Page 53 of A Heart Disguised 1

Caelum’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Oh, that. Well, he can’t turn into agreat winged beastexactly, but his shadow abilities are quite… impressive. As for withering crops and curdling milk, that’s just his charming personality at work.”

“This isn’t funny, Caelum,” I muttered, burying my face in my hands, only to quickly lift them when I remembered my intricate hairstyle.

“On the contrary, it’s hilarious,” he replied, popping a grape into his mouth with infuriating casualness. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll survive the wedding night. Probably.”

As Caelum continued to regale me with increasingly outrageous confirmations of Duke Darius’ rumored attributes, I was torn between abject terror and a bizarre urge to laugh hysterically. The wedding night loomed before me like a perilous quest into uncharted territory, for which I was woefully ill-equipped and utterly unprepared.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” I accused Caelum, my voice muffled by the hands I’d once again pressed to my face.

Caelum merely winked, popping another grape into his mouth. “Consider it my wedding gift to you—a glimpse into what awaits. After all, forewarned is forearmed, right? Or in this case, fore-terrified is… well, still terrified, but at least you know what you’re in for!”

Before I could retort with a suitably acerbic remark, the door burst open with all the subtlety of a rampaging chimera. Meredith swept in, her excitement palpable as summer lightning. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of thrill reserved for grand festivals or public executions—my wedding seemingly qualifying as both.

“Up, up, my little lovebird!” Meredith trilled. “Time is slipping through our fingers like sand. The ceremony’s within the hour! And you can’t very well marry a duke in your dressing gown, can you?”

She curtsied in a rush upon noticing Caelum, then grabbed my arm. With a resigned sigh, I allowed myself to be led into the bedchamber, where a gown of such exquisite beauty awaited that it made my heart ache with a strange mixture of dread and wonder.

Meredith presented me with a set of white lingerie, her hands trembling with barely contained glee. Her eyes shone with the anticipation of a child on Solstice morning. “Go on, dear,” she urged. “Get dressed. This is part of demon culture, you know. It’s a special garment to bring good fortune to the marriage.”

I shook my head furiously—panic clawing at my throat. “But Meredith,” I protested weakly, “surely the duke wouldn’t expect—”

“Nonsense!” she interjected, her tone uncharacteristically firm. “It’s a tradition. You wouldn’t want to dishonor your future husband’s customs on your wedding day, would you?”

I snatched the offending garments from her and trudged to the bathroom as if marching to the gallows. The temptation to toss them out the window was overwhelming, but I knew better than to risk a diplomatic incident over undergarments.

With trembling hands, I slipped into the diaphanous concoction. The two-piece lingerie clung to me like a second skin—sheer fabric whispering over my body in an intimate caress. The thigh-high stockings somehow managed to be both chaste and indecent at once.

Steeling myself for the reflection that awaited me, I approached the mirror. The person staring back was both familiar and not—like a figure from some enchanting dream where propriety danced on the edge of scandal. The ensemble left little to the imagination, clinging to my slender frame with shameless allure. The bottom piece, a flimsy scrap of fabric, did its best to preserve what remained of my dignity, while the top piece seemed to mourn the absence of curves it was designedto accentuate, emphasizing what wasn’t there with an ironic elegance. The thigh-high stockings completed the ensemble, transforming my legs into works of art.

I felt wanton and vulnerable, the lingerie a brazen declaration of the intimacy to come—intimacy I was woefully unprepared for. The reflection was both enticing and unsettling, the garments shielding just enough to tease and tantalize while exposing far more than I was comfortable with. With trembling hands, I donned my robe, the soft fabric a small comfort against the storm of uncertainty brewing within.

Returning to the bedroom, I found Meredith practically bouncing with anticipation. “Let me see, dear!” she implored, hands clasped in barely contained glee. “I just need to make sure it fits perfectly for the duke.”

I shook my head, a stubborn refusal forming on my lips. “Meredith, I—”

“Oh, Lady Robin, don’t be such a spoilsport!” she chided, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just a quick peek, I promise. I’ll be the judge of whether it’s fitting for a duchess!”

With an exasperated sigh that could have felled a small forest, I relented, untying my robe and letting it fall open. Meredith’s eyes widened, and a delighted squeal escaped her lips that pierced the room like an arrow hitting its mark.

“Oh, my dear, you look utterly divine!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “It’s perfect! The duke won’t be able to resist you! You’re the very picture of innocence and seduction combined.”

Her words filled me with dread at the notion of Darius seeing me thusly exposed—so vulnerable and undeniably male. The reality of my situation crashed down upon me with the force of a tidal wave. I was about to marry a demon lord, a being of power and passion, and here I was, playing dress-up in the most scandalous attire I’d ever worn.

Meredith bustled about, her hands fluttering around me as she adjusted the lay of the lace. “There,” she said, satisfaction oozing from her voice. “Perfect for your wedding night.”

I swallowed hard, the thought of the duke’s gaze upon me in such a state of undress causing my heart to race with a mixture of fear and a peculiar, unsettling thrill.

Without another word, Meredith bustled forward with my wedding gown—a masterpiece of fabric and fantasy—ready to transform me into something precious and unrecognizable for my demon lord husband-to-be.

As she helped me into the voluminous skirts, I couldn’t help but feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter, albeit a very well-dressed one. The weight of the gown, the whisper of silk against my skin—it was all too much, and yet not enough to quell the storm of emotions raging inside me.

As I stood there, encased in finery, I couldn’t help but wonder what the duke would think when he saw me—the real me, hidden beneath layers of lace and illusion. Would he be amused? Disappointed? Or worse, indifferent?

With a gentle push toward the door, Meredith’s voice softened. “Come now, love. Let’s get you ready to meet your destiny.”

My heart thrummed against the cage of my ribs as I stood before the imposing doors of the main hall. The murmur of voices behind the heavy wood was a din of expectation, a crescendo of anticipation that played on the taut strings of my nerves. Today, I was to be wed—a union of political necessity, yet one that stirred unfamiliar longing within me.

Beside me, Russet’s fur brushed against my leg, a silent show of solidarity. Fluffy frolicked at my feet, while Starling perched on my shoulder. Meredith and Bernard, my surrogate parents in this grand affair, stood arrayed in finery that surpassed anything I’d seen on them before.

---