Page 52 of A Heart Disguised 1

As I stepped out of the tub, wrapped in a fluffy towel that felt like a cloud, I caught sight of Starling still watching from the window. If birds could smirk, I swear this one was.

“Well,” I said to no one in particular, “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to face the music. Or in this case, the wedding march.”

With a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and prepared to meet my fate. After all, how bad could becoming the bride of a demon lord really be? At least, I thought wryly, it would make for one hell of a story.

Breakfast arrived with the subtlety of a royal fanfare—silver platters heaped with a feast fit for royalty, or in my case, one anxious bride-to-be. I surveyed the lavish spread: eggs as fluffy as the clouds outside my window, bacon crisp enough to snap at a touch, and golden honey-glazed rolls that glistenedin the morning light. An array of exotic fruits nestled among delicate pastries filled with sweet preserves, the likes of which would make the palace bakers weep with envy. The aroma alone was enough to awaken a hunger I didn’t know I had, mingling appreciation with trepidation as I regarded this edible extravagance.

“Well,” I mused aloud, addressing the strawberry I’d just speared with unnecessary force, “is this stress eating or simply making the most of my last meal as a free man?” The strawberry, unsurprisingly, offered no insight as it burst sweetly in my mouth.

Despite the butterflies performing an elaborate ballet in my stomach, I devoured the meal with unexpected gusto. “Who knew impending doom could be so… appetizing?” I chuckled darkly.

My peaceful repast was shattered with all the subtlety of a mage’s fireball. The door burst open, and in streamed Madame Elodie and her entourage—a veritable cavalry of beauticians armed with powders, potions, and implements of beautification that looked more suited to torture than adornment.

“Ah, our lovely bride!” Madame Elodie declared, clapping her hands together as if summoning the muses themselves.

I tightened my silk robe around me, a futile attempt at armor against the impending onslaught. Tessa and Tilly flanked me like cherubic jailers, their coos of anticipation sending shivers through me. “You’re going to look so beautiful today, my lady,” Tilly sang, while Tessa nodded vigorously.

Before I could mount any sort of defense, I was swamped by women. Hands fluttered around me like a flock of overzealous doves—tugging, pinning, brushing. My hair became their canvas, each strand meticulously arranged into an intricate half-up style. The top was coaxed into a delicate bun that seemedto defy gravity, while the rest cascaded down my back in silken waves.

“I do hope you’re not planning on any sudden movements,” I quipped as they secured what felt like the hundredth pin. “I fear my head might topple off.”

My wit was lost on them as they continued their assault, painting my face with delicate strokes until I scarcely recognized myself in the mirror—a stranger draped in silks and shadows, more artwork than boy.

As the beautification neared its end, Tessa and Tilly exchanged mischievous glances before turning to me with pleading eyes.

“Lady Robin,” Tessa began, her voice honeyed with anticipation, “might we perhaps… show the others your wardrobe?”

Tilly chimed in, barely containing her excitement, “Yes, especially those exquisite… undergarments?”

I sighed, knowing full well what they were after. With an exasperated wave of my hand, I acquiesced. “Oh, go on, then. I suppose my dignity is already beyond salvaging at this point.”

Their squeals of delight were nearly deafening as they scurried to my wardrobe, throwing open the doors with dramatic flair. The other girls gathered round, their eyes widening as Tessa and Tilly carefully extracted the delicate pieces of lingerie.

“Oh, my!” gasped one of the younger maids, her cheeks flushing as she beheld a particularly daring piece of lace and silk.

“It’s so… small,” whispered another, her voice a mix of awe and scandal.

The room filled with coos and sighs as they passed the garments around, marveling at the intricate embroidery and gossamer-thin fabrics. I watched, caught between amusementand mortification, as my most intimate attire became the center of attention.

When they finally retreated for lunch, I was left alone in the echoing silence of my parlor, a painted doll awaiting his grand debut.

Lunch arrived, another sumptuous spread that seemed to mock my predicament with its opulence. I was about to take a tentative bite when a knock at the door startled me and Caelum walked in and took a seat beside me on the sofa.

“Escaping the fuss at the main hall,” he said. “The gossip mill is working overtime today.”

I arched an eyebrow, an impressive feat given the layers of makeup weighing it down. “Are you sure you’re not just avoiding a certain fiery grand duke?”

Caelum’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, Ignis? He’s harmless… mostly. But speaking of harmful rumors…” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know all those wild tales about my dear brother? Well, let’s just say there’s more truth to them than you might think.”

I choked on my wine, the vintage red suddenly tasting like liquid dread. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, where to begin?” Caelum’s grin widened. “The towering stature? Check. The mind-reading touch? Well, he’s perceptive, I’ll give him that. And as for his… endowments?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

My cheeks flamed hotter than Grand Duke Ignis’ fiery mane. “You can’t possibly mean—”

“Let’s just say, the termbroadswordmight not be entirely inaccurate,” Caelum chuckled. “Though I doubt he’s ever actually split anyone in two with it. At least, not literally.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “And the… transformations?”

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