Chapter 26: Two Seconds, One Dress, and a Queen’s Approval
Chapter 26: Two Seconds, One Dress, and a Queen’s Approval
"I’m only going to give you guys two seconds," I growled.
It came out low and dangerous—exactly the sort of command you only ever use on stray cats and people trying to auction off your destiny.
Marrok and Versha blinked at me, then tilted their heads in perfect synchrony like some awful, elegant metronome. For a split second I worried they’d misheard, that centuries of stone and eight eyes had dulled their hearing.
"Two," I repeated, louder. "Out. Now. Wait outside until I’m done changing. I don’t care if seeing a human’s nakedness is boring or not."
Marrok’s carved brows twitched. Versha’s many eyes narrowed in curiosity. For a moment I thought they would politely refuse and remain, haunting my dressing room for the rest of eternity. Instead, they straightened. Versha gave a small, delighted chuckle. Marrok tucked his wings politely and turned.
As the door began to close, I heard a chorus of breathy, excited chatter leak into the corridor—squeals about how commanding I was, how royal my tone had sounded, how perfectly suited I was for the demon king. They shut the door and left me alone with the small, hollow-eyed woman who had somehow become my personal maid.
Rin stood by the wardrobe like a deathly, fashionable statue, eyes the color of empty wells. She had that ridiculous habit of tilting her head when she was thinking, which in her case made her look like a raven contemplating a particularly puzzling breadcrumb.
"You have just a few minutes," I reminded her, half to prove I meant it and half because she’d been staring at me with the polite, unnerving curiosity of someone choosing which neck to peck first.
Rin’s mouth twitched. "I’m very fast," she said, almost proudly.
I changed my tone from growl to warning. "You better be. I don’t want anyone messing up my dress."
She blinked—no expression, then suddenly smiled in that slow, raven way. "Now that you’ve said it like that, I’m going to do my best to make you look spectacular."
She sashayed to the wardrobe with a smoothness that, frankly, reminded me of a knife sliding out of silk. I stripped off my riding coat and eased into the hot bath.
The water was impossibly warm and smelled faintly of stone-lavender and the sort of soap that costs a small fortune. It was the closest thing to normal I had encountered since arriving in the demon realm, and for two blissful minutes I allowed my shoulders to unknot and my brain to breathe.
From the tub, muffled through steam, I heard Rin move the doors of the wardrobe. A tiny sound of horror escaped her and then—dramatic gasp—the voice of judgment.
"What is it?" I called out, towel already halfway in my hands.
I hauled myself out and wrapped the robe around me, sprinting—well, gliding—toward the wardrobe. Rin stood there holding a gown like it was a relic of barbaric fashion. "They’re all frills and puffs and everything Aelthryn," she declared, voice sour. "It looks like a pastry, and I will not have my lady mistaken for a confection."
I peered into the open wardrobe. The first compartment she’d pulled out was a horror show of gilded lace, stiff panniers, and sleeves that seemed to have been designed to trap birds. I tried to imagine myself in one of those—impossibly pale, flouncing down a hall while servants fanned me with ostrich plumes—and wanted to throw the entire thing at the nearest gargoyle.
Since Zorathys had been the one to pack my things, he didn’t filter them. He just packed everything, and I don’t even wear the clothes in that wardrobe.
"Find something else," I said. "Anything that doesn’t scream ’ornate pastry.’"
Rin clicked her tongue and opened a second compartment with the theatrical flourish of someone revealing a secret. There, folded and draped like a quiet promise, hung garments that actually—shock—didn’t insult my spine. Free lines, soft fabric, no neck-cages. The exact type of clothes I wore, the type that always sent Vaelory into a fit. She plucked out a dark-red dress and held it up against the light.
The dress was a deep, blood-red, cut from silk that seemed to drink the light and then give it back in soft warmth. The bodice sat close but not suffocating, with a gentle scoop to the neckline that kept modesty and charm in balance.
The sleeves were long and loose, gathered at the wrist with tiny, functional buttons that shone like little moons. A narrow belt of black braided leather cinched the waist. The hem had a whisper of embroidered vines in darker thread, so the detail existed only if someone cared enough to look.
"That one," I said.
Rin’s hollow eyes lit in a way that was almost—dare I say—proud. She held the dress as if she’d just chosen a battalion’s standard. "Excellent choice," she approved. "It will look especially good with your complexion."
"Thanks," I muttered, and disappeared behind the screen to change.
Rin moved like a well-practiced aide. She braided my hair into a single, neat plait that fell down my back; she threaded a few loose tendrils at the face to soften the shape; she slid small, tasteful earrings—thin hoops inset with dark garnets—into my lobes. The garnets caught the light like little trapped embers, and I was briefly surprised at how much I liked the effect. It was... me.
I turned to her when she was done. "You did good."
She beamed so hard that I thought her mouth or jaw would fall off, then suddenly she turned into a raven and just as quickly reverted back to herself... at least the version I knew.
"I’m going to tell everyone you said I did good," she said, preening.
She didn’t even give me a chance to reply. She took my hand then and led me toward the door. Outside, in the hall, Marrok and Versha waited like a stately bouquet.
Marrok’s wings lifted a fraction, the stone feathers catching the light with the same dignified pride he always wore like armor. Versha clapped her many hands together, eight eyes bright as coins. They both looked like they’d been waiting for this exact second since the castle was first hewn from shadow and stone.
When they saw me properly dressed, Marrok’s stoic face softened in a way that maybe, just maybe, was almost fond. Versha let out a sound—a series of little, delighted chirps—and her arms fluttered like an over-excited spider at tea. "Oh," she squealed, and it was a sound I’d never expected to come from anything with multiple eyes, "you look so pretty—like a demon!"
Rin glowed with pleasure and planted her hands on her hips. "She told me I did good," she boasted.