Page 28 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood
Using the front of one shoe, I pop the second off at the heel, then shake the other until it flings across the room. Mistake. My feet immediately begin to swell. Putting them on a second time will hurt even more.
Maybe I can wear one of my old pairs. No one can see my feet anyway. There are so many layers and such a massive hoop beneath my skirts, I can barely fit through doorways.
I’m a damned cupcake, being served up to the king on a pretty pink platter. It makes me want to barf. Honestly, barfing on the dress would probably be an improvement.
This isn’t me. I prefer to meld with the forest in gowns of deep green. To disappear beneath a rainy sky in dresses of ashen grey. To blend into the royal drapes in fabric the color of mulled wine.
Iloveto dress up—to feel the power of a perfectly tailored gown. But this outfit doesn’t empower me. It just proves how much power King Hoff holds by receiving my hand.
My own damn engagement, and it can’t even be about me.
Why are royal men always deemed more important? Their cocks are useful, sure—but should they really be what sets us apart?
What grants them the right to rule?
This bright, fanciful, horrendously girlish dress makes me look like a child bride. Ifeellike a child bride. Despite the fact that I’m well into my childbearing years. Ugh. If I didn’t want to puke before, I certainly do now.
I’m going to be expected to bear children.King Hoff’schildren. A man who’s been producing children since I was in nappies.
Is it too much to ask for something sexy? A bit of black lace? Something fitted to my curves? Maybe night slips will come into fashion.
I’d rather show up to this event in my undergarments than prance around like a puff-pastry clown.
“I need wine,” I groan, plopping into the chaise before my fireplace. I cry out as the bones of my corset dig into my rib cage, my massive skirt hoop bouncing me off the seat in the same moment. Melly catches me before I can topple flat on my face, or break my outfit trying.
“Sure ye ’aven’t already been at the bottle?” She cocks the pale eyebrow on the unburned side of her face.
I wish. My mother’s had me in “preparations” all day today. “Wine. Please, Melly. Take pity on me.” I stick out my glossy magenta lower lip.
“Oi, ye don’t ’ave to beg me.” She reaches behind the armoire and retrieves a bottle of red wine with two glasses. “But we’re drinking together. They’ve been working the staff to the bones to ready the castle for tonight.”
“Deal.” I walk to the bed, my skirts swishing in a circle around me as I move. Sitting as delicately as I can, I rest the back of my skirt hoop on the edge of the bed. My corset instantly buries into my skin again, the bones attempting to dig their way beneath my frame and pierce my organs.Death by corset. I doubt I’d be the first woman to die in such a manner. Women have been willing to do far more dangerous things for the sake of beauty.
Melly passes me a glass that’s so full a few drops slosh out, barely missing my gown. I lean forward, the motion unbearable. I’m not wasting this discomfort on sips. I swallow the entire glass, draining it in three quick gulps. My face puckers. No matter how fine the wine, when you chug it, it fights back. As if to say, “I’m fancy, savor me, you heathen.” A single drop falls fromthe rim as I hand the glass back to Melly. It hits one of the puffy white flowers that sits just beneath my waist.
“Oh dear.” Melly rushes for a wet towel.
“Leave it. I’m imperfect and messy on the inside too. This dress isn’t fooling anyone.”
Melly hands me a second glass, holding her tongue for once. Even her usual jesting gaze is filled with pity.
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I can’t stand it.” I down the second glass and set it on the foot of the bed. Melly’s eyes are still on me. I avert my gaze, choosing instead to stare at my hands. The wound on my thumb hasn’t healed. Probably because I can’t stop picking at it. A tiny edge sticks up at the base of the old tear. I grip it between my thumb and forefinger, working it loose. The first trickles of blood appear beneath the near-translucent piece of skin.
“Lenny, stop it this instant. There’ll be a royal ring on that bloody bitten ’and by nightfall. Why would ye do that?”
I shrug. I don’t know why I do it, but once I start, I can’t stop. I’ll peel the skin until it tears off at the base. That satisfies me, but it’s temporary. Once the blood is washed away and the skin dries up, a tiny edge will appear. An imperfection I can feel more than see, every time I run my other fingertips along the surface. I want the skin smooth, soft, but the more I tear it away the more haggard it comes back. My thumb isn’t the only victim. Nearly all my fingers have a wound of some sort.
It’s a vicious cycle. I should stop, I know I should stop. But even as the skin bleeds and burns, I can’t.Pick, pick, pick. Never happy with the look or feel. Never fully satisfied. I’ll peel my hands to the bone in my fruitless fight for perfection.
I’d probably look better as a skeleton anyway.
Melly grimaces as I stick my finger in my mouth, biting away at the last of the loosened skin. “Nasty ’abit!”
She’s right. Maybe these bloodied hands will make me less appealing to the king. If he’s squeamish, it might keep him from my bed. If not the fingers, the scar on my throat ought to do the trick. My fingers rise instinctively, seeking out the scarred flesh beneath my collar. I wear a simple braided chain with three teardrop diamonds that sits atop my breastbone. I’d wanted to wear the necklace Cassius gifted me, but Mother said it would be inappropriate.
Cassius will be there tonight. Looking devastatingly handsome, no doubt. It’s a masked ball, but I’ll recognize him, I’m certain of it. His build, that masculine gait, the rich hue of his skin. What I wouldn’t give to be announcing my betrothal to him this evening. Not some silver-haired grandpa. Maybe I can convince the king to bed me and then send me to some cottage in the countryside. Cassius could meet me there. Maybe even Harrow would find me there.
My blood buzzes with fine wine. “I’ve met someone.” The words bubble out on a giggle.
