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When she returns, the breath leaves my body entirely.
The sheer fabric wraps tightly around her chest in a corset, which rests untied on her back. I slip behind her and begin to lace the dress up with a ribbon of white-blue silk and a delicate touch. I fight against my very nature to not trail my fingers up her spine. The sleeves are links of chains entwined with the same silk, and they fall in the middle of her upper arm.
From my position behind her, I am able to admire the way the skirt hugs her hips, flaring out at the knee into a curled and flared bottom, reminiscent of the shadows I caught her engulfed in two nights ago. The curve of her thighs fills the dress perfectly, and her ass is squeezed tightly. I shamelessly admire it, imagining sinking my teeth into the soft flesh and hearing her squeal.
She turns to face me, and I can see the swirling tendrils of frost sewn into the front of her skirt, dripping like ice down her sides. The corset pushes her breasts up, creating half-moon peaks on her chest. Her waist, nipped in from the boning and decorated with snowflakes, would look even better with my fingertips digging into it.
I reluctantly step away from her to reach into the box the dress came from, retrieving a smaller black box that fits in the palm of my hand. Viola eyes it, and I open it slowly, revealing a necklace made with rubies polished into teardrop shapes. The rubies rest within clusters of sparkling diamonds, a collar of blood and ice.
Together, they look just like the elements that came to me in a dream.
She was always meant for me.
I slide the necklace around her delicate neck and then step back, nodding my approval. “You are absolutely breathtaking.” My voice is hoarse, holding back all the emotions I wish I could explain. She and I are fated, and I think she’s finally starting to see it, too. Every bit of her body, wrapped up in this dress, a testament of my affection for her, was made for me.
“It’s Winter magic,” she whispers, the first words she’s said since she saw the dress. Her hands run down her side, teasing the details with her nimble fingers. Her hand lingers around her throat, rubbing against the gems as if she were polishing them.
“It is equal parts of all the wonderful magic you are capable of. An outfit reflecting the true power of our last Winter Seasonale.”
Tulip has been silent, gaping openly at Viola. “Well,” she finally chokes out, “now you really have to let me do your hair.”
Chapter 40
Viola
Theballroomisopulentlydecorated in the colors of each Seasonale, with shimmering gems and jewels adorning light fixtures and precious metals coating serving dishes. The high ceilings amplify the string music played throughout, the likes of which I’ve never heard before. The walls, lined with tables full of decadent food, have tapestries woven in the colors I’ve seen wrapped around the exterior of the Palace. I have never seen such a beautiful sight as this room.
It makes me feel ill.
I have seen Ytopie and seen the comfort they’ve lived in, but this level of indulgence when the rest of us fight tooth and nail for survival is despicable.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tulip breathes beside me.
“You are,” I say, smiling at her. She is a vision in the blue floral gown Zeph gave her, blending in with the mingling fae seamlessly. She brushed her eyelids with a soft pink rouge and applied a shimmering mauve on her pouty lips. She looks much older than her eighteen years today. A full woman.
A winner of the Race.
As soon as we enter the hall, we are swarmed, the fae lucky enough to be in attendance at the Gala clamoring for our attention. The young men beg Tulip to dance with them, crooning over her looks and strength to overcome her brother Twig’s horrific death.
She winces at the mention of her brother and now remains firmly stuck to my side.
My eyes dance across the room, where fae are eating and laughing as if they didn’t just make sport of the misery of my people for a week and a half. I turn to find a glass of wine but stop short as a tall man with dark hair and eyes hulks over me.
His limbs are thin and gangly, and his features are surprisingly bird-like. His dark hair spikes atop his head, and his face is fixed in a scowl. “Lady Mistflow,” he murmurs, inclining his head towards the floor. “My name is Loris. I am one of Zeph’s oldest friends. Please, may I have a moment of your time?” He juts his elbow out to me, and I look to Tulip. She nods at me to go, so I hesitantly rest my hand in the crook of his arm.
I may be tall, but this man is a giant. I have to run to keep up with him. He notices, slows his gait, and finds us a table to sit at to spare my feet from the heels I have been hobbling in. With a motion to a waiter, two glasses of wine appear before us.
“Viola, how much do you know about the history of the Race and why you’re truly here?” He speaks without pretense, and I find it incredibly refreshing.
Taking a sip of my wine, I do my best to appear nonchalant. “Mace and Stone think I am a vessel to bring back Himureal, the Frostweaver. Zeph thinks I’m an abnormally powerful Winter Seasonale and thinks I just need to hone that and that Himureal doesn’t need to be brought back.”
I swear Loris almost smiles. “That’s a pretty good summary.”
Taking a deep gulp from his wine, he fixes his strange gaze upon me. “What’s your magic?” I ask before realizing that may be rude.
“I’m a Bliksem,” he answers simply.
Lightning! “Why is the grid so Godsdamn loud?” I ask, leaning excitedly towards him.
