sister if she hadn’t confirmed it herself. I supposed they had similar smiles, and the shape of their eyes was the same.
“Decades of practice,” she said conspiratorially. “You get used to him.”
“I hope not,” I vowed, contemplating being stuck here for decades. “I really don’t intend to be here that long.”
Cerridwen frowned, but didn’t comment on this as she began sorting the clothes into piles. “I brought everything I had that I thought might fit you,” she said, looking at me a little apologetically, “but I don’t know how much of it will.” Cerridwen was quite a bit more petite than I was, and I nodded in understanding.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Thank you for letting me borrow anything at all, Your Highness.”
A bubble of laughter burst from Cerridwen at this, and she shook her head. “Oh, no,” she said, “I’m no princess. Carnon is the king, but I have nothing to do with it.”
“But you’re his sister,” I said, furrowing my brows in confusion.
Cerridwen smiled, understanding lighting her features. “The position of Demon King is not hereditary,” she explained, still sorting shirts and skirts and trousers. “Every king is chosen by the Horned God. There’s no perpetual royal family, although the Daemon Lords are hereditary positions, and usually the king is chosen from among them.”
“Carnon wasn’t?” I asked, thinking of Herne and struggling to picture him as nobility. He was too big and gruff and—just—not what I thought of when it came to nobility.
Cerridwen shook her head. “We were just an average demon family when Carnon was blessed,” she said, giving me another rueful smile. “It was a bit of a shock.”
I had a thousand more questions about this, but Cerridwen held up a simple skirt to my waist, clearly intent on finding something that I could wear.
“How about this?” she asked. “It’s stretchyandit has pockets!”
???
The dressmaker came while Cerridwen was helping me sort through her clothes, and we ended up having a lovely time together, drinking tea and eating macarons and complaining about the high-handedness of her brother. Carnon had shown up at the one-hour mark as promised and was promptly dismissed by all three of us, raising his hands in defeat as he was shouted from the room. His presence made it impossible for me to relax, as I was torn between throttling him and jumping him with every sinful smirk. Mama’s necklace gave a little hum against my chest at the thought of him, and I scowled down at it.
Cerridwen had both strong opinions and strong insights on what fabrics and cuts of gown I should wear as her brother’s betrothed, and she made several suggestions to the dressmaker, who wrote them down enthusiastically, and embellished on the ideas. The dressmaker left after another hour with my measurements, and the promise of at least five gowns and some leather leggings and blouses that would fit. I made sure to ask that everything have pockets included.
I was glad of Cerridwen’s help and her company. It was the first time I had felt almost like my old self again, laughing and chatting with a friend rather than fleeing for my life or navigating conversation with an infuriating demonic monarch.
“He’s really a wonderful king,” Cerridwen said through a mouthful of macaron as I sipped the last of my tea. “And brother.” I rolled my eyes, but Cerridwen pushed. “Truly. I know he lied to you. Technically, so did I,” she said, putting a gentle hand on mine in apology. “He should have told you who he was, and who I was. He’s always played things far too close to the chest.”
“I’m not upset with you,” I said, smiling faintly at Cerridwen, whose wings were fluttering as if uneasy.
“That’s good,” said Cerridwen, breathing out a relieved sigh. “Because I really like these macarons and hope to be invited to tea again.” She grinned at me, and I couldn't help smiling in return.
“And I definitely think you should make Carnon do alotof groveling,” she added, taking a sip of her own tea and looking at me thoughtfully. “Just, maybe don’t completely write him off yet.”
I sighed. “It would be easier to do if he weren’t such a smug ass about everything,” I said, frowning down at my tea leaves. They had formed a letter “C”, and I angrily swirled them about to dissipate the letter. Some witches swore by the power of tea leaves for divination, and I was determined not to let this teacup control my love life.
Cerridwen laughed, standing and stretching. “Good Goddess, it’s noon already,” she said, glancing out the window at the sun high overhead. “I should go. I do actually work for Carnon’s guard, and I’m due on patrol. And you should dress before Carnon comes back and insists on watching.” She smiled, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading toward the window.
“Where are you going?” I asked, realizing she was walking away from the door and toward the balcony.
