What would happen if they were discovered? Kings often did whatever they wanted with women, but Marai was different. This whole situation was different. Marai could already hear the scolding from Holfast, Fenir, and Vorae: the king shouldn’t dally with a faerie.
Ruenen groaned as he turned over onto his back. Marai felt immediately chilled from the absence of his body.
“I need coffee,” he said with a rasp, scrubbing a hand across his jaw.
They hadn’t gotten much sleep, spending hours exploring each other. It had been a night Marai would never forget. She traced a finger across his lips. Ruenen closed his eyes at the touch. When he opened them again, he tucked her wild hair behind her ear, as Marai so often watched Raife do with Thora.
“I’m in love with you, you know,” he whispered. “I have been since the moment you told me your name. I think even before that, when I saw you single-handedly take down those thieves in Grelta.”
Ruenen’s confession swirled around in the chambers of her heart. The words burst within her, warm and rosy and bright; Marai was surprised she wasn’t glowing.
Those words shattered the last hurdle between this new Marai and the Lady Butcher. She’d said those words before to Slate, and they’d been a lie, something forced upon her.
“You don’t have to say anything,” continued Ruenen, “but I wanted you to know—”
“I do, too,” Marai blurted, then felt her cheeks flush. “Love you, that is.”
Ruenen beamed as if he’d eaten the sun. His lips met hers. Marai was where she always wanted to be—home in his arms. Lost and found again in his kiss.
The birds outside the window chirped with more persistence. Ruenen groaned.
“Time’s up, I’m afraid,” he said with a pout.
Ruenen clamored out of bed with all the grace of a toddler, and Marai studied his glorious form in the morning sun. The red scar was more prominent in daylight. A symbol of his bravery. A symbol of his sacrifice. She hoped it never faded, like the sunburst mark on his wrist.
As he bent over to fetch his trousers, she admired the taut muscles in his rear and thighs.
“Careful, Lady Marai. You’re drooling,” Ruenen said, winking. She threw a pillow at him. He caught it with an expression of mock alarm. “Pardon me, but I think it’s bad form to abuse the king on his coronation day.” He then released a melodic laugh as Marai made a face.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Oh, I’ll have something sent up for you,” Ruenen replied lightly with an air of playfulness that made Marai instantly suspicious. “As long as you leave the black cloak behind for the day.” Fully dressed, Ruenen leaned across the bed and smacked her lips with an unabashed kiss. “Duty calls.”
Marai trailed her fingers once more through his soft hair. Ruenen closed his eyes, leaning into her hand, and shivered a sigh. Then, he strode with peacock swagger from the room.
Insufferable, she thought with a laugh, remaining wrapped within the warm sheets that smelled of Ruenen.
Not long after his exit, Harmona appeared. Horrified, Marai realized she was completely naked underneath the sheets—her nightgown still on the floor. If Harmona noticed, she didn’t show any sign. Instead, she placed a bowl of porridge on the table and scampered into the hallway. Marai quickly stepped into her nightgown and tied the string at the top. She wolfed down her porridge as Harmona came back into the room with another servant carrying green fabric in her arms.
The servant draped a dress across the bed, and as Marai approached, she fought back a gasp.
The bodice was rich forest green velvet that plunged to a low v, trimmed with braided gold and aureate jewels. The back was bare, save for gold necklace-like strands that hung from one side to the other. On each shoulder, green gauzy fabric floated down like a cape, but didn’t cover the low open back. The dress had no sleeves, save for a sliver. The green silk skirt hugged a body’s curves, ending in a long train smattered with gold ivy vines.
It was a gown made for presentation, for highlighting the beauty of a woman’s figure. It was the most arresting, most beautiful dress Marai had ever seen.
How could she wear this? It didn’t suit her. The dress would show off too much skin. It was too eye-catching. Too rich. Marai had hoped to blend in with the crowd during the celebrations, another face . . . this gown wouldn’t allow for that.
“Where did this come from?” she asked Harmona, fingers gliding over the fine fabric.
“His Grace had it altered for you days ago. It belonged to the late Queen Larissa.”
Marai’s hand stilled. This was a queen’s gown?
Before she’d even recovered, Ruenen had picked this gown for her specifically for his coronation. If Marai wasn’t already overcome with love for him, she would’ve fallen for him right then and there.
I should at least try it on. It probably won’t fit, anyways . . .
Harmona helped Marai into the delicate, complex dress. If Marai pulled or twisted the wrong way, one of the gold chains could snap. Then Harmona sat her on the stool at the vanity, and wove green and gold ribbon through Marai’s hair in an elegant updo which accentuated the back of the dress. Harmona topped off the hairstyle with a gold jeweled headpiece that matched the chains on the gown, obviously also from Queen Larissa’s personal effects.
Without asking, Harmona quickly dabbed rouge upon Marai’s cheeks. She swiped red paint across her lips and lined Marai’s eyes lightly with kohl. Lastly, Harmona handed Marai two gold-chained pieces that slid onto Marai’s hands like gloves. They latched at the wrists and draped across the top of her hands.
“Why go through all this trouble?” Marai asked, staring at the stranger in the mirror.
Who was this woman? She looked powerful. Feminine. Royal. A part deep inside of Marai delighted in gazing upon this woman. She was so different from the surly face she usually saw in the mirror. For once, Marai saw her human mother, and she didn’t shy away from the reflection. But this woman was a stronger version, not so delicate and docile. This woman was flame and magic. Marai’s body changed—she held her head higher, shoulders back, in a regal stance.
I suppose I am Queen of the Fae . . . for the first time, Marai felt the rightness in knowing her ancestry.
“His Grace and Lord Holfast agreed that you must dress your best. There are noblemen from all across Astye here, and you are an honored guest.” Harmona said all this to the floor, as usual.
“Thank you, Harmona.”
For the first time, Harmona looked up and met Marai’s eyes. There was still fear shining in them, but the maid gave a weak nod in return, a small tight-lipped smile. Perhaps Marai might win her over yet.
“It’s time, my lady.”
Marai was aware of every single pair of eyes that tracked her.
She stood at the doorway to the vast hall of the monastery, a place in the castle she’d yet to explore. It was a sparse room, as most monasteries were. No gilded colors in sight. No jewels. Enormous windows lined the walls. Vaulted ceilings displayed paintings of Lirr and Laimoen. Hundreds of candles covered the front of the hall on wrought-iron pillars and stands. The only decorations were the large, vivid bouquets of native flowers lining the aisle, and the Nevandian sunburst banners and flags hanging from the walls.
