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These needs cannot be satisfied in the five mortal realms. I am a danger to anything breathing around me, unless I resist the whispers of my power.
“We’re to dine at the palace tonight.” I wasn’t paying attention to Reiks, too preoccupied by the beating of my own heart, until I heard those words.
“This palace? Your friend's? Mine?” The last one is a stretch—the Frejr domain is quite a way away. If we were to leave this late, we wouldn’t make it until midnight.Which is about the time when Valina has dinner, but I doubt Reiks is aware of that.
He snorts. “You and I have far too many acquaintances with castles. Mine, feather. My sister has a recital in about two hours.”
I wince. I’ll have to cross into freakingAnderkan, where I could be snatched by an eager priory of the Pillar, or rebels, or just any random Anderkanian prejudiced against witches.
He walks out of his dressing room, drying his messy, wet hair with a towel. He’s clothed in white, royal blue, and silver formalwear. Unlike the dark clothing he favors at school, this uniform does nothing to hide his height, his bulk.Why, he even getsmeto crane my neck up when he’s this close.
“Do you mind helping again?”
I blink up at him. “Hm?”
“Cufflinks?” He lifts his arms to my eye level. “I can mostly dress myself, despite what convention demands, but those damn little finicky things are a nightmare.”
I take the gold jewels engraved with two crossed swords and a torch—the Anderkan coats of arms—and I fasten them at his wrists. “Could you, I don’t know…give me some kind of schedule? Let me know how to dress for what’s coming?”
He studies me from the tips of my toes to my neck, then pauses. At least he doesn’t lie and tell me I’m dressed appropriately for a royal event.Never a morning person, I don’t spare much thought to my outfit before going out. I’m in a now-wrinkled denim shirt and gray jeans. I need a shower, a hairbrush, and probably a toothbrush, too.
“Blythe left some clothing here.”
I wrinkle my nose in distaste. “A dead woman’s clothes?” Who knew what ill will might remain in her frocks? I’d rather not get myself haunted.“No, thank you.”
“She never wore any of them,” he tells me with a shrug.
That’s mildly less disturbing, but I’m still reluctant. “We were nothing alike.” She was of average height, voluptuous, perpetually tanned, and blonde.
“I should hope so,” Reiks shoots back with some humor. “Have a look. You might find something appropriate. Otherwise, well, it’s not technically illegal to wear jeans in front of my father.” He doesn’t sound sure at all.
At his invitation, I make my way to his dressing room and smile at the sheer number of shoes. Green, white, red, black, silver, pink, shiny, polished, leather, boots, loafers, soft running shoes. That prince has a serious weakness for fancy footwear. They easily take up half of the circular room.
The formal suits are at the back and his casual shirts hang on the right. I find a few dresses right behind me, close to the door.Underneath, on display shelves, some female casual clothing is folded up. Jeans, soft sweaters. There’s even underwear in lower drawer.
I shake my head. He lied to me; those clothes aren’t Blythe's. She never wore a color that wasn’t pastel; these things are darker, and too modern for the former royal betrothed. He must have them stored here for overnight visitors.Not that it’s any of my business.
The dresses are too short, but I choose a suitable silk blouse with pearls for buttons and a lace collar. I pair it with an incredibly soft blue cardigan.
I don’t question removing my shirt until I’m standing half naked in Reiks’s walk in closet, while he’s only feet away.
Witches aren’t too fussy about nudity among themselves. We don’t actuallylookat each other during revels and ceremonies. Commons—and even other demis—can make me feel self-conscious, though. I wouldn’t like Reiks to see me. I’m skinny and so flat I wear neither corset nor bra under my clothes. My thighs are a little too wide to go with the rest of my body. Finding pants that fit at the waist and can squeeze past my legs is always a challenge. I rush to change, and notice I’ve buttoned the little pearls all wrong, so I need to do it all over again.
Looking at my reflection in his claw-footed standing mirror, I hesitate. I’m wearing Anderkan’s colors, and that doesn’t sit well with me.
Reiks knocks on the door of the dressing room.“We have an hour-long journey. Let’s get going.”
Dammit. Too late to change.
* * *
I wish I’d clicked on Dyfina’s name when I researched Reiks last week. I don’t know what to expect.
Though honestly disinterested in politics, I’m not entirely ignorant. I know of the twin princes of Flaur, I know of the banished prince of Dorath and his little brother, the new crown prince. I can now name the king of Ravelyn, thanks to last week’s morning royal pride session. Naturally, I’m familiar with the two princesses of Vanemir, my distant cousins. For all that, I don’t think I’ve so much as heard there was a royal princess in Anderkan. Maybe because I have little interest in their backward country. Or maybe because no one talks of her.
“What sort of recital are we attending?” I ask, breaking the silence in the dark leather interior of Reiks’s hovercraft.
Reiks doesn’t lift his eyes from the pile of papers he’s reading. “A terrible one. Fifi likes to take up a new instrument every other moon, and she never sticks with it long enough to excel.” He turns the page. “But the court will come.”
