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He didn’t want to shower, not really, even knowing he should. He could still smell them on his skin, and he wanted to keep it that way, wanted to have their scents all over his body as long as possible. But hereally did stink, didn’t he? And who knew what would happen if we went to the club smelling like them tonight?
Resigned, Jasper got into the shower and scrubbed himself clean, washing those delicious scents down the drain.
Vivian had already shifted by the time he emerged from the shower, and Jasper couldn’t help but smile at her Wolf form. She’d always been a little too skinny, especially around her mother’s death when times were lean and there hadn’t been enough to go around. She was still too thin, in his opinion, but she’d filled out enough that her Wolf was now nearly as big as his.
She was a sleek Wolf, with short, spiky auburn fur and eyes full of trouble. She looked just like her mom…
Grinning, Jasper slipped into his own room to change, reveling in the feeling as his body shifted and morphed into something new. He was a male, sure, but he was also this—a Wolf. Strong, fast, powerful…
And ready to run.
Nipping at Viv’s heels, he chased her out of the townhouse and out into the streets, toward the water.
He let her beat him to the riverfront. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.
Chapter 18
AMALIA
Her clothes didn’t fit.
Amalia looked down at the gold-and-white gown she’d pulled from her wardrobe, confusion and frustration swirling together in her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she had bought a new dress, couldn’t remember the last time someone had delivered one to the palace.
But her old clothes no longer fit.
This one was—inexplicably—too large and too small at the same time. A fact that seemed to defy all reality. The hem should have reached the floor or at the very least to her ankles, but no—it fell at least three inches too short, hitting her nearly mid-calf. And the dress was uncomfortably tight across her chest, the stiff fabric digging into her ribs. But the rest?
Amalia snorted, holding her arms out to her sides. The dress was heavy and loose, everywhere but her chest. It slipped off her shoulders, and there was much more fabric than she remembered. Enough that she could grab a handful where it pooled at her waist and below her collarbones, just above her chest.
She needed new clothes. Amalia let out a long breath.
She’d wanted to start with something simple. A bath and thenmaybe a walk around the palace grounds. She’d opened her curtains this morning and seen the sun and the rich blue sky and felt… something. For the first time in a long time, she’d felt something, some kernel of emotion in her chest.
Not happiness or hope, or anything like that. Maybe a little sad. But it had been something, after so long of feeling nothing, and somehow that had been enough to get her out of bed and into the bath.
But now? None of her clothes fit. She couldn’t go outside, not like this. Couldn’t be seen wearing clothing that was so obviously not her size. She looked a mess.
You represent our entire Faction, her mother had told her, repeatedly.Try not to be such an embarrassment, won’t you?
And Amaliawastrying.Trulytrying. But she didn’t have other clothing, and not a single item in her wardrobe fit her anymore. Her nightclothes at least fit, but they were all dirty. She’d piled them all up outside her door, hoping her handmaids could get at least some of them washed before she went to bed tonight.
She would need to send someone out to buy her new clothing, eventually, but until then…
An idea occurred to her. She knew where there were clothes that might fit her. Most of it unworn, too.
Her mother had always bought more dresses than she could ever wear, hadn’t she? And her mother had known exactly how to dress, exactly how to be the proper representative for all Witches. Surely her clothing would be good enough, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t make her look like an embarrassment?
Yes, Amalia decided, though the idea gave her a flutter of fear.That is the answer. Still, the idea of leaving the small world around her room was almost frightening enough to send her back to bed.
Amalia poked her head out her bedroom door and looked around. No one. Perfect.
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she stepped out of her room and into the palace.
Moving quickly, Amalia snuck through the hallways of the Northern Wing, listening for anyone who might be in the palace, walking the halls. She didn’t want to be seen like this—her dress, tooshort and so tight around the chest she could barely breathe, and her hair still wet from the bath. She was glad she hadn’t put on shoes yet. Her bare feet made barely any noise on the cold marble floors as she hurried.
No one had bothered doing anything with her mother’s effects after her death. It was like everyone had forgotten her, just like they’d forgotten Amalia. Her mother’s room looked just as it had that night—almost. The maids had taken the sheets from the bed and replaced them with fresh ones. There was a very thin blanket of dust on it now, and Amalia wondered how often they bothered to change the sheets for a queen who would never use that bed again.
Amalia tried not to look around at her mother’s room too much, heading straight for the closet instead.
