Page 65 of The Beast Of Gloomenthrall
Perri could breathe. Done. Excellent, now-
“Are you sure you’re in the right place, Lady Alia?” The silken tones of Lady Evagene broke the silence, her words weighted with faux concern.
Damn. Perri’s hands clenched into fists. They’d been so close.
* * *
Alia had just been sitting there, minding her own business, thoughts in a whirl, trying to come to terms with the fact that Talac was Prince Zariffe, heir to the throne of the Vallas Realm. She’d absentmindedly noted the names and demeanours of the bridal candidates as they were each introduced, but her real focus was on the startling revelation that Talac was Royalty.
Worse, he was the Prince whose hand she was currently vying for and he knew… that she wasn’t actually interested in marrying him at all. Had guessed that she was here for other… purposes. And yet he had not outed her as an imposter.
They had barely spoken after that first evening on the journey to Pallene and the encounter in the woods with the rogue suitors. Alia doing her best to keep their personal interactions to a minimum whilst remaining alert for any more bandits or attacks. Talac likewise appeared happy to keep his distance from her, his focus seemingly more on detecting any external threats… that thankfully never materialised.
Looking at him now, in his royal garb, chestnut hair ruthlessly tamed back from his face and cut short, no longer in danger of falling into his eyes, there was nothing to obscure the hard angles of his face; the square jaw, the long nose, those grey eyes that gave very little away. The sparkle that usually resided in their depths barely glimmering. His expression wasn’t blank exactly, it had a haughty edge, which if you didn’t know Talac… Zariffe… the Prince, some might find intimidating.
But not Alia. She habitually wore the mantle of the Beast, she knew what it was like to assume a role that required building protective walls around her true self, to keep others at bay… to keep them in line. For if they presumed to overstep the laws of the Lair, she would be forced to deal with them. Better to be thought cold, deadly, and arrogant, than have to dispense justice constantly because some fool idiot thought he could undermine, or get one over on the Beast of Gloomenthrall.
And now here was Lady Evagene, with her midnight raven perfectly coiffured hair, bold orange gown, and flashing dark eyes attempting to tear Alia down to win points with the crowd. Feeling so assured of Lady Cecelia’s endorsement that she was willing to be the first to question Alia’s right to be here.
“I just thought… given the way you’re attired, that you would perhaps feel more at home in the stables.” Several ladies and men twittered in mild amusement at Evagene’s observation.
“I’ve already had the privilege of visiting the royal stables this morning, thank you for your concern in regards to my horse.” Alia shifting her gaze to rest upon Talac, she couldn’t think of him as Zariffe. “As with everything when it comes to the Prince, they were… magnificent.” Okay, she was playing with fire, roping Talac into the bitchfest, but it was his party, he should play a part. Thankfully that glimmer in his eyes sparked just a fraction, he was amused. And whilst perhaps not willing to speak, was happy enough to quirk the edge of his mouth upwards in the slightest hint of an appreciative smile at her suggestive compliment.
Evagene kept smiling but her dark eyes narrowed just enough for Alia to know that she had made an enemy here today.
Lady Parkour, fan fluttering prettily, green eyes wide and supposedly full of concern, took up the conversational thread. “The stables? How adventurous of you, Lady Alia. I do bid you take care as you move about the Palace, I’m given to understand that many of the lighting fixtures here are antiques and considered quite valuable.”
“You are intimating that I might damage them given my… excessive height?” Alia waited a beat for the soft chuckles of amusement at her expense to fade away. “But if I’m considered a threat, then the Prince, who is even taller than I, must present an even greater one. Your Highness, Lady Parkour is concerned for the Palace fittings and furnishings, given your excessively abnormal height. Do you leave a lot of damage in your wake as you move about the Palace?”
“No… I… No, that’s not what I meant at all. Your Highness, you are not tall.” Lady Parkour was pale, her fan now gripped in bone white hands. Several in the crowd laughing quietly but now at her expense as they all stared at the Prince, waiting for his response.
“I am not tall?” Talac queried haughtily.
“Not too tall. I meant you are not too tall, Your Highness.” Lady Parkour’s cheeks were splotched with unbecoming colour.
“Then neither can Lady Alia be deemed too tall. Therefore, all the lighting fixtures are safe, you can sleep easily tonight, M’Lady.”
Waiters provided a momentary distraction, bringing around several trays holding miniature cups full of cordial refreshment. Conversations resumed amongst the party-goers. Mamas smiling broadly, giving the impression they were both proud and happy to be there. Discreetly out the corners of their mouths giving their daughters detailed instructions on how to sit, smile, and breathe prettily. Papas busy trying to tease out how rich their companions were, whilst at the same time dropping blatant hints about their own children’s wealth and availability to contract an agreeable marriage. Poor relations and companions fussed at their charges gowns and discreetly fixed flounces and stray curls.
Alia made no attempt to converse with anyone, patiently waiting, knowing it wouldn’t be long now.
“I must say, Lady Alia.” The voice was carefully modulated, except the moment Alia’s name sounded the crowd hushed as if a whip had been cracked, waiting in anticipation. “I’m a bit of a slave to fashion.” Lady Cannon waved an arm, her overlong sleeve making a loud flapping sound like a flag flying in a stiff breeze. “But your bold outfit has me positively agog.” It was neither a compliment nor a condemnation. Lady Cannon was waiting to see how the crowd would react.
“Why, thank you.” Alia took the conversation by the horns. Standing, brushing away imaginary dust from her sleeve. Letting everyone look their fill. Her knee high black boots gleamed, her trousers fitted so they hid nothing of her muscular thighs. And then there was the sapphire blue coat dress, designed and made by Perri. Long sleeved, it was held together by two large dark blue gemstones acting as buttons, highlighting Alia’s small waist, before the material flared out, stopping just below her hips on either side, but falling to the backs of her knees at the rear. The collar studded with more gemstones, but folded back to ensure nothing obstructed the view of the vicious scar that bisected Alia’s throat, or the wide expanse of bared décolletage and full bosom on display. Her dark golden hair pinned back with more gemstones before falling in a riotous heavy mass down to her shoulder blades.
Secretly, Alia thought she looked like some kind of glamourous pirate. All that was missing from the picture was a sword, but Perri had prohibited her from wearing one at this meet and greet event. Stating it would set the wrong tone. Pity, Alia was being attacked – verbally – from all sides, a weapon might have come in handy right about now. But she would have to work with what she had at her disposal, her tongue.
Alia gave the coat a bit of a tug, freeing a little more of her bosom, causing several men to murmur in appreciation and many a lady to cluck their tongue in censor. Taking a seat again, Alia sent Lady Cannon a smile. “I thought it a bit much, but my dress designer had a vision. And I do love the feel of keymoat.” She trailed a hand down over her sleeve again. “So soft.”
Keymoat? The word spread like wildfire. The expense. A lady wearing it no less. In such a wonderful colour too. And how had they managed to decorate it with gemstones? The leather was all but impervious to blades and weapons.
Lady Cannon swallowed hard. Perhaps she’d thought her monstrosity of a dress the most expensive here, but now that had been soundly quashed. Still, as her fan fluttered faster and faster, her sleeve flapping back and forth, she wasn’t prepared to give up this conversational gambit. “It… it just seems unusual for… a lady, to draw attention to her…” Lady Cannon’s eyes dipped lower on Alia’s form, clearly suggesting with a look what she intended. Letting those listening in avidly to fill in the blanks with whatever they chose to take umbrage or interest in.
“Yes, it was brought to my attention recently that I have good solid birthing hips.” Alia acknowledged nonchalantly, ignoring the shocked gasp of several older ladies at referring to a body part in mixed company. “And we all know why we’re here.” She shot a look in Talac’s direction, that glimmer in his eye was definitely brighter. “So I thought, why not highlight my best feature.”
“Your Majesty.” Lady Cannon, face pale, turned to appeal to the Dowager-Queen to put this lowborn interloper back in her place.
Lady Cecelia’s posture couldn’t have been more rigid, her expression seemingly unimpressed, but she had followed the verbal challenges directed at Lady Alia with avid interest, whilst also at the same time observing her Grandson’s reactions. Cecelia might have indicated a personal preference for Lady Evagene, but for the first time ever she’d witnessed a spark of… interest alight in Zariffe’s eyes. If the interloper ensured Zariffe would turn up at the candidate parties and stay longer than five minutes, then Cecelia would happily endorse her… for the moment. She could always condemn Alia later.
