what I was wearing.
A headpiece made of woven and dangling jet beads that covered my forehead from hairline to nearly eyebrow with dips of it coming to the bridge of my nose and down my temples. This disappeared into my hair at the sides but was woven through the curls and twists.
It… was… awesome.
The whole thing was.
Though, it had to be said, the dress was super tight and weighed a ton and that headpiece thing, albeit cool-as-shit, was kind of annoying. However, I figured I’d get used to it and hopefully be having so much fun, I wouldn’t even notice it.
“Oh, Finnie, you look beautiful,” Bess breathed and I smiled because, silently, I agreed.
Usually, I could take my looks or leave them. Mom had taught me how to play to my strengths, thick hair, unusual eyes, burgeoning curves (before she left me, they’d burgeoned since) and I did it without thought.
Truthfully, I would never have guessed that red would look good on me but with the dark makeup and the jet beads, my hair seemed shiny white and the blue of my eyes was stark.
So now I thought I looked fabulous.
I took another moment before joining Frey to embrace each of my girls and say quick, heartfelt words of thanks before I rushed (trying not to look like I was rushing) out of the dressing room and into the bedroom while taking in a soft breath. I was looking forward to Frey’s reaction because it was safe to say my husband thought I was beautiful (since he’d told me this more than once) and I couldn’t wait to see what he thought of this.
I got three feet into the room when I stopped. Vaguely, I noticed his eyes come to me and he did what he often did when he first saw me, his body arrested and his eyes locked on me.
But I was too busy taking him in to note his reaction.
Holy moly.
I’d never seen him in anything but his so dark brown it was nearly black clothing.
But now he wore all black. Black breeches, polished black boots and a black shirt with puffy sleeves and a high collar that covered his neck nearly to his earlobes, tied with a cravat. This old-fashioned getup might look ridiculous on any other man but absolutely did not on him. He had a shined, black leather strap on a slant across his chest to which was attached not to a rough hide but instead a length of high-quality black wool that hung at a slant on the back and, where it ended at the backs of his calves, there was a short edge of glossy black fur. His thick, dark hair had been swept back, his strong jaw was shaved and he looked so beyond handsome, for a second, I couldn’t breathe.
When I could, I whispered, “Hi,” and he blinked.
Then he moved to me, leaned in, grabbed my hand, tucked it in his elbow and muttered, “We’re late, we mustn’t delay.”
I felt the air in the room change and could almost swear I heard the whoosh of five balloons of deflated excitement whizzing around the room like they’d just been struck by a pin.
“Right,” I whispered as Frey led me swiftly to the door and then I turned my head and aimed a smile at my girls. “Thanks ladies, see you in the morning before we go.”
“Right, Finnie, see you,” Alyssa called, looking almost, but not quite, as disappointed as I felt.
“Have fun,” Esther called.
“I will,” I assured her.
Jocelyn and Bess both waved, Jocelyn’s disappointed eyes on me, Bess’s on Frey.
Then out the door we went and Frey moved us quickly down the hall toward the stairs.
We were headed to the third floor.
The Palace was enormous, the first floor filled with official function rooms in one wing such as drawing rooms, a study, a formal dining room, a formal morning room and the like and in the other wing, places where family gathered such as a less formal dining room, a billiards room, a library and a conservatory. The first floor also had the kitchens and laundry. The second floor was filled with living space for family and guests, bedrooms, dressing rooms, personal sitting rooms, sewing rooms and such. The fourth floor held the servants’ quarters.
But the third floor was where the function rooms were and there were only three. The middle where the stairs led was a huge hall, down the center of which were five, large, gleaming dark wood tables which, for the party, would hold massive displays of blooms from the Palace’s greenhouses (there were four gargantuan greenhouses where the Palace gardeners grew everything from flowers and plants to adorn the house, to vegetables and fruits forced to grow out of season in order to feed its occupants and guests – they even had apple, pear, plum and peach trees in one, lime, lemon, grapefruit and orange in another and tangles of blackberry and raspberry vines in yet another).
Off the function hall to one side was a ballroom that was a wide open space lined with chairs intermixed with small tables with a rise for an orchestra at one end. Off the hall to the other side was a long open gallery that had walls covered with portraits of past kings and queens of Lunwyn but mostly Winter Princes or Princesses, in other words, those who inhabited the Palace prior to assuming the throne, and their wives or husbands and children.
This was where we were heading now and I saw two liveried footmen wearing deep red sweaters, dark brown leather shorts, high boots, brown mantles at a slant across their backs and brown leather gloves standing at the landing from the second to third floor guiding people up and down and cutting off access to the living quarters.
As I saw the brilliant colored gowns and curious faces peeking around the footmen toward Frey and myself, I looked away and up at my husband to see his jaw was hard.
Then I stared at his jaw, realizing something had pissed him off.
Shit. He was angry about the wait.
Shit! I didn’t want to go to the Gales with a pissed off Frey. I didn’t want to go anywhere with a pissed off Frey.
So before we made it to the footmen, I pulled back slightly on his elbow and slowed my step. He looked down at me, brows drawn and I saw on Frey’s scale of one to ten of how angry he could be, he was resting, my guess, at around a two.
This was good.
“Can I have a second?” I asked softly, he stopped us, looked to the stairs then back at me before he turned toward me.
“Finnie, the Gales started nearly two hours ago,” he reminded me.
“I know but…” I moved closer to him and tipped my head back further, “I just wanted to apologize before we got there for being late and making you wait and –”
I stopped talking when his hand lifted and curled around my neck and his expression instantly changed to show that my apology made him totally drop off the angry scale.
Phew. This was also good.
Then he stated, “Wee one, it was me who made us late, why are you apologizing?”
“You seem angry,” I told him.
“I’m not angry about waiting,” he told me.
“Are you angry at all?” I asked.
“No,” Frey answered, I peered closer at him and saw this was true.
Still, I could have sworn I saw it earlier.
Therefore, I informed him, “You looked angry a second ago.”
“I wasn’t angry,” he replied.
Well, he was something and, by the by, he hadn’t commented on my fabulous dress and that was not Frey. Three days ago, when I’d walked up to him talking with Thad and Oleg while wearing a silvery white wool gown that was sweet, but wasn’t close to my best, he’d told me right in front of his men that I looked lovely then he’d swiftly finished his talk with the guys, took me to our rooms and took it off me.
Therefore, I stated, “You were something.”
He sighed then said, “Finnie, we must –”
My eyes narrowed on his, which I could see, just barely, but I could see were hiding something and I leaned closer, cutting him off as it hit me. “You’re hiding something.”
