Page 30 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood
Commotion erupts from somewhere in the room. Raised voices reach us on our pedestal.
My father summons Gestin to his side. “What’s going on?”
“A disgruntled attendee. Something about a wandering wife. We’ve escorted him out as he’s quite enraged.”
I chime in, “It’s better to be pissed off than pissed on.”
I heard a stable boy tell that joke once. The men around him were riotous with laughter. Those surrounding me are silent. Apparently my comedic timing is still lacking.
King Hoff’s mouth hinges open while my mother stares at me in shock.
“Thank you for that, Lenore,” my father says, his jaw tight.
The only hint of a smile I get is from Gestin as he’s dismissed. I know if he weren’t on duty right now he would have roared with laughter.
Some of the roiling in my stomach settles when the food is cleared away. The same group of servants removes the table,struggling once again. I sigh, sinking into the seat as much as my gown will allow.
From my privileged seat above the rest of the guests, I’m privy to all manner of gossip and speculation blurted from over plumped lips and excessively powdered faces. The chatter is a boring mashup of the disgustingly predictable affairs of powerful men, unexpected debts of those stupid enough to gamble away dowries and country estates, and of course, the distasteful fashions of whoever is deemed under- or overdressed in the present hour. I don’t know why they don’t all just wrap themselves in wool and swap their shit-talking for a more fittingbaa. They’re sheep in a flock, fit for devouring. Too bad there aren’t any wolves nearby.
The only truly juicy piece of gossip arises when a new trio enters the Great Hall. Whispers ripple across the crowd, talk of an unusual marriage from a mysterious kingdom. Then two towering men and a much smaller woman stroll into the room with arms interlocked. They stride directly toward the dais. Bowing gently, the three of them greet my fiancé and I.
The largest of the two men absolutely towers over us, even in our sizable thrones. He wears a gilded lion’s mask that stops just beneath his nose. Diamonds encircle the eye holes, glittering against the glowing blue of his cerulean eyes. What strange eyes. It must be a trick of the light. They appear to glow, as if candlelight burns beneath the glassy surface. He offers me a brief smile and the hint of sharpened canines flashes between full lips. Neatly combed golden hair that matches the ornate mask drapes along each shoulder, and atop his tall head sits an impressive ruby- and diamond-encrusted crown. He is more bear than man. The finely stitched red and gold attire strains against his mountainous form. A single red rose peeks from his lapel. Redder than any flower I’ve seen. It puts the rubiesembedded in my mask to shame. The mass of delicate petals is in full bloom.
The woman next to him places a slender hand on his large bicep, stealing my attention. Her dress is a vibrant yellow, with gold and white sparkles throughout. Despite her generous curves, she’s chosen a style that’s tight to the body all the way down to the floor. Such wide hips and full bosom are viewed as flaws here in Roseheart. What confidence she must have, to flaunt her figure. Her fair face is barely obscured beneath the most delicate of white lace masks. The slip of fabric simply rings her mossy green eyes. The rest of her face is fully visible. A smaller variety of those same red roses are braided into her chocolate-brown hair. They sit in a splendid pattern surrounding a crown as beautifully delicate as her mask.
A raised, pink scar bisects the side of her face, marking her from temple to cheek. Noticing my attentions, she smiles at me, making the marked flesh even more noticeable. A creeping vine of jaded envy threads its way between my ribs. She wears her scar out in the open.
The high collar around my neck feels even more constricting than ever before. The two men take turns staring down at her adoringly. They don’t seem to mind her marred beauty or fuller figure one bit.What must it be like to be so fully comfortable in your own body?
The large hand of the second man hugs her waist. My eyes scan to him. He’s nearly as large but somehow less menacing than the golden-haired man. This one is wearing a silver wolf’s mask, with a dozen large sapphires lining the snout. The deep-blue jewels sharply contrast the iciness of his pale blue eyes. The mask stops halfway down his face, revealing a thickly carved jawline. Deepest black hair is bound with a gold ribbon at the nape of his neck. An exquisite crown sits atop his dark hair. It’s ornately carved with silver and gold, but with the additionof a pair of bone-white antlers rising from the top. The antlers are shimmery and carved from some sort of fine, pearlescent material. His attire matches the others, but where the first man’s clothing is red and gold, this man’s is gold and blue. He, too, sports a red rose, which sits neatly in the high left pocket of his trousers.
From what I gathered through the sea of excited voices as they made their entrance, thethreeof them are married. The lion-masked man also puts his hand on the woman’s waist, not seeming to mind that his tanned fingers overlap the strong hand of the wolf-wearing figure. What an unusual dynamic. How enviable it is to see a woman coupled up—or rather,throupledup—withtwostrong, handsome men who seemingly adore everything about her.
I’m so caught up in my gawking that I miss the introductions completely. The larger man’s fiery blue eyes land on me.
“Our sincerest congratulations to the future Queen of Honenbrie.” He speaks with a deep but eloquent voice.
“Yes, congratulations to you both,” the woman adds, giving me another bright smile.
“Thank you. How fares Montrésor?” Ebenest asks. His voice is warm but still sends ice crawling through my veins.
“It thrives.” He gives another grin, putting those sharpened teeth on display for the briefest of moments.
“There have been a great deal of rumors churning out from out west these past years.” Ebenest raises a bushy eyebrow.
“Indeed.” The golden-haired man’s mouth presses into a flat line.
“I’m certain a man of such high repute as yours does not easily fall prey to the rumor mill,” the woman says, her voice full of light. She smiles, but there’s a strength that cuts through the gentle charm. She’s feisty, I can tell. She has to be, I imagine, to keep two hulking kings in line.
Two kings. My mind drifts to thoughts of who I would select if I were to marry two men of my choosing. Harrow is the first to come to mind. Mysterious, cool, but with a hidden warmth. And then Cassius. His sunshiny personality would balance Harrow’s iciness and my melancholy so perfectly. I peer over at Ebenest. My real marriage will look so different.
The trio departs, and the unbearable lull of impending doom settles over us once again. These parties last for far more hours than necessary. I wish they would just announce the engagement already and allow me to disappear to the solitude of my bed.
“Stop sighing, dearest. This is a celebration. Try to enjoy yourself. Many have traveled by carriage for days to wish you well.” My mother’s words are low enough for my ears alone.
I sweep my gaze over the crowd. Their presence here has nothing to do with my wellness and everything to do with an inability to pass up an invitation to a royal soirée. They’re here for the food and drinks, to flaunt their fine clothes and painted faces. I struggle to find more than a handful of faces turned my way. Most are engaged in socializing, dancing, drinking the night away. I don’t recognize a single?—
My gaze halts. A figure catches my eye in the far corner of the Great Hall. He’s tall, a head or so taller than most in attendance. His wardrobe consists of a finely tailored black suit with metal scales on the shoulders and waist. A flowing black cape rests behind his shoulders. The mask he wears is sparkling silver, but not of any animal. A sharply carved skeleton shields his facial features from sight. The raised skull is surrounded by green stones that glow unnaturally bright beneath the candelabras. Two dark pits serve as the eyes of the mask. The figure shifts. I’m just able to make out a shock of pale blond hair, its color turning golden as he moves beneath one of the sconces.
