She closes the door behind her and heads to the bathroom. I clear my throat, the quiet weighing between us. When she reappears, her arms are full of makeup products, and she juts her chin toward the bed. “Sit down.”
I do, and she pulls the desk chair up to the edge so she can face me. Neither of us says anything at first. She gets to work, meticulously painting the ceremonial look. She starts with the red tint, blending it from my hair to my eyes, the color getting progressively lighter the farther it goes down my face. She smudges and blurs it out along my lower lashes. The small white dots that run in a straight line over my brow are next, and she presses her lips together and leans in close to concentrate.
As she moves on to blending the dark kohl around my eyes, I manage to find my voice. “Did you hear about…?”
Her hand stops moving. We sit like that for a minute, but then she clears her throat and pulls back to find the product to fill in my brows. A small line appears on her forehead. “They shouldn’t have done that.”
There’s something she isn’t saying. Before I can respond, she tilts my chin up and pulls out the red pencil for my lips. I sit quietly as she finishes, wondering if she’s thinking about the same thing I am. Two years ago, it was Calliope sitting here, and we were both giggling and gossiping as we helped her get ready. She’d put on a brave face, forcing smiles and laughing along with us, but she’d been off that day. She hadn’t said much. We couldn’t talk about her final task, of course, but I’d always thought whatever had been bothering her must have happened in that room.
“You should put your dress on,” says Adrienne. “Then we’ll do your hair.”
The full black skirt billows out around me as we pull it on. The sleeves are intricately embroidered with golden vines and red roses, if they can be called sleeves. The dress is designed like it’s meant to be strapless, the neckline cutting straight across my chest. The flowers and vines branch up over my shoulders and across the back of my ribs as if the flowers had just floated down and landed there, suspended in the empty space.
I sit back down as I pull on the gold heels, and Adrienne gets started with my hair. She twists back strands from my face and piles them at the crown of my head, leaving half of it down as she weaves in black and red flowers, then finishes it off with a gold comb.
“There,” she breathes.
I stare at my reflection for a moment, barely recognizing the girl looking back. Adrienne appears at my side, and a jolt goes through me as she grabs my hand. She keeps her gaze on the mirror, and her voice is barely audible when she says, “I never blamed you, Valerie. For Calliope. Or maybe I did, for a while. But I know it wasn’t your fault.”
I swallow hard, refusing to let the burning in the backs of my eyes show.
“You should probably get downstairs,” I murmur. “It’ll be starting soon.”
“You don’t want me to wait with you?”
I squeeze her hand. “I’ll be okay. Thank you. For your help.”
She nods, and I stare at the door long after she closes it. I know it wasn’t your fault. Instead of lifting any kind of weight off my chest, it just makes the silence of the room ring louder, Calliope’s absence today taking up twice as much space. She would’ve known just the right thing to say before I headed down.
My hands shake as I slip my earrings from my desk—simple gold chains that hang nearly to my shoulders—and put them in. The same ones Calla had worn for her ceremony. Maybe it’s silly, but it makes me feel like she’s here with me in some way. The matching necklace—a thin, gold chain—doesn’t go on as easily. I wrestle with the clasp and let out a frustrated breath through my nose. I roll my eyes, irritated with myself as tears blur my vision.
I will not cry tonight. I will not—
A second, softer knock sounds on the door behind me, and my pulse jumps. Nerves dance across my skin, raising the hairs on my arms, and they don’t feel like they’re all coming from me.
I lower the necklace, giving up, and brace myself before I open the door. Reid stands in the hallway, his head down. His black suit is a perfect match to my dress, the gold embroidery along his jacket a mirror to the vines along my arms. His crown is properly in the center of his dark, wavy hair today, and when he looks up, his blue eyes are piercing against the thick, black band painted across his face.
He looks…
I don’t let myself finish the thought.
He looks like the man who glamoured me last night. That’s what he looks like.
He wets his lips and lets out a soft breath as his eyes travel the length of me. I try to loosen the knot sitting in my chest like a rock. The faintest trace of music trickles up from below, and my eyes dart toward the stairs.
Reid looks at the necklace in my hands. “Can I help?”
I want to say no for the principle of the matter, but it’s either that, let him watch me struggle with it some more, or go without it. I hand it to him wordlessly and turn around.
He takes a step closer, and the heat of his presence lights up every nerve across the bare skin of my back, even without him touching me. He pushes my hair over one shoulder, and his fingers brush my spine as he secures the clasp. A shiver dances across my skin as his breath hits my neck, but I step away as soon as he’s done.
Reid extends his arm as I turn around to face him, his expression perfectly neutral. “Shall we?”
I ignore his arm but follow him into the hall. He drops it and leaves a foot of distance between us as we start to walk. Honestly, with how shaky my legs are right now, I could probably use the anchor, but I sure as hell am not taking it from him.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” he murmurs. “You already did the hard part.”
I glance at him sideways. “All of this is the hard part.”
He smirks as he leads me to the service staircase on the other end of the hall—presumably to avoid running into any of the guests before we’re announced. The door is hidden in the wall behind a large painting of the Carrington estate back when it was originally built. The brushstrokes are harsh, angry against the canvas, the surrounding trees painted red and orange, and they look like they’re encroaching on the structure, threatening to swallow it whole. Reid takes the picture by the frame and swings it aside, revealing a well-lit staircase.
“After you.”
I teeter on the stairs in my heels, and Reid reappears at my side, closing the wall behind us.
I catch him looking at me again and raise a single eyebrow. “What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. I like the dress. It suits you.”
I roll my eyes but find the anger in my chest a little harder to hold on to as we reach the main floor. The clamor of the crowd seeps through the door, probably all gathered in the throne room already.
“I went to see Connor,” he adds, and I whip my head to the side, hanging on to his every word now. “He’s fine. I made sure he had enough blood. They’re letting him out tomorrow.”
I nod, the relief that courses through me heavy and immediate. Connor is okay. That doesn’t resolve all of the issues at hand, not even close, but he’s alive. He’s fed. And they’re letting him out. They wouldn’t let him out now just to kill him later, would they?
“There aren’t going to be any other surprises tonight, are there?” I ask, freezing in place before he can open the door. “Like suddenly I get paired with someone random?”