by Kaia Pierce
For some reason, I felt intimidated. “Um...hi. I’m not sure if I have the right place—”
“I think you do,” she said, swinging the door open wide. “Come on in.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Jules parked on the side of the road, hesitating.
Is this a good idea? I wondered.
Walking into a stranger’s house wasn’t exactly smart, but I was a former club bouncer, and this woman had to be about a hundred-twenty pounds, tops. Plus, the wedding was tonight. Princess Anastasia and Damon were counting on me. I couldn’t let the Thornriels’ first impression of me to be of someone who broke his promises.
I’ll just make it quick, I told myself.
Once I followed her inside, I found myself standing in a tidy little foyer.
“Are you Selene?” I asked.
The woman nodded, and I handed her Betsy’s note. She read over the hasty scribbles and turned it over to see an ad for Betsy’s Alterations. Then, she handed it back.
“You’re from the royal estate,” she said matter-of-factly.
As a woman, Selene was tall and poised with a smooth, expressionless face that placed her anywhere between twenty and forty. However, she spoke with the assured tone of a woman much older. It left me feeling unsettled.
“I’m trying to find Princess Anastasia’s dress. She thinks Betsy at Betsy’s Alterations might have had it last, and Betsy sent me here to you.”
Selene smiled wryly. “Betsy was right to send you to me. I have the dress.”
“Oh! Okay,” I said. I hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy.
“Come with me,” Selene said.
She led me past a farmhouse-style kitchen into a small, dark room. The walls and window were covered in scarves. A crystal ball sat on a round table in the room’s center.
Am under spell, Betsy had written frantically.
Finally, I understood. “You’re a witch,” I said with mild surprise. I’d met another witch only once before, back in Chicago.
“You’re not wrong,” Selene said as she opened a closet. Hanging inside was the exact dress Princess Anastasia had described for me. It was sleek, floor-length, and crimson as a glass of red wine, with glittering butterflies beaded in tiny red crystals.
“You had it this whole time?” I said, thinking of how much stress Damon had been under.
“I’ve had it since three hours ago when it was returned to me,” Selene said. Then, she began to explain how it came into her possession.
“Not many people in Rockport know I’m a witch,” she began, “but the ones who come to me for help usually do so because they’re desperate. Last week, a seventeen-year-old girl here in town came to me because she couldn’t afford a dress for her winter formal.
“Most adults want the obvious things. Charms and spells for luck and money. The youth are so much more elegant in comparison. All Maddie wanted was to look her best for one night. I simply couldn’t resist playing fairy godmother to her.”
“So how did you end up getting your hands on the dress?” I asked.
Selene raised a slim shoulder and let it fall in a half-hearted shrug. “Princess Anastasia is a friend of mine. I knew the dress was coming to Rockport. I simply...borrowed it from Betsy once it got to her.”
“But Princess Anastasia’s your friend? Why didn’t you just ask her directly?”
“You know what she’s like. This way was easier.”
“And you put some sort of spell on Betsy to keep her from spilling the beans,” I concluded. Earlier, Betsy had literally choked on her words, as if an invisible hand had reached through the ether to close around her neck. It was all making sense now.
Selene walked into the closet and began zipping the dress into a black garment bag. “Yes, that’s true, too. But Maddie returned the dress as promised. She’s even taken special care to preserve Betsy’s beadwork. So no harm done, yes?”
“I guess not.”
Selene stepped out of the closet, the garment bag draped over both of her forearms. “So I’ll see you at the wedding?” she said as she handed it off to me.
Selene’s story made sense, and the dress was right here in my hands. I should’ve been satisfied, but I wasn’t.
“Do you also do fortune-telling?” I couldn’t help but blurt out.
“I’ve dabbled. Why, are you interested? The first reading is always free,” Selene said.
So, we put the dress back in the closet for the time being, and Selene invited me to sit across from her at the table in the middle of the room. From this distance, I could smell her perfume, vanilla and lilac and something spicy. The fragrance was delicate and complex, much like Selene herself, I imagined.
I expected her to stare into the crystal ball like the fortune-tellers in the movies. Instead, she picked it up and stowed it under the table, eventually replacing it with a deck of cards. They were larger and longer than regular poker cards. Their backs were decorated with an elaborate, jewel-toned paisley pattern that looked hand-painted—tarot cards.
Selen folded her slim hands on the table. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“The future?” I said uncertainly.
“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
I thought for a moment. “I guess...it would be nice to know what to expect this next year.”
Satisfied, Selene leaned back. “That’s better. Shuffle and draw three cards. Place them face-down in front of you.”
Hesitantly, I picked up the cards. They were lighter than they looked, but awkward to shuffle due to their length.
“I’ve never done this before,” I admitted nervously.
“It won’t hurt, I promise,” Selene teased. She rested her chin on her hand and blinked, waiting for me to finish.
Once I felt the cards were sufficiently shuffled, I drew three and lined them up horizontally between me and Selene.
“The Hermit,” she said as she turned over the first card on the left. The image featured a cloaked figure, bent against an invisible wind. He held a lantern in his gnarled hand, which illuminated only a few inches of the path ahead.
Selene turned over the middle card. It depicted a castle turret in flames. “The Tower,” she explained.
Then, the final card, featuring an image of the Grim Reaper, was, “Death.”
Chapter 9: Damon
What’s taking so long?
I rushed to the other side of the room and threw the balcony doors open. The suite I’d claimed as my prenuptial dressing room faced the long driveway. For the past hour, I’d watched our wedding guests trickling in. There had been many limos, many SUVs, one Bentley, and one Jaguar, but no sign of Jules and that much-important cargo.
Behind me, Lizzie the seamstress softly cleared her throat. “I’ve finished hemming your trousers, Sir Damon. Shall I get started on Princess Anastasia’s dress?”
I thought about the backup dress Anastasia had set aside, a black velvet number she’d worn once to the opera. It was appropriate...but it wasn’t the dress.
“I suppose you could, just in—”
I froze when I saw Jules’ familiar sedan making its way down the driveway.
“Is that—” I began. When I saw Lucas disembarking with a stuffed garment bag in his arms, I literally jumped for joy.
Hearing my shouts, Lucas shaded his eyes with his hand as he tilted his head back to look at me.
I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Get that dress up here, STAT!” Grinning, I whirled around to see Lizzie’s bewildered face. “Forget the black dress and work on Anastasia’s Valentino instead.”
* * *
An hour later, I was at the foot of the staircase, posing stiffly as King Henry fixed my bowtie.
“What was so special about the dress, anyway?” he asked lightly, his gaze still trained below my chin.
“You’ll just have to see it,” Lucas said.
King Henry patted my shoulder, signalling that my tie was fixed. “All done. See you out there,
your Majesty.”
I released a sarcastic laugh. “Thanks. See you guys.”
As King Henry and Lucas walked down the corridor towards the back doors, one of the two members of my procession began descending the stairs.
“That can’t be Damon, can it?” Lord Douglas said, looking spiffy in a classic tux with a white bowtie.
I rushed up to meet him and offered my elbow, which the elderly noble accepted gratefully.
In traditional shifter weddings, the submissive partner was head of his own procession, along with his family. Lord Douglas and I weren’t related, but he was the only family I had. He’d taken me in when I was a kid, allowing me to stay at his estate if I kept my grades up and fixed up the house every now and then. Little did I know, my future mate was growing up just a few hours away under completely different circumstances.
“Are you sure you don’t want a wheelchair? I could get Peter, I think I just saw him—” I babbled nervously.
“I’m not dead yet! Stop your fussing. Now, let me get a good look at you…”
When we got to the floor, Lord Douglas carefully backed away to scan me from head to toe.
I was wearing a white slim-fit blazer and tailored trousers. Underneath, I wore a turquoise-blue shirt with a matching pocket square. Even though I wouldn’t be wearing them for very long, a pair of polished black loafers adorned my feet. It was the most dressed-up Lord Douglas had ever seen me.
Lord Douglas’s face was creased in such a way that made it impossible to judge his reaction sometimes. Awkwardly, I stood before him, waiting for him to say something.
“Well,” he finally said after blinking for a long moment, “You truly do look like a prince.”
I had to fight back tears. I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t cry, and here I was. The wedding hadn’t even started yet.
“Thank you, Lord Douglas.”
At that moment, a movement at the top of the staircase caught my eye. Lord Douglas and I turned our heads at the exact same time to see Anastasia descending towards us, sheathed in that cursed dress and looking happy for once.
She was a vision in red, striking the both of us speechless.
“And you look like an angel,” Lord Douglas said, though he wasn’t addressing Anastasia. Instead, he’d been referencing Johnny, whom she carried in her arms.
My heart melted at the sight of him. He was in a tiny version of my suit, only his lapels were black while mine were ivory. Once Anastasia stepped off the last stair, she set him on the floor and guided him in my direction.
I picked him up and kissed his cheek. His head still had that clean, soft baby smell to it. I pressed my nose to his soft, fine hair and inhaled, committing every bit of him to my memory, just as he was at the exact moment I married his other father.
“Ready?” Anastasia said, picking up her heavily beaded skirt to reveal the pointed toes of her shoes.
“Are you?” I asked, staring emphatically at the savagely plunging neckline.
Anastasia smirked proudly. “Don’t worry. You’re still the pretty one. I’m just trying to make someone jealous.”
“Ah. I see. Carry on, then.”
Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Peter, one of Alex’s advisors, popped his head from around the corner.
“The drums are about to start, Sir Damon,” he said.
We fell into position just as we rehearsed this morning, with me at the front and my procession fanned out behind me.
“Follow me, please,” Peter said. Then, he pressed his finger to his ear and muttered into his headset, “The bunny has left the warren. I repeat: the bunny has left the warren.”
We fell into step, marching in formation down the wide corridor where generations of the Thornriel clan observed from the walls. Past kings and queens gazed out from oil paintings, then from enormous photographs, until we finally reached the end of the corridor.
“Can you believe it?” Anastasia chattered excitedly. “After this, you’ll become a Thornriel, too.”
I stopped in my tracks. It was finally hitting me. I’m about to become a Thornriel, I thought. I looked at Johnny in Anastasia’s arms. We’re finally going to be a real family.
“Damon, are you okay?” Anastasia said, frowning.
“Yes. No. Yes—I’m just having a little stage fright, that’s all,” I stammered out.
Anastasia and Lord Douglas looked at each other nervously.
“No! I didn’t mean I’m getting cold feet—”
Suddenly, we heard the drums beating in the distance. I gave my head a firm shake as I felt my heartbeat slowing down to match the dragging tempo. A fog was lifting from my mind, and I was finally able to think clearly for the first time in a while.
I’m getting married, I thought.
I smiled confidently at Anastasia and Lord Douglas. “I’m fine. Let’s do this.”
Chapter 10: Lucas
The outdoor ceremony space was located on the vast lawn with the mansion’s south face looming in the distance. The snow had been shoveled away, and cedar wood chips were layered underfoot to protect guests’ feet from the frozen earth. A dozen white tents surrounded the space, each one large enough to house a family. The sky showed the colors of twilight above us, promising a clear night of stars.
Moving the ceremony outdoors had been Damon’s solution to the seating chart debacle, because there were no seats at all. Instead, guests mingled in a roundish mass around an unlit bronze brazier. I was standing close to the center with Henry and Queen Helga.
“Don’t look, but Princess Opaline just arrived,” Queen Helga murmured. She nodded towards the other side of the brazier.
Though I’d never seen her before, Princess Opaline was easy to pick out from the other nobles. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, with thick black hair and a full, pouting mouth. She certainly dressed like a princess, too, in her silver beaded gown and white fur stole.
Pretty, I thought. But not as pretty as Princess Anastasia.
As I observed her, one of the nobles who she was chatting with turned around. Henry and I recognized him immediately.
“Lord Bancroft!” Henry uttered in surprise.
Upon hearing his name, Lord Bancroft squinted in our direction. Then, his face lit up. Excusing himself from Opaline’s presence, he began weaving his way through the crowd in our direction.
“Your Majesties!” he said, bowing first to Henry, then Helga, then to little Charlotte, who was snugly wrapped in Helga’s arms. When he straightened up, I could see he was wearing another one of his novelty ties. This one was printed with a pattern of flowering saguaro cacti. “And Lucas Stewart. How lovely to see you all.”
“How are things in the Southern Kingdom?” Henry asked.
Lord Bancroft’s expression darkened. “Not good, I’m afraid.”
I stepped forward. “What happened?”
Lord Bancroft’s bushy eyebrows lowered over his eyes. He motioned for us to stand closer. “Lord Sampson has finally discovered the existence of the Shadow Society,” he whispered. “He’s ordered any affiliated members to be arrested and prosecuted.”
My stomach sank.
“What does that mean for you, Lord Bancroft?” I asked.
Henry and I had met Lord Bancroft a year ago in Chicago. He was a former member of the Shadow Society. Technically, he still was, though now he was working secretly to undermine the organization from the inside.
“The nobility is relatively safe,” Lord Bancroft said, raising his hands in a half-hearted shrug. “If things get worse, I have my resources.”
Henry offered Lord Bancroft his hand. “You’re welcome in my kingdom anytime, should you need to escape.”
Lord Bancroft bowed again. “I thank you for your generosity, your Majesty.”
At that moment, the crowd quieted as Alex and the high priest made their appearance. Alex was in a tailored white suit, while the priest wore his ceremonial purple robes and tall hat.
“The ceremony should be starting so
on. I’ll go take my place among the other nobles,” Lord Bancroft said. He touched the side of his nose before rejoining Princess Opaline’s entourage.
* * *
A fire was lit in the brazier, which was now flanked by a pair of drummers. The drums themselves were about the size of breakfast tables, and the drummers beat them in perfect unison, making them ring out with one voice rather than two.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Everybody’s heads turned towards the house. Damon’s procession was making its way to the ceremony space. Damon was nearly invisible against the snow in his white suit. Behind him, Princess Anastasia’s scarlet dress leapt out in sharp contrast, while Lord Douglas’s classic tux was black as coal.
The crowd watched in respectful silence. Each beat of the drum brought Damon closer to the brazier by one step. Even from yards away, his eyes never left King Alex, and Alex’s eyes never left Damon.
When the procession finally arrived at the brazier, all drumming ceased.
The priest raised his staff, calling for everyone’s attention.
“Brothers and sisters. Children of the Wolf Mother. We are gathered here to witness the joining of one soul to another, that of His Majesty King Alexander Arthur Phillippe Thornriel the Third to Sir Damon James Rasmussen.”
The priest was as thin and reedy as a champagne flute, but he spoke with a surprisingly resonant voice that carried itself past the outermost ring of guests to echo amongst the trees.
“Will the two grooms join hands, please?” he said.
Damon and King Alex, standing with their backs in my direction, turned to face each other and clasped their hands together.
“Repeat after me, your Majesty,” the priest said, and followed it up with the first half of King Alex’s vows.
“I pledge my love to you, and everything that I own,” he repeated. “I promise you the first bite of my meat and the first sip from my cup. I pledge that your name will always be the name I cry aloud in the dead of night. I promise to honor you above all others. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next. This is my wedding vow to you.”
