Page 29 of A Heart Disguised 1

For a breathless moment, I was enveloped in his warmth, my face pressed against the firm plane of his chest. I could feel the rumble of his chuckle vibrating through me before he gently setme upright, his hands lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary on my waist.

“Careful, my little hummingbird,” he murmured, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “We wouldn’t want you to bruise your delicate wings before the wedding, now would we? Though I must admit, your graceful tumbles are quite entertaining.”

Flustered and blushing furiously, I mumbled my thanks and tried to regain some semblance of composure. It was at this moment that Madame Elodie swooped in, tutting about the state of the gown and ushering me toward the window. There, the sunlight caressed my skin and set the beads ablaze with prismatic brilliance. Tessa and Tilly fluttered around me like butterflies in a garden, their nimble fingers pinching and tucking the fabric until it conformed to my shape.

As they worked, I couldn’t help but steal glances at the duke, who had returned to his seat but kept his eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin tingle.

“Oh, doesn’t she look divine?” Meredith gushed, clasping her hands together. I shot her a pointed look, which she blithely ignored.

Through it all, I could feel the duke’s gaze upon me, a palpable weight that seemed to see right through the finery to the boy hiding beneath. There was amusement there, and something else—a glint of delight that made my heart flutter in a most disconcerting way.

As the fitting continued, I found myself in increasingly ridiculous positions, arms akimbo, balancing on one foot, then the other. Starling, ever the opportunist, decided this was the perfect moment to nest in the voluminous folds of my skirt.

“Starling, no!” I hissed, trying to shoo her away without moving too much. The bird merely chirped in defiance, settling deeper into the fabric.

The duke’s chuckle resonated through the room. “It seems even the local wildlife approves of your attire, my little hummingbird.”

I could only groan in response, wondering how I had gotten myself in this absurd situation, playing dress-up in a gown fit for royalty, with a demon lord for an audience and a bird making a home in my skirts. As I caught my reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help but think that despite the chaos and deception, I did look… rather lovely. And the warmth in the duke’s eyes as he watched me? Well, that was something I’d have to examine later, when I wasn’t surrounded by cooing dressmakers and an overly enthusiastic nursemaid.

At long last, the ordeal of the dress fitting concluded just as the sun reached its zenith. I sighed with relief as Madame Elodie declared the fitting a triumph, though I felt more like a well-pinned butterfly than a blushing bride.

“Well, my little hummingbird,” the duke said, his golden eyes twinkling with amusement, “it seems you’ve survived your first battle with Aethorian haute couture. I must attend to some pressing matters with my lieutenant, but I trust you’ll find ways to entertain yourself in my absence.”

As he swept from the room, I couldn’t help but wonder if “pressing matters” was code for “escape from the madness of wedding preparations.”

Lunch was a quiet affair, the fare both exotic and delectable, yet I found my appetite had deserted me. Perhaps it was hiding with my dignity, which had last been seen fleeing the room during the more… intimate moments of the fitting.

With the afternoon stretching before me like an unexplored country, I decided to venture forth into the vastness of Argentum Keep. Russet trotted at my heels, while Starling flitted overhead, her iridescent plumage a vibrant contrast to the stone and tapestry that adorned the walls.

The castle, it seemed, was a living, breathing entity, its corridors pulsing with the rhythm of life. Servants rushed about their duties, their faces etched with the earnestness of their stations. Yet whenever they caught sight of me, their hurried steps would falter, replaced by graceful bows and respectful murmurs of “Lady Robin.” It was disconcerting, this recognition, but not entirely unwelcome. Here, I was not the bastard son of Aldercrest, but a lady of import, a future duchess. The irony was not lost on me.

As we wandered through the labyrinthine halls, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer opulence of my surroundings. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes from Lunarian history, now interwoven with subtle demonic motifs. Massive chandeliers dripped with crystals, their light dancing across polished marble floors. At every turn, a new wonder presented itself—a gallery of artwork that blended human and demon aesthetics, with paintings that seemed to shift and change as I passed; a library with shelves that stretched to dizzying heights, housing tomes from both realms; a music room where instruments of both human and demonic origin waited in silent anticipation for skilled hands to bring them to life.

Eventually, our exploration led us to a sunlit courtyard, a verdant oasis amid the stone. The garden was a riot of color, with blooms of every hue painting the landscape in broad strokes of vibrancy. Roses climbed trellises, their sweet fragrance mingling with the earthy scent of herbs and the tang of citrus from the trees that bordered the space.

Russet, ever playful, bounded through the greenery, his reddish-brown coat gleaming in the sunlight as he chased after some unseen quarry. “Russet!” I called out, laughing despite myself. “Do try not to uproot the duke’s prize petunias, won’t you?”

Starling, too, seemed in high spirits, her chirps a musical accompaniment to the bucolic scene. She alighted on a nearby fountain, preening her feathers as if to say, “Well, aren’t you going to admire how lovely I look in this setting?”

I took a seat upon an ornate iron bench, its scrollwork reminding me of the intricate lace on my wedding gown. My eyes were drawn to the view beyond the garden, where the city of Lunaria sprawled before me, a living mosaic of bustling streets and soaring spires. The city was a blend of the familiar and the foreign, its architecture a symphony of human ingenuity and demonic grandeur. Terracotta roofs mingled with obsidian towers, while market squares buzzed with activity beneath the shadow of ethereal floating gardens. It was as if two worlds had collided and, instead of chaos, had created a breathtaking harmony.

How I longed to explore its streets, to immerse myself in the culture of this place that was to become my home—that is, if I didn’t get discovered or, worse, killed first. The constant threat of my disguise being revealed hung over me like a storm cloud, ready to unleash its fury at any moment.

Back at Aldercrest Manor, my wanderings had been severely restricted, my father and Lady Aldercrest keen on keeping my existence a secret from the prying eyes of society. Now, I found myself in an even more precarious position, playing a dangerous game of deception in a world I barely understood.

“One day,” I murmured to myself, a mix of hope and trepidation coloring my words, “I’ll taste those pastries, listen to those street musicians, and maybe even find a book of poetry that doesn’t end with someone being turned into a tree or a constellation. That is, assuming I don’t end up as a cautionary tale myself—The Boy Who Fooled a Demon Lord and Lived to Regret It.”

As I indulged in my daydreams of exploration, my attention was caught by the murmur of voices. Nearby, two young men—human servants, by the look of them—were engaged in hushed conversation. Their words carried to me on the breeze, and I was unable to look away as they spoke of the duke and his impending nuptials.

“Can’t believe the duke’s really taking a human bride,” one said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Aye, Lady Robin may be a beauty, but she’s not his type,” the other agreed, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “The duke prefers someone with more… experience. Curves in all the right places. Our little Lady Robin is a bit too…”

“…slender? Naïve?” the first offered with a chuckle.

“Exactly. But then, it’s a political marriage. I wouldn’t be surprised if he keeps his… appetites… well fed elsewhere. Doubt he’ll even touch her on their wedding night.”

Their laughter rang out, a harsh reminder of the reality I was trying so desperately to navigate. A part of me felt a surge of relief; if the duke had no desire for me, then perhaps I could breathe a little easier. Yet alongside that relief was a twinge of something I couldn’t quite name—a dull ache that settled in my chest, a sense of rejection that was as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

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