Page 120 of Reign

Fitzroy picked up the daintier hood. “You have a fair face—you don’t need to compensate for a lack of beauty with mounds of pearls.”

His hands brushed mine as he placed it in my palms—goose bumps surfaced instantly across my skin.

Ignoring the strange sensation, I carried the headpiece to the vanity and perched on the stool before the oval shaped mirror. Carefully tucking the short ends of my hair into a coif cap, I placed the crescent-shaped headband, adorned with gold trim, atop my head. The hood framed my face, covering my ears, while a sliver of parted hair peeked through the front.

Fitzroy then attached a black veil to the back, letting it flow over my shoulders like long locks.

“You could be mistaken for a lady,” he said, peering over my shoulder to meet my eyes in the mirror.

A little flutter wiggled in my chest, as if my heart were a chrysalis and his words had stirred the butterfly nestled within.

“Thank you,” I replied, blushing at his compliment—admittedly, a little giddy.

Fitzroy winced. “That jarring yokel twang to your voice cuts right through the illusion.”

I jabbed my elbow backward, catching him in the stomach. I didn’t care that he made fun of my country-dweller accent—I was elated to feel feminine again.

Fitzroy nudged me aside to admire his reflection. “More importantly, how do I look?”

With a roll of my eyes, I remarked, “Dashing,” my tone laced with feigned sarcasm.

In truth, he was strikingly handsome.

The Unseelie Court.

Fitzroy and I followed Bronwyn through the candlelit castle. My corset pressed painfully against my hip bones, forcing me to shuffle rather than walk, yet at least I blended into the surrounding grandeur.

Bronwyn showed us to a stately oaken door and pressed against it with all her strength—but the wood wouldn’t budge.

She squeaked and strained until Fitzroy placed his hand above hers. “Would you like some help?” he asked—his considerate and courteous side shining through.

She nodded and wiped her brow. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

With an effortless thump, Fitzroy opened the door.

The Great Hall exceeded its name. The ceilings were neck-achingly high, drawing my gaze upward to gawk at the intricately wrought arches above.

Goblin servants were hard at work, hanging colorful tapestries on the stone walls, each depicting a tale of Regina’s victories. One embroidery showed Regina riding her white dragon over a beach where ogres feasted on men. Among the stitched figures, one bore an uncanny resemblance to Tom—my little prodigy—clutching his sword heroically. I wondered if that tapestry memorialized the devastating invasion he died in.

Iron torches lined the walls, bathing the hall in a flickering orange hue that left scorch marks on the stone. On one side, a group of goblins decorated the banquet table, unfurling tablecloths and arranging fresh flowers and exotic fruits around sugar sculptures of castles, creatures, and knights.

One goblin carefully placed a gilded dragon-like head amid the candlesticks and lanterns adorning the tabletop.

“What is that?” I asked Fitzroy as we crossed the floor, strewn with rushes and pleasant-smelling herbs.

He glanced at the object. “Ah! That’s the head of the Knucker—a sea serpent that terrorized the Wetlands many moons ago. It dwelled in the marshes, eating livestock and villagers. The Lord promised his daughter’s hand in marriage to anyone who could slay the beast. After years of torment, Regina arrived and vanquished the violent Knucker within an hour of her arrival.”

“Are you certain it menaced the Wetlands?” I asked.

Though I knew Avice had an elder sister, everyone in Green Vale believed she’d vanished during the Dark Days—not once had I heard a tale that spoke of her being offered as a prize.

Fitzroy shrugged. “Maybe it was the Marshlands… All I know is slaying that beast was Regina’s final good deed before my father banished her to this Isle.”

A shiver ran down my spine as I stared at the embalmed head of a once-living creature—now covered in gold and repurposed as a decorative centerpiece.

Beside the enormous fireplace stood two women, each draped in elaborate gowns and ornate headpieces.

One brushed her fingers affectionately across the other’s cheek, drawing a reluctant smile—as though the touch offered comfort.