Page 53 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“If you want to know, ask him yourself.” There it is, the harsh expression narrowing her eyes. “He’s my oldest friend. I won’t divulge his secrets for your benefit.”

“That’s not what…”

“Here!” She continues up a flight of steps that fan out at the edge like a dove’s tail. The stone slabs under my feet are a light grey colour, almost white, while the drapes in the windows have a pattern of vines and fine leaves.

As we step through the door, my eyes are immediately drawn to the mannequins adorned in an array of gowns. They range from timeless ball gowns to daring styles that reveal more skin than any courtly lady would dare show. The room is filled with elegant dresses, each one carefully displayed.

Eadan guides me to another room, the wooden floor creaking beneath our boots. The air carries the faint scent of leather. Armoured corsets and flowing skirts with audacious slits that reach up to the mannequins hips are but a few items on display. I can almost feel the weight of the knives strapped to one of their thighs, ready for quick and decisive action.

“Eadan, dear, lovely to see you again,” a male voice chimes before its owner steps into view. His white shirt is buttoned to the base of his neck, cuffed over an emerald-green silk sash to match his trousers. “Who is your friend?” His sophisticated smile fades the moment his dark eyes skim across my skin, seeing my blatantly human features. He raises one brow, and his dark skin gleams in the sunlight.

“Bryndis, meet Cedric, the man who knows more about fashion and clothing than I ever could.” She steps back.

I widen my eyes at her. I don’t have any money, nor do I have the means to earn it. Everything in here looks… expensive. The gem-encrusted dresses sparkle too brilliantly to be decorated with glass lookalikes. The golden buckles have a richness that can’t be achieved by mere plating.

“She needs something comfortable, something for the coronation, and something versatile enough to train in. We’re going to the border villages. One never knows what to expect.” She says all of this with an ease that resembles a conversation held over tea. Border villages. One never knows what to expect. “Prince Odhran will settle the account.”

“I see.” He strains a toothy smile. The effect is anything but welcoming. Turning on his heel, he heads straight to the opposite wall, where the shelves are easily three times my height.

“Eadan…” I whisper, moving closer. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I guess I…” I see more than just the bad habits.

“He may be a dick most of the time, but circumstances have shaped him that way.” She takes a seat on the bench, reclining against its soft velvet cushions. “I guess you need to ask yourself, how deep do you want to wade into this?”

I don’t know.

“Come with me, miss.” Cedric carries arms full of clothes. My eyes are immediately drawn to the supple leather, its rich aroma filling the air. Soft cottons create a comforting texture while waves of Prussian blue satin shimmer in the light. In the far corner is the most beautiful of them all. The dress is the colour of the dark reds in my father’s cellar. Its plunging neckline would set the whole kingdom gossipping if anyone were ever to wear this at a ball back home, but it looks so soft as it glows in the afternoon sun.

“Miss…” Cedric says, clearing his throat. It sounds more like a reprimand than an invitation. Eadan arches her brows at me as if to say good luck. I guess I’ll need it.

As the sun sets, the town takes on a magical glow. Soft, warm hues bathe the streets, casting long shadows and a sense of tranquillity. Copper lamps illuminate the cobblestones. The wind howls through the trees, whispering forbidden secrets. “We need to get back. It’s getting late.” Eadan quickens her steps, and I follow. Cobbled paving fades to dirt paths, tall trees replacing houses. The forest is a labyrinth of twisted branches and hidden dangers. Eyes glint in the darkness between the trees, watching our every move. But I’m not afraid.

Eadan leaves me as soon as we walk through the front door to head to the kitchen. I’m more than happy to fall behind as the heaviness in my chest returns. Declan’s note scratches against my skin, so I take it out from under my corset. Reluctantly, I unfold the piece of paper, ripped and rough around the edges. I frown as I read a message that wasn’t there before.

Bryn,

I haven’t given up on you. I’ll never give up on you. Tell me you’re alright.

Declan

He may not have given up on the girl I used to be, but I have. How does one remain unchanged when faced with everything that’s happened? How does one smile and pretend it’s all alright? Nothing about this is alright. With a heavy heart, I refold the paper and put it away.

Odhran, Sloan, and Sheridan are all seated in the living room. There’s no need to conceal the windows as Odhran did before, the sun having already set. The darkness on the other side of the glass panes is all too real.

“I thought I told you to be back before dark,” Odhran says into his glass, his voice carrying a hint of frustration. The room is heavy with tension.

Sloan’s head rolls against the upholstered backrest. “Women are always late.” He chuckles to himself, but his eyes betray his annoyance. Despite his casual demeanour, there’s an unmistakable tension simmering beneath the surface.

Sheridan, on the other hand, remains silent. His eyes dart across the room, surveying his surroundings with an intensity that borders on paranoia. Every corner, every piece of furniture, seems to be under scrutiny.

“I came back like I said I would, unlike the Slìbhìn you believe me to be.” Mimicking the posture my mother taught me, I jut out my chin, channelling her strength and resilience.

Odhran’s grip on his glass tightens, his knuckles turning white.

“How much is she allowed to know?” The muscles in Sloan’s jaw tense, his smile fading.

“If she comes with us… there’s only so much we can hide. Do we trust her, Odhran? She is a liar, after all.” Sheridan’s hands fidget restlessly. Do we trust her?

“The whole reason she’s here is for her ability to lie,” Sloan says, clearing his throat.