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“Well, this trull has a friend.” I poke his arm and he glares at me. I’m pretty sure he wants to skin me, but he promised not to. “Do you need anything? Clothes?”
“No. I have more than enough. The ogres are being nice?” There’s a hard edge to his question.
“Yes, they’re all being nice.”
“Tell me if they’re not. I’ll make ya a nice dress.”
“That’s sweet,” I say while scrunching my face. I can’t see any reason I’d wear a dress made of ogre skin, but it’s his way of showing he cares.
“There you are,” Orcus’ voice comes from the end of the hall.
I turn and face him. The floor trembles as he strides toward me. He’s so big and powerful and somine. My gaze roves over his body. He’s wearing a fitted top and shorts that do nothing to hide those thick ogre thighs. The golden cuffs all but sparkle, wrapped around his tusks in a way that make my fingers itch to hold them. His black hair is effortlessly styled and those plump, navy lips kick into a smug smirk. God, my mate is hot.
“For fuck’s sake, put me down before ya start drooling,” Harald grumbles.
I bite my lip and carefully place him on the ground. “Where are you going?” I ask his retreating back.
“To find me a needle and thread.”
“What for?”
“I need a new outfit for yer ceremony.”
I don’t need to ask where he’s getting the fabric. Remembering all the skins in his wagon, I shudder. Thankfully, he’s marching in the opposite direction and doesn’t see it.
Orcus sweeps me into his arms, and I grab hold of his tusks, claiming his lips before he can kiss me. He hums in approval and uses his hold on me as an excuse to feel my ass up before breaking away.
“As much as I like where this is going,” he says, kissing me again. “My mom and sisters are expecting you.”
“For?”
“They said something about a makeover.”
Excitement zings through me. I’ve never had a makeover, let alone a royal one. This is going to be fun.
THIRTY-FOUR
Fashion is overrated
DAISY
The Princess Diariesand all those otheraverage girl becomes a princessmovies, hell even my favorite books, lied. Makeovers are the worst. First, I was treated to a spa treatment where I was scrubbed until my skin hurt. I’m a redhead and incredibly pale—my skin is prone to redness already but right now, I look like a lobster and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover.
After assaulting me with a bristle brush, the crown’s hair stylist did my hair. The simple but chic braided headband and loose curls are elegant, but I’m pretty sure I can feel the hair being ripped from my head every time I so much as breathe. This is why I don’t do my hair.
Then there’s the dresses. I’m sure Zyla thinks she’s a real comedian.I like green.Red, blue, purple, pink, or green, it doesn’t matter. These dresses are all a disaster of corsets made of obnoxiously strong bone, tulle that’s as rough as sandpaper, and lace that’s more suited to strangling someone than being artfully draped over cleavage.
“Oh my,” Orshana says when I step out from behind the dressing wall. “That’s lovely on you.”
I half-grimace half-smile as I stare in the mirror and take in the orange monstrosity. Paired with my red skin, it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Zero stars. Would not recommend. Plus, it’s not me. I prefer comfort to fashion, but even when I dress up, it’s cute and casual. Simple. Whoever Orshana commissioned to make all these dresses in my size obviously has a thing for the impractical. How am I meant to run away from a cyclops in this?
“She hates it,” Oraya says. “She’s hated them all.”
“No,” I lie.
“This one is the latest fashion,” Oretta says, and she would know. She’s wearing her own version with a purple bodice and a black skirt. On her it looks great. On me… it’s not right.
“Maybe she can go naked,” Orlena drawls. After forty minutes of trying on dresses, I’ve well worn out her patience.
