Page 130 of Shifter King
He waited, fighting the urge to pace. This was insane. She wasn’t even close to sober. How long was this lucid phase going to last? She seemed a little more stable. Maybe another two hours. That could be enough. Maybe three. Maybe—
A loud crash sounded behind the carved wooden screen.
Shrieking moons.
He circled around to find that she had gotten at least the base of the wedding gown on. The flowing pale-yellow gown with its feathery skirt had fanned out around her like a peacock’s tail. Apparently the lucid phase was going to end now.
He picked her up and carried her back to the bed. Maybe this would be easier if she was unconscious. Over the next hour, he applied the cosmetics to her skin as best he could to hide the scars as the queen required. He tied the layered beaded belt to her waist and adjusted the bodice overlay. It was all stunningly woven together, hours and hours of delicate work to create the beautiful combination of beasts and forms that danced across the panels.
Occasionally she murmured or grunted something that suggested she had drifted far away again. She started repeating, "Forty counts down. Thirty-nine now. Forty no more. Dragons. The hazel."
If she started saying that during the wedding, well—he'd come up with some charming explanation. Carefully, he applied another layer of thick colored paste to the large arcing scar across her neck. As long as they got to the wedding though, they would be above ground, which would make flying much more likely. It would be safer once Naatos, AaQar, and QueQoa got there. If Naatos could even participate. They’d need to take on forms that were resistant to the piercing weapons with that poison. And someone would have to shield Amelia. One hit from this, and she’d be dead. If it seemed that an escape was likely, these Bealorns would kill her rather than let her get away. Easy enough to claim it was an accident too.
He stepped back. Of course, getting to the end and the wedding also meant that she had to look...alive. And conscious. The whole point of this was for Zorna to save face. And if someone came to her and said Amelia wasn’t even able to stand, even though it was Zorna’s fault, she was likely to blame it on Amelia and decide war and lobotomization was worth it. Or maybe another accident would happen. Some great tragedy.
He struck his hands together and then raked him through his hair. Maybe if he put his arm around her shoulders, he could—nope.
She sagged, then collapsed against him, her body as sturdy as overboiled noodles. Shrieking moons, flying crespas, rings on all the blessed planets, and mud boils. This was not going to work. If they didn’t insist on stabbing him with those poisoned blades, this would all be far easier. He’d just assume a multi-form, make an impersonation of Amelia that would be attached to him in this form. Of course he’d have to find somewhere safe to put her.
He nudged her cheek with his impeccably-shined shoe. Her head flopped back like a dead fish.
Crouching, he pinched the bridge of his nose. All right. Crespa. There was no way to carry her in which she looked even halfway conscious or sober or really even alive. Next plan.
He rested his hand on his side. Bastards had put a hole in that dress too. They better not attempt that with this one. It'd be rather unseemly for a bridal attendant to be spurting blood out her side.
Well, poison or not, it didn’t matter. Multi-form was the only way to go.
He sat down and adjusted his skirt, then closed his eyes. Healing was essential. He had to get enough focus and enough strength back to make an exceptionally accurate multi-form that included both this female version of himself and a false-Amelia who could walk and talk if needed. Thank whatever goodness was in the world they didn’t want her scars visible. If he’d had to showcase all of those as well as the dress with all that beadwork and ridiculous feather panels, well...there were small mercies at least.
The blood pulsed in his veins, growing and quickening with strength as he drew in deeper breaths and pulled from his organs and bones. Purge the poison. Discomfort radiated out from his core, an unpleasant heat that trembled up his spine and through his veins.
Another small mercy was that the poison, while cumulative and perturbing, wasn’t one of the worst. It wasn’t that cabiza-manticore venom that Zorna liked to threaten. He might get strong enough. Especially if he simplified a few things. Yes. He blinked his eyes open. No one would come out screaming about the beading being wrong during the middle of the wedding, so he could simplify that. And how would anyone there know what her hair should look like? Yes, she wore it loose mostly, but he could put that in a bun in his version and keep it all smooth with something simple and no one would notice.
Yes, yes.
Lots of things could be simplified. But if he got stabbed with any more venoms or poisons in the next two hours, he'd be in serious trouble.
A hard knock sounded on the door. "Ten minutes before departure."
"Very well. Send the groom in. He is to help us as a part of Neyeb tradition." WroOth cracked his neck. That would have to be enough healing. He purged all the rest out and then took a long drink of water.
The door creaked open with a light knock. Gabrice peered inside. "I have been informed there is a tradition I must follow."
"Yes. Come inside and close the door." WroOth glared at him until he complied. Stepping closer, he then rapped the prince on the chest with the fan. "Stand up straight. You think you’re going to lead looking like that? And your shoulder seams aren’t even straight."
"Did you bring me in here to critique my attire?" Gabrice straightened his elegantly embroidered coat and the scarf fastened snugly around his neck, scowling. The beadwork on his panels was even more impressive, featuring seventeen separate designs and just as many separate colors. His eyes had been lined in two shades of blue: azure and midnight. "Also...is she all right? She doesn't look much better."
"She will be, but there's more for you to do." WroOth set his arms akimbo and gestured toward the door with his chin. "You need to make sure that there is no one else in the bride’s corridor. They can guard the external exits. But no attendants."
Gabrice scowled. "How is that going to help if she isn’t sober?"
"Trust me. Get the two of us there alone, and I’ll make sure she marches down to meet you and delivers the words the queen so desperately wants to hear."
"In an hour?"
WroOth struck him again with the flat side of the fan. "Just do it, you useless beast talker."
Gabrice jumped back, glaring at him. "Why did they let you keep that? Skinchangers aren’t supposed to have any weapons."
