I stood near the pianoforte where it was loudest and most difficult for any of our present company to approach and make conversation.
Aside from my sister’s three admirers, there were five “eligible males,” as my father called them, from the richest families in Sweetbell. They stole glances my way. My time in Faerie had heightened my previously lackluster looks. Faerie food, not harmful to elves—unlike the unfortunate humans who found themselves in the Faerie realms—had filled out my figure. The dark half-circles beneath my eyes had completely disappeared, and my blonde hair had taken on a golden shine that followed me back to the elven realms.
Liri had sent me home with the lavish wardrobe and jewelry I’d acquired during my fifteen months in Dahlquist.
Tonight, I wore a beaded nude gown with light blue, pink, and maroon embroidered florals. A maroon satin ribbon circled my waist, tied in a thin bow, and the gown pooled at my feet where the skirt flared over the intricately woven rugs of the parlor.
I stood poised, taking in the scene around me while listening to the music, which Melarue had wanted to dance to earlier, until Father snapped at her to “behave like a lady.” Remembering Mel’s pout brought a small smile to my lips. Mel was now in her seventeenth year and still a spitfire, despite being dressed up in a ruffled white gown—which she kept tugging at.
Fifteen months ago, I wouldn’t have been able to stand still without fidgeting either. I would have fought not to clutch my stomach or tremble any time a male approached. But as a princess of Dahlquist, I’d learned poise and grace—much to my father’s delight since the purpose of tonight’s social gathering was to auction me off.
While Cirrus had compensated Father generously, my mate’s death marked the end of the monthly stipend. If Father had remained in Pinemist, there would have been enough funds to last several lifetimes, but the estate in Sweetbell cost a king’s ransom to maintain.
“Yes, yes, the air of a goddess, to be sure,” I overheard my father saying eagerly to an elderly elf couple and their highbrow grandson who flicked his eyes my way with an assessing expression. “Chosen by a Fae prince for her otherworldly beauty and grace,” Father continued.
I nearly snorted.
Sure, that was why Cirrus had chosen me—nothing to do with my arrows and direct aim. I met the male’s stare, held it long enough not to appear too demure, but brief enough not to be perceived as willfulness.
It wasn’t simply poise that kept me still, but an alert attentiveness Cirrus had counted on for his survival against a family plotting for the crown.
One of my sister’s admirers waved over a footman carrying a silver tray with bubbling champagne flutes. She and her merry posse grabbed glasses and tipped them back, cheeks reddening with each swallow.
Nobody in this crowd was plotting murder, but marrying any one of these pompous fools would be the end of me.
The moment I saw an opening to slip out unnoticed, I took it—moving swiftly past the gathered groups like a passing breeze. There in a fleeting second, then gone the next.
I allowed a rare smile to lift up my lips in the hallway, impressed by my own disappearing act given I’d been an object on display and was well aware of how stunning I appeared in the sheer embroidered-and-beaded gown. The garment was gorgeous enough to hang on the wall as art.
I lifted the skirt off the floor to avoid snagging. As I passed the empty sitting room, I cast a longing look at the beautiful campaigne board with its pewter and bronze game pieces set up on a polished round table. I’d never cared for the game growing up—I’d never had time for such idle pursuits—but in Dahlquist I’d found myself with few friends and plenty of leisure time. Campaigne had been the only familiar thing from my world in Faerie and I’d spend untold hours mastering the game—often stuck playing against myself. I doubted even Jhaeros could best me. The thought of beating the arrogant elf at his favorite game brought another smile to my lips.
I hurried my steps to the back of the estate. Escaping the parlor unnoticed was one thing, being missed for much longer was another. Once I reached the French doors, I propelled myself outside into the dark courtyard and breathed in the fresh, balmy air.
Lanterns glowed at my feet. The darkness above blanketed me.
How soon until Father tracked me down? Dragged me back inside? Forced me into the arms of some highfalutin elf?
I pictured the assessing brown eyes of the elf in coattails who’d looked me over in the parlor.
I couldn’t decide which was worse, being stuck beneath Father’s roof or with a mate by arrangement.
I looked into the stars overhead, searching for an escape. I hadn’t belonged in Faerie, and I certainly didn’t belong in Sweetbell. As I stared into the Sky Mother’s boundless depths, a blinding white light split apart the darkness directly above my head. I shielded my eyes, but it only glowed brighter before contracting and solidifying into a brilliant sliver of parchment. It fluttered down from the sky, landing in my hands. My chin lowered as I gaped at the silvery parchment. Before I could read what it said, plump fingers snatched it away.
“What is this?” Shalendra demanded.
I whipped around, fingers balling into fists, ready to strike. Old habit. Father stood behind me, arms folded, a deep frown on his lips. Beside him, Shalendra looked over the silver parchment, flipping it over to examine the back. I gritted my teeth, frustrated they’d managed to sneak up on me. If it hadn’t been for the flash of light, I would have noticed my family closing in.
I uncurled my fingers and flung my palm out in front of Shalendra. “Give it back,” I said in a low warning voice.
“What is it?” Father asked.
“An invitation to The Monster Ball,” Shalendra screeched. “Do you know how rare it is to get one of these? How come Aerith was invited?” Shalendra’s lower lip pouted.
I snatched the parchment from my sister, nearly ripping it as I did. One side of the invitation had “The Monster Ball” written in elegant calligraphy. My Father inched his way closer as I turned the invitation over and read the back side.
Just as the moon has brought me to you,
so shall the moon bring you to the ball.
October 31st
The Witching Hour
I squinted then lifted the invitation closer to my eyes to read a second and a third time.
“It’s because that Fae prince made her a princess, isn’t it?” Shalendra asked, still pouting.
“That Fae prince” had made sure she lived in luxury, yet my sister wouldn’t even say his name.
“You mean your brother-in-law—Cirrus?” I said, unable to hold my tongue.
Shalendra wrinkled her nose as though a royal prince of Faerie was beneath her.
Father rubbed his hands together and beamed. “This is excellent news!”
“How so?” Shalendra cocked her head to one side.
“I’ve heard tell that those lucky enough to receive a ticket to The Monster Ball are royalty from all of the different realms: princes and princesses; even kings and queens. Supernaturals with powers and riches beyond anything we could imagine.” Father’s eyes practically glowed.
Shalendra turned up her nose and tossed her hair back. “And I’ve heard it attracts the unsavory sort—wicked creatures who would kill to get their claws on one of those invites.” Shalendra looked at the silver parchment in my hands and took a step backward.