Page 36 of Lord of the Hollow Court
It had not occurred to Katty, before this moment, that she might wish to take this pivotal step looking like the nicest version of herself. This girl, though—she was someone else completely. And they did not stop there. Before Katty could take another breath, the fae seamstresses attacked her with pins once again. Stepping out of it without bloodletting was a trial. When they next told her to try it, it fit her like a glove. A rather tight glove, with a mind of its own.
“One final touch,” Lula said, passing a velvet bag to one of the pixies. She clucked her tongue when the exhausted little faerie nearly dropped it.
Out slid a tiara, glittering with diamonds. Katty gasped.
“Be careful with that,” Lula warned her. “It’s a family heirloom of his lordship.” She sniffed. “It ought to be the Heart of Lindendam, but this one will do.”
Stinging tears made Katty blink rapidly. She stooped for the pixie to place it on her head.
“I don’t recognize myself,” Katty said.
Lula snorted. “It’s a start, then. Thank you, ladies, for all your help.”
“Yes, thank you,” Katty said belatedly. “You’ve made me look like a princess.”
“Oh, no, dear,” Lula said with a spluttering laugh. “You’re a long way from being a fae princess.” She sighed. “I suppose it’s time we go over fae etiquette.”
With some difficulty, Katty twisted in the tight and in turns billowing dress, the tiara causing her neck to twinge. “I thought we went over what I should know for the wedding.”
“For the wedding, yes. But I think I can safely assume you know nothing of fae etiquette beyond that. I’m right, aren’t I?” She didn’t wait for Katty to confirm. She didn’t have to. Lula went on. “And then there’s the matter of the wedding night.”
All twelve of the fae seamstresses giggled, the pixies’ voices like chimes atop the melodic laughs of the faeries.
“Oh, grow up,” Lula growled.
Katty sagged a little. She felt exhausted already, and there was so much she had yet to learn. “What must I do on the wedding night?” she asked.
The pixies tittered again; this time, a yawning Rineke belted out a laugh that was over loud. Bibi had long since gone on to other duties, at Lula’s harsh prompting.
“What?” Katty asked. “Why are you all laughing?”
“Oh, poor human girl,” one of the pixies said. “You really don’t know, do you? I’ve heard human societies are very restrictive about even the most private of things!”
Rineke laughed again. “Come on, Katrina, you must know. You’ve at least seen animals, haven’t you?”
“Of course I’ve seen animals.” She frowned. “What about them?”
“You know when they—”
“Leave it, girl,” Lula interrupted. “We’ve too much work to do without a blushing bride in the mixture. Let his lordship see to it tomorrow night.”
“Lord Braam will instruct me?”
Lula smiled broadly, revealing a double set of pointed canines that sent a flitter down Katty’s spine. “Indeed he will,” Lula said, an oily sheen on her words.
The fae laughed again.
Katty turned back to the mirror, face burning. They would not laugh at her after tomorrow. Tomorrow, she’d be their lady. Or would they mock her if she got the wedding night ceremony wrong? If it was up to Lord Braam to instruct her, she’d better be sure he did it well.
Frightening as Lula was, she was right: Katty knew too little. She was adrift in a black sea under foreign stars, and needed whatever guidance Lula could provide her, even if it meant suffering some ridicule along the way. Katty wished to impress tomorrow—not just her future husband, but his court. The wedding night ceremony would be just another challenge—one that, thankfully, she did not need to think of now. There was already so much to learn.
“Tell me about fae etiquette,” Katty bid the housekeeper’s reflection, raising her chin.
Lula cracked another toothy grin through the mirror, then began a lesson hours in length. When it was through, Katty felt dizzy with fatigue and jumbled information, and went to bathe with the nagging feeling that so much had been left out.
“If you mortally offend no one tomorrow,” Lula said, “I shall consider myself proud.”
“Thank you,” Katty replied, for no good reason she could think of. Perhaps it was only for the idea that anyone could be proud of what she would do tomorrow—and of the untold things she was sacrificing to do it and the unknown burdens she took on, and of all the human morals and norms she left in a heap like her clothing. But she’d given her word with that too simple utterance—yes—and urged the arrangements to be hasty. The only thing she could do now was toe those nagging thoughts away and get on with things.
