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An hour later, after I unpacked, I stood by the arched window in my private chamber, surveying the picturesque landscape surrounding Belamour. Rolling hills sprawled, sloped, and churned, their curves bathed in oranges and yellows, soaking in the last rays of sun before it gave way to night.
I scuttled across the hall to Harper and Lyra’s bedroom. It was like my own, a colossal-sized room decorated in rich, bulky furniture, all of it a bit masculine in taste.
Harper rifled through her traveling sack. She was still working on unpacking, and judging by her packed versus unpacked bags, she had a long way to go. She pulled a small bag out and plopped it onto the bed before she gestured for me to sit. “I call this my little bag of tricks,” she said, all smiles.
Lyra watched as Harper began painting my face. She stroked a precise black line on my upper lash, with a drastic, sharp wing shooting to the side. She sank a goat bristle brush into a glass vial and coated my lashes, not once, not twice, but three times with it. As a finishing touch, she painted my lips red before she took a step back to admire her work. Satisfied, she offered me a mirror.
I glanced at the girl turned woman staring back at me. The kohl made my blue eyes bigger, brighter—almost glowing, if not a bit feline. And the liner she had used on my lips—lips I had thought of as thin—made them now look pouty, plump. I smiled at the face in the mirror before I gave her an approving nod. “You are good at this.”
She batted her hand. “When you have a good canvas to work with, it makes things a lot easier.” She turned to the dresser mirror and began to do her own.
Lyra settled on top of the dresser, watching Harper, her expression almost dreamy.
“What are you going to wear?” Harper asked as she smacked her freshly painted lips together.
“Um, probably just this?” I gestured to the plain tunic and riding leathers I currently wore.
She shook her head. “No offense, doll, but you are dressed like a beggar—you’ll blow our mission. Go to the room across the hall. The armoires are stockpiled with ladies’ clothes.”
I sighed and did what I was told.
The room across the hall was a closet, large enough I could fit the cottage inside it. Sconces along the walls were lit, casting the room in a warm, honey glow. I opened a set of mahogany doors and a small gasp escaped my lips—I had never seen so much tiny lingerie before. The colors, the fabrics . . . I reached out. My fingers danced over one that caught my eye—onyx-colored silk, the dye so dark it reminded me of a night sky without stars, without a moon—the purest form of black.
Seeing you wear my colors . . . It makes me feral, said a distorted male voice—impossible to place. It was gone as fast as it had come.
My hand fell to my side. I blinked. What in the Spirit Realm was that?
“How’s it going? Did you find anything?” Harper asked as she began rifling through another armoire, the hangers clattering in protest as she shoved them to the side.
“Nothing yet,” I replied, still somewhat mystified. Gods, I needed to get some sleep.
She pulled a nearly see-through dress out and chucked it my way, the action forcing me out of my trance-like state. I caught it, surveyed it. I sputtered, “My underwear offers more coverage than this.”
“That’s the point,” she said with a grin before shooing me to the bathing room. “Try it on.”
I let out a sigh before I began to undress. If Kaleb only knew what I was about to do for him.
I was right. My underweardidprovide more coverage than this sheer bit of fabric.
I, the cottage shrew, had never worn anything like this. Ever. To say I was out of my comfort zone did not even scratch the surface. It felt like I had been plucked from my cozy little home and now I was being dangled over a lion’s den, hungry mouths snapping at me.
I couldn’t wear this.
I stuck my head out the door and told Harper to find me something else. She sighed before she picked out a different one and handed it to me.
This outfit was better, still far out of my comfort zone, but better. The icy-blue silk was thin, but not sheer like the last outfit. It had a plunging neckline and high slits that went all the way up to my waist. A pinch of tightly sewn fabric offered just enough coverage to block out the peaks of my breasts, but not enough to cover the roundness. Although this was a slight improvement from the last string of cloth, I still could hardly believe I was wearing this.
Harper’s outfit was a vibrant red, nearly identical to the first one I had tried on, although it tapered at the bottom. At least she possessed the confidence to wear it.
I, the woodland peasant, did not.
“Do we need to go over the plan again?” Harper asked as she picked at her freshly manicured nails, painted in a fiery red.
“I think I’m good,” I lied, while my mind seethed,What have I gotten myself into?
“Okay, good.” Harper nodded briskly.
We put on the fur coats we found in the one armoire and headed downstairs to the main floor, to the sitting room, a grand room just off the side of the main foyer. The room was adorned with bulky, leather furniture, a bar area, and a massive stone fireplace that produced a continuous blast of dry heat. Tall, slender windows loomed on either side of the fireplace, their glass tinted so no one could see inside. The far wall was lined with shelves and books from ceiling to floor, two double doors propped open in the middle—leading to the library, something I planned to explore later.
