Wesley nodded.
Manservants brought in jackets, breeches, and bolts of fabric. Wesley resisted the urge to run. He’d never loved this part of society life, he’d merely tolerated it so he could find a wife and move on.
Master Bow opened a case, revealing a grooming kit. “You look so much more refined after your bath. I have a feeling it felt good to get all that dirt off you, too. I’m going to give you a quick tutorial about how to get yourself ready for each night at the Ball. Once the ladies arrive, they have a way of keeping me busy, but I don’t want you to feel forgotten. If you need me at any time for anything, all you have to do is tell one of the servants you’d like to speak to Master Bow. I’ll be here for you.”
Emotion pricked his eyes. He’d felt so unseen since his metamorphosis, and Master Bow was treating him like he was normal. Human.
“Thank you,” he finally managed.
“Oh, no, thank you.” Master Bow rubbed pomade between his palms. “The Monsters Ball brings me so much joy. At the end of the Ball when you’re all paired up is my reward. Now, tell me about Miss Willoughby.”
“Duchess,” Wesley corrected.
“Please forgive me. I only know her by her name on the guest list, and that you care about her very much. What is your favorite thing about the duchess?”
Truth be told, he barely knew her. He’d met her at a Ball very much like this one. He’d broken the rules and asked her to dance more than once. His father warned him against filling her dance card the very first night he’d met her. But that red hair, those green eyes. The way she laughed as she danced like she felt the rhythm deep down to her soul, even though the simple, joyous act was considered far too forward, was absolutely enchanting.
“She loves to dance,” Wesley said. He’d called on her, learned of the other Balls she’d planned to attend, and got himself on those invite lists. It wasn’t just her beauty that had drawn him in. It was her lust for life, her thirst for knowledge, and her taste for something bigger than society life. How he’d planned to travel with her. To show her Europe and beyond. Again, his family cautioned him against having such grand dreams, knowing that the monstrous virus that had turned him wolven could appear at any time.
He’d planned to tell her, but even the possibility of the transformation had brought him shame. And he’d operated with the foolish bravado that it would actually happen to him.
“Do you like to dance?” Master Bow asked, swaying side to side as he rubbed the pomade into the fur on Wesley’s head. He’d jumped on contact, it had been so long since anyone had touched him.
The last to do it? Phillipa.
His body contracted, but it felt so good.
“No,” he rumbled. “Not great at it.”
“Good thing you’re so handsome. And that you’re here early. I have time to refresh your memory.” Master Bow picked up a comb and parted Wesley’s fur above his right eye, combing it toward the right. “We can also refresh your dinner manners. Passing all those plates can be different with paws instead of hands. But let’s concentrate on the task at hand. Do you think you’ll be able to recreate this style on the nights of the Ball?”
Wesley nodded.
Master Bow clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Now let’s get you dressed. I have some jackets that might fit you, but my team will tailor them to make them custom. I’ve heard that you served in the military, and many of our current and former soldiers wear their red coats to the Ball. Are you open to that?”
That was what he’d worn when he’d met Phillipa. He’d worn it to every dance, and even to their wedding. It was on the tip of his tongue to say no. So many nights he wished he could wear the smart suit jackets of his peers.
But the jacket was familiar, normal when nothing was anymore.
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Let’s try this one on, and we’ll make adjustments as needed.” Master Bow stepped back as his assistants pulled an undershirt over Wesley’s head, tied the black cravat around his neck, and then eased the jacket onto his shoulders.
They let Wesley work the buttons, which took several tries.
“They’re not made for paws, but you’ll get used to it, I promise.” Master Bow gave him a wink. “The breeches will take some getting used to as well, but these will look spectacular on you.”
Master Bow brought Wesley back to the mirror. “You look very handsome. We can base the measurements of the rest of your outfits from this jacket. I think any of our ladies will be quite pleased to have you on their dance cards, especially the duchess. Are you hungry?”
Wesley’s belly growled loudly, earning a laugh from Master Bow. “Then it’s a good thing dinner is served. I’d be honored if you joined the countess and me for a meal.”
The clothes felt strange against his fur as he followed Master Bow out of the room. The Hall was massive, ornately furnished, and Wesley should feel at home in a stately manor such as this. But a piece of him missed the woods, and his tiny, dirty den.
More accurately, he missed the thrill of a surprise Phillipa sighting, but hopefully that would be remedied in a few days with her arrival at the Ball.
His heart thrummed in his chest, and his cock hardened at the thought of her in a ball gown. He needed to be careful, for these breeches accentuated the area.
If he would successfully win back his wife, he needed to pay more attention to his surroundings.
“…And that’s how Countess Stalbridge came to own Broadstone Hall.” Master Bow had been talking, presumably about the history of the Hall, for the entire trip, and he’d missed almost all of it. Some predator he was.
The countess sat at the head of the table and Wesley looked at Master Bow. Society dinners were a puzzle of rank, and although he’d been a duke as a human, he’d declared himself a king as a wolven.
Made things a tad more complicated.
Master Bow motioned to the seat to the right of the countess, and he took the seat to her left. Servants began bringing out the first course.
“You’re looking rather handsome if I do say so myself, Your Majesty,” The countess said as she picked up her spoon. “I gather that Master Bow has you feeling at home here at Broadstone Hall?”
“I’m very glad His Grace joined us early,” Master Bow said. “The wolven is rough around the edges, but that’s just how we like them.”
Wesley didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to pick up with spoon with his paw. It didn’t work in the same way as fingers, and he couldn’t get a secure grip on the utensil. Once he was confident he had it in his grip, he dropped it into the bowl, splashing soup onto his brand new jacket.
“Oh, dear,” Master Bow lamented.
Wesley’s stomach rumbled again. He was too hungry for things like patience and formal manners. What use had they been to him as a wolven? Gasps broke out in the room as he stuck his snout into the soup bowl.
And it was delicious. A white soup, heavy on the veal and cream. He could taste every ingredient, from the almond paste to the rice. How he had missed human food.
He licked the bowl clean and rubbed the soup splatter into his jacket and the tablecloth with his napkin. Soup was everywhere. For a moment, his snout burned with shame. How would he ever convince Phillipa that a life with a wolven king could be possible when he ate like an animal?