Page 12 of Dragons' Mate
“You look gorgeous,” I say honestly, watching her newly curled and pinned hair sparkle with the diamonds woven into it. Several of theOasis’sladies have been fussing over Autumn and me for hours now, their skill enough to put any royal handmaiden to shame. “Every eye at the ball is going to be on you, mask or no mask.”
Autumn’s smile brightens and she bounces on her toes. “Now let’s look at you. Spin around.” She emphasizes the motion with her finger.
I turn like she had, albeit with less speed and grace. My own gown, put together with haste by several seamstresses on theOasis’sdiscreet payroll, is a carefully downplayed imitation of Autumn’s own. Made to honor the Earth Court of Slait, the dress is a homage to a forest at dusk. It has a deep emerald bodice that hugs my figure and sparkles subtly under the lights. Lower down, the gown transitions to a skirt of softer hues, the earthy browns yielding to gentle, muted gold, reminiscent of the sun setting behind a woodland canopy. Light, delicate embroidery of vines and leaves and even a few gemstones sewn in as dewdrops pull everything together.
It’s as unlike me as the bleach blond hair I now have braided behind me.
"Brilliant," Autumn declares. "Though it would be even more so if you stopped looking like you want to pick a wedgie.”
She holds my mask out to me. Made of thin molded leather, it's designed to cover the top of my face and is painted in the same earthy hues as my gown—deep emerald, soft brown, and muted gold. A few delicate feathers at the edges both add a whimsical touch and flutter whenever I move. Most importantly though, the mask’s wide wings are large enough to conceal my rounded ears.
Autumn checks the time. “Playtime is over, I’m afraid. Time to go put this hairbrained scheme into motion.”
Hairbrainedis a good way to describe Quinton’s plan. I blow out a long breath, my stomach clenching as I fasten my mask into place and follow Autumn through an underground passage into a waiting carriage. Judging by the princess’s confident steps, she’s made this trip many times.
Well, obviously, since she is officially housed at Massa’eve’s best inn, not a brothel.
“So you came to Massa’eve to observe the Equinox Trials?” I ask, as the carriage drives along a cobble-stone path.
“No, that’s just a side interest,” Autumn says easily. In the past few hours I’ve discovered Autumn to be wonderfully talkative—though only about topics of her choosing. She wouldn’t tell me a word about how, or even where or when she and Quinton met. “I’m primarily representing the Slait Court in our hopes to establish closer relations with our far neighbors. But while I’m here, my scholar side demands indulgence.”
“And the Equinox Trials have your interest?”
“Not so much the trials as these priests of Orion who run them. That, and the changing nature of the dragons’ fertility.” She speaks with such refined confidence that I’m starting to question whether I’d really seen her playing cards at a brothel a few hours ago. “Why do dragons needhumanwomen for example? Why not fae? And where are all the dames?”
"Dames?"
"Female dragons. Have you seen a single one around?"
I frown. "I didn't know there were female dragons."
"There aren't," Autumn confirms. "See my point?”
I don’t really. If I can accept that immortal dragon shifters exist, accepting that they happen to also be male seems insignificant. Or maybe I’m just too nervous for critical analysis. I feel a slight sting and look down to realize that I’ve been itching the slave brand on the inside of my forearm again. Autumn seems to notice as well and frowns. I tug my dress sleeve over the irritated skin and focus on the approaching palace.
When the carriage finally comes to a stop, the door is swung open from the outside. Autumn regally accepts a waiting footman’s hand to help her down and I do the same, always keeping a step behind the princess, the way a proper handmaiden would.
We walk together to the grand entrance and Autumn presents her invitation to the guards.
“Good evening, Princess Autumn. King Ettienne of Massa’eve welcomes you,” the guard says. The mention of Ettienne’s name reminds me of his promise to have me put to death if I ever return to the palace, but the guard gives me no more than a cursory look.
I guess that’s the one bright side of Quinton’s mission to kill me—no one is on the lookout for me.
Stepping into the grand hall for the first time, I nearly trip over my own feet. The place makes the receiving hall at Agam estate, where I've spent most of my life, look like a child's playroom. The vaulted ceiling is a stunning canvas of sapphire and silver, the painted stars and celestial symbols twirling and shimmering as if alive. In the center, the dais with Ettienne’s gold and ebony throne is mercifully empty, but the raised platform before it holds three males in priests’ robes who look as intimidating as the flying dragons on the mural behind them. The priests’ faces are shadowed by their hoods, but what little I can see of their skin is covered in tattoos.
“This way,” Autumn says under her breath, guiding me toward a curving staircase to the white marble mezzanine that encircles the room. The open archways and balconies provide a view of the palace grounds and the hundreds of people dancing below. Gowns and masks twirl in perfect beat to the music of the ensemble at the far corner. It’s all, well, beautiful and majestic and utterly out of my league.
I don't understand how the males imagined I wouldeverfit in here. Forget dancing, I couldn’t even manage the heeled shoes these people are wearing. I know because we tried at theOasis,until Autumn finally declared that a handmaiden who can’t take three steps without falling on her face would be more conspicuous than one in less than ideal footwear.
Instinctively, I scan the dancers for my males.Despite the cursory costumes, finding Tavias is easy. His large body and preternaturally graceful movements would make him stand out on the crowded dance floor even if he wasn’t wearing a glorious scaled tunic and twirling an equally glorious woman. The beauty in Tavias’s arms who wears a gown of deep amethyst must be Fionna, the spare human Quinton told me the pack chose to replace me.
I watch her follow Tavias’s lead through a complex spin, as if she’d been born to this. Hell, maybe she was. Prophecy and all.
My stomach lurches in unreasonable envy.
"This is a really bad idea," I say under my breath.
"Oh, it’s absolutely terrible,” Autumn agrees. "But given the dragons’ declining numbers, none of the good ideas have worked out well, so there is that.”
