Chapter 288: The King’s Choice and The Dress That Changed Everything
Chapter 288: The King’s Choice and The Dress That Changed Everything
Elyn’s POV
Azerion crossed his small arms over his chest, his blue eyes narrowing at Zorathys with the kind of defiance that would have gotten anyone else turned into a very small, very dead pile of ash.
"The Queen isn’t your wife yet," he said.
Zorathys didn’t even blink. He just tilted his head slightly, his ruby eyes half-lidded and amused, like he was watching a kitten try to roar.
"You just referred to her as Queen," he said slowly, drawing out each word. "And I am King. Therefore, she is my wife."
Azerion’s face scrunched up like he had just bitten into something sour.
"That makes no sense," he said. Then he turned to Zayrion, who was seated nearby with the others. "Zayrion. Does that make sense?"
Zayrion adjusted his glasses and looked between Zorathys and Azerion with the expression of someone who had been asked to explain why water was wet.
"Why are you trying to drag me into this situation?" he asked.
"Because you’re smart," Azerion said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Zayrion sighed, adjusted his glasses again, and then spoke.
"The Queen is Queen," he said simply.
Zorathys nodded approvingly.
"Smart," he said.
Zayrion’s ears twitched at the praise. It was obvious he loved it. He was trying not to show it, but his tails had lifted slightly behind him, and there was a faint flush creeping up the sides of his neck.
Azerion threw his hands up in exasperation.
"That makes no sense!" he said. "The Queen isn’t his wife yet!"
"I’m King, and you just said she’s Queen, hence she’s my wife," Zorathys told him.
Azerion shook his head.
"She’s not your wife," he said, his chin wobbling.
Zorathys sighed. It was a long, dramatic sound, the kind that suggested he was being forced to endure something deeply tedious.
"Are you going to start crying again?" he asked Azerion. "Or are we going to continue what we were doing before?" He leaned back against his cushions, Aziren still perched comfortably on his lap, and waved a lazy hand toward me. "I am very interested in seeing what other clothes my Firefly can put on that would suit her."
I turned to look at him.
"You’re enjoying this too much," I said.
He nodded. Completely unashamed.
"Yes," he said. "I am."
I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought of his enjoyment — something involving his shadows and possibly a very long nap somewhere far away from me — when something moved in my peripheral vision.
One of his shadows had extended toward me.
It stretched across the woven mats like a dark ribbon unfurling, moving slow and deliberate, and draped across it — held carefully, almost reverently — was a dress.
The shadow stopped in front of me and tilted slightly, as if presenting the garment for my consideration.
The dress was black. No surprise there. Patterns swirled across its surface — purple designs that shifted in the light, some barely visible, others catching the glow. Gold highlights traced the edges of those patterns, thin and delicate, adding warmth to the darkness.
I turned to look at Zorathys. His ruby eyes were fixed on me, half-lidded as always, and he gestured at the dress as if telling me to try it on.
I rolled my eyes.
But I took the dress.
Because deep down, somewhere in a part of myself I was not ready to admit existed, I was kind of excited to see what he had chosen for me.
Velira appeared at my elbow immediately, her purple wings fluttering so fast they were almost a blur.
"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, that is beautiful."
Thalira moved to my other side, her light blue hair swaying as she leaned in to examine the fabric.
"The gold," she said, reaching out to touch the sleeve. "It looks like starlight."
Brixton stood behind them, his eyes fixed on the dress with curiosity.
"We need to go behind the screen," Velira announced, grabbing my hand. "Come on. Come on."
She dragged me toward the painted screen in the corner — the tall one with foxes chasing moons and flowers that seemed to bloom in the lantern light. Thalira followed, and Brixton trailed behind with the dress clutched carefully in his hands like it was made of glass.
Behind the screen, the space was small but private — just enough room for me and the three children who had apparently decided they were now my personal stylists.
"Take off the blue one, Your Highness," Velira instructed.
I chuckled at her tone but did as commanded.
Brixton turned around so fast I almost laughed. His back was to me, his shoulders stiff, his ears burning a shade of red that I was fairly certain was not natural for his species.
Thalira helped me step into the black dress while Velira held it open.
The moment the fabric touched my skin, I understood why the shadows had presented it so carefully.
Like most clothes in the demon realm, it clung to my body, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like it had been made for me specifically, measured and cut and sewn by hands that knew exactly where I curved and where I didn’t.
The back dipped low.
Very low.
I reached behind myself to feel it, and my fingers found nothing but skin. It plunged down my spine, stopping just short of where my back met the curve of my body, and I had no idea how the dress was staying up.
I didn’t understand how the dress was even made, only that it was beautiful.
The sleeves were long, reaching all the way to my wrists, and I had no idea how they had been attached to the bodice. There were no seams that I could feel, no stitching that I could see. The fabric just continued from the shoulder down to my hands, smooth and seamless, like it had grown there.
The front was different.
The neckline dipped low in a deep V, cutting down between my breasts and stopping at the center of my chest. But unlike the dark blue gown, this one showed no cleavage. My breasts were fully covered, the fabric somehow managing to be both revealing and modest at the same time.
The purple designs swirled across the bodice and down the skirt, catching the light whenever I moved. The gold highlights traced the edges of those designs, thin and delicate, like someone had painted them with a brush made of starlight.
Velira stepped back to look at me.
Her eyes went wide.
Then she squealed.