Page 83 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

Chapter Twenty

All day, I look forward to dinner.

To seeing Viridian again.

Girlish excitement jumbles my thoughts, and tonight, I actually care about how I look. More than I’d like to admit.

I sit at my vanity table while Tiffy styles my hair.

She glances at my reflection in the mirror and then looks back down at her hands, chuckling.

“What?” I ask, arching a brow.

“Pardon my bluntness, Miss,” Tiffy starts. “But I’m not used to seeing you be so cheerful. You’re like a whole new person.”

“Ah.” My cheeks flush red. “I’m not either.”

“It’s a good thing, I’m sure,” Tiffy adds, twisting some of my hair around her finger before pinning it to my head. She pauses and lowers her face so it’s next to mine in the mirror. “And I’m sure His Highness is just as excited to see you.”

“Oh?” I downplay my reaction. But my heart thrums in my ribcage. “What makes you say that?”

“You two have been absolutely smitten with each other since you returned from your romantic getaway together,” Tiffy gushes. “Have you noticed the way he looks at you?”

“No,” I say, keeping my head still so as not to ruin my hair. “How does he look at me?”

“Like he would do anything you asked,” Tiffy swoons. “I would simply melt if a man looked at me the way His Highness looks at you, Miss.”

“Oh,” I murmur, more to myself than her.

I hadn’t noticed that.

“Mmhmm.” Tiffy nods, emphasizing the sound.

My stomach does a flip. What Tiffy’s told me colors my view of Viridian, making him seem different, somehow.

As if there is something between us that wasn’t there before.

He’s the same Viridian you know, I remind myself.

But is he? I hated the Viridian I once knew. The arrogant fae prince that ripped me from my home. The one that I thought was forcing me into a life I never wanted.

Now…

Now, he’s the compassionate future king. The one that cares for his kingdom and all of his people.

And maybe, even me.

I’m not so sure I hate him anymore.

Oh gods.

The thought settles my nerves but doesn’t dim the electric excitement I feel coursing through me.

When she finishes my hair, Tiffy helps me into my gown. It’s a deep violet, rich in color like that of fae wine. The bodice sits perfectly at my waist, and the A-line of the skirt emphasizes my hips, giving me an hourglass figure.

One of the other ladies’ maids hands Tiffy a box. She takes it and opens the lid.

“And now, for the finishing touch,” Tiffy says. I try to get a better look in the mirror while she removes something from the box and drapes it around my neck.

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