Page 70 of Ruby & Onyx

“What’s wrong with Olly? That’s how he introduced himself, so that’s the name he’d like to be called.” Haven’t we been through this before? Why is he so offended? And if it is offensive, then why won’t Olly correct me himself?

“Only his dearest friends call him Olly,” he slurs into Olly’s ear.

Is he being territorial? Does he want to be the only one who has the prince’s ear? Does it make him feel special to be the only one to call him by his nickname? Maybe he is threatened by me – afraid that I might steal his best friend away, or something. Who would he have left to get drunk with after his friend becomes a married man and a king, no less?

“Now, now, children! Break it up!” Olly steps between us, clapping his hands. “Radya, yes, I will see you tomorrow morning. Let the sobering up –” hiccup “– commence.”

Judging by the glazed-over look in Landers’ eyes, I can tell that he has no plans of sobering up any time soon.

“Did you get my flowers?” Landers slurs, wearing a devilish grin.

Olly elbows him in the ribs.

“Why did you send me flowers?” My head cocks to the side, waiting to understand the joke. He doesn’t explain. Rather, he bursts into laughter.

“Enough!” Olly points his finger in the air and then points it to the other end of the hallway. “Onward!”

They begin to march away from me with exaggerated steps, fumbling slightly but recovering quickly. Moose growls as they leave, brushing right past the two invisibles, who are as visible as any human.

A smile curls on my lips, and I send a silent thanks to Moose for sending me right to them.

Chapter 31

Olly never showed up for our lesson yesterday. While it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, I do regret hauling myself out of bed. The bitter morning nipped at my toes as I waited on the roof for a man who was surely fast asleep in a hungover daze. It was his loss, though. He missed one of the most beautiful sunrises I’ve ever seen.

When I returned to my room, I discovered the joke Landers played as the flowers reeked of death and decay. I tossed them over the balcony without another thought, refusing to grant Landers even an ounce of satisfaction.

I need to focus on the ball tonight. With so much riding on it, I’m wound tighter than a spring. Only one week remains until I must make my choice.

Gemma and Viola arrived in the early afternoon to begin preparing me. I wasn’t aware that my appearance was so slovenly that it required six hours to repair, but here we are. We started with a lavender-scented bath, where the twins scrubbed every inch of my body. I felt ridiculous and demanded to do it myself, but they wouldn’t have it. Then Viola painted my nails with a color so faint that it looked like I was wearing no color at all, making me question why it was necessary in the first place. Gemma rolled my hair into curlers, which, when unspooled, left my hair flowing down my back in smooth, bouncy curls. It was all so over the top, but apparently, they were following the queen’s explicit orders.

When they both deemed me presentable, they brought out the gown. That beautiful, perfect, all-too-stunning gown. As I step into it, I nearly faint. It’s like a painting come to life. I never considered myself to be taken by vanity, but this dress is divine. I can’t believe that I get to wear it.

However, when the twins pull the laces of the corset top so tight that breathing becomes a labor, I start to lose faith in its perfection. I suck in breath as my ribs are cinched tighter and tighter together. “Could we perhaps loosen it a tiny bit?”

“Oh, shush. You look gorgeous.” Viola tugs the laces again.

“It’s not my looks that I’m worried about – ahh!” I scream as Viola gives one final tug for good measure. “Just a little room to breathe would be nice, that’s all.”

“Sorry, Radya. Blame the dress, not us,” Gemma says with a conciliatory smile.

“We’re all done now!” Viola takes a step back to survey her work, appearing quite pleased as a satisfied smile creeps to her lips. “Come on, take a look.”

The skirt’s many layers drag behind me as I walk toward the mirror. And when I look at the reflection staring back at me, I hardly recognize myself. Even though I know that these are my features - my arms, my neck, my hair, and my mother’s eyes – the girl who grew up in a one-bedroom cottage in an isolated village is nowhere to be found. The image of a princess stands before me, painted and preened.

The twins peer into the mirror from behind me as they eagerly await my approval. But I can’t give them the reaction they’re seeking. Beneath all of this carefully crafted beauty, all I see is an imposter. Every layer of added effect – the crown, the gown, the jewelry, the makeup – is merely an act, a facade. Everyone will see right through me.

On the inside, I feel rotten. Like they took all of the dirty, mucky bits of me and stuffed them into my belly. And where there is no muck, there is a hollow void.

I fake a smile, if only for their sake. It’s not their fault that they were saddled with such a phony.

Finding Guylita is my only hope.

“Viola, would you mind getting me a glass of bubbly? I want to loosen up a little before Olly gets here.” The request, while partially true, is an excuse to force Viola out of the room.

“Didn’t you hear? Olly left for the border early this morning. He won’t be in attendance tonight,” she says.

My mind begins spinning in disbelief. How could he abandon me on a night like this? Sure, it might make slipping away easier, but it feels like a betrayal. This ball is meant to honor me. How could he leave me alone for it?

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