13. Polina

POLINA

M y dress is all wrong. My hair is also all wrong, but it's too late to fix any of it now. Helena, my newest handmaiden, dithers around the room as she grabs combs, hair accessories, anything she can to minimize the damage. When I glance in the mirror, my soul dies a little inside. My normally sleek, lovely brown hair is … purple? How did that even happen?

I suppress the urge to scream, because Helena is still new, I remind myself. She's new. But tonight is my coronation ball and … I feel the fire rising in my belly. My cheeks flush scarlet, and my hands ball into tight fists.

"I look like a blueberry!" I shriek.

Helena winces and dives under the bed. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness! I used too much lilac dye and blueberry powder in the poultice!"

"No shit!" I whirl around, unable to look at myself a second longer, and throw my arms up in the air. "Turn it back! Turn it back now!" Tears stream down my cheeks. My coronation ball. The ball that is supposed to honor my impending reign is about to be ruined, all because my regular handmaidens were supposedly indisposed and unable to help me get ready. And Calvin is going to be there – what is he to think of me, seeing my hair in such a state?

"I-I can't." Helena's voice quavers like that of a strangled duck. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness, but we don't have any hair powder left. The royal alchemists ran out this morning."

Great. Just great. Not only is my dress all wrong, with its blocky silhouette that makes me look like a … literal box, but my hair is also ruined. Without warning, I rip off my blocky, copper-colored dress and toss it onto the bed. "Forget it. I'll wear my usual," I say, and rush over to my closet to pull out one of my golden silk dresses. One of my favorites. It slides over my body like a glove and clinches my waist, accentuating my hourglass shape.

My abdomen sticks out the back comfortably, and I twirl around in front of the floor-length mirror. That's much better. For an event like this, the dress is inappropriate—my abdomen should be hidden away during such an extravagant ball—but it's more important to me that I feel good.

"Your Highness?" Helena squeaks out from underneath the bed.

I shoot her a look of pure exasperation. "What? Oh, for pity's sake. Get out from under the bed. You'll get covered in dust gremlins," I chide.

Helena crawls out from beneath the bed and pushes herself up to stand. "Your Highness, your … your abdomen is showing," she says, pointing a finger at my butt.

I roll my eyes. "Yes. I'm well aware, thank you. See yourself out. I'll do my own hair."

Helena arches an eyebrow but doesn't argue with me, thank goodness for that, and hurries out the door, slamming it shut on her way out. I narrow my eyes. What is with my staff lately? They're not usually in such a state of disarray. Perhaps it's the pressure of the event that's throwing them off-kilter, along with Calvin's presence.

Calvin. I wonder how he is getting on, if he is able to get dressed in something comfortable as well. I sent the royal tailors to his quarters earlier to find him something suitable to wear so he wouldn't stick out like a grasshopper on an anthill.

I sit down in front of the mirror and get to work on my hair. Perhaps I can salvage it after all. After all, I want to look my absolute best. Not only for my own people, but for my – I'm not sure what Calvin is to me. Not yet. Paramour? Yes, I suppose he is. My thoughts drift back to our moment in the library, and I feel a blush creep across my cheeks.

The ball is as opulent as one would expect, with the spacious room covered in wildflowers gathered by my foragers. They brought in poppies, goldenrods, daisies, and my personal favorite, forget-me-nots. They hang from the ceiling in loose strands, making the entire ballroom look like a living fairy tale.

Gentle string music pours throughout the room, played by the three musicians Aunt Elza hired, while dozens of couples dance. All in all, the ball is going as well as could be expected, despite the murmurings about my inappropriate attire and hair. My hair, which I gathered into intricate braids along the sides of my head, looks decent enough. But it isn't enough to deter the gossip, unfortunately. I sit at the banquet table beside Aunt Elza, who is glaring at me so hard I am liable to turn into a pile of ash at any moment.

"What? Spit it out," I snap. I'm not in the mood for her special flavor of criticism this evening. And I haven't even seen Calvin yet. Where is he? I crane my neck, trying to see past the floating couples on the ballroom floor. Is he lost? Did he change his mind and decide not to come after all? My heart twists at the thought.

Aunt Elza grabs my wrist and squeezes it. Hard. "What was so wrong with your dress that you decided to wear something that makes you look like a slut at your very own coronation ball?" she hisses, low enough so that only I can hear.

My eyes widen at her audacity. I try to wriggle free from her grip, but she's unrelenting and won't let me go. "Stop this at once. You're hurting me."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, please, Your Highness. I believe someone needs to have a harder grip on you from time to time, lest you forget yourself and what you represent. Your dress is an abomination, and you should feel ashamed of yourself."

"Who should feel ashamed of themselves?" Florian's voice drawls from behind us. He leans in between us and tuts gently. "My, my. Being scolded like a common larvae, are we? My dear, what did you do to upset your hard-working majordomo this time?"

I'm about to respond when the whiff of something delicious and musky passes my nostrils. My pupils dilate, and the hairs on my shoulders and arms stand on end. Thankfully, neither my fiancé nor Aunt Elza notice. Those pheromones. Calvin is nearby.

I hadn't noticed them before, not until … not until I orgasmed in the library. I'd heard from my mother that when a fae is ready to mate, she can smell her chosen's pheromones more keenly. That must be it. When I came on Calvin's hand, it must have triggered my innate instincts. Interesting.

"Excuse me," I say, and push my chair from the table to stand up. But Florian puts his hands on my shoulders and forces me back down. "F-Florian. Stop that. Let me go at once."

"You aren't excused from the table, I'm afraid, my dear," he coos in a sickly sweet voice that sounds vaguely venomous. "Stay. Chat with us. I like your dress, by the way. It's very … provocative."

I don't miss the way he says provocative . It's enough to make me want to hurl honey up all over his shoes. "Move. This is an order," I say again, more firmly this time.

"Let her go, Florian," Aunt Elza says with a dismissive hand flap. "If she wants to tart up the crown and make a fool of us all, who are we to stop her? I'm only the royal advisor and have been for the previous three monarchs. What do I know?"

I glare at her. "How dare you speak that way in front of your princess? Perhaps it's you who has forgotten her place."

Aunt Elza's golden-tinged lips curl into a malicious sneer. "Oh, no, Princess. It's not I who has forgotten their place, I assure you."

What does that mean?

Never mind. I need to get away from these two before I wind up doing something I'll truly regret. I push away from the table and flee into the crowd of buzzing bees, bumping into their abdomens along the way. I slip past several rubber-necking courtiers who can't help but murmur about my dress as I make my way in to one of the small alcoves on the other side of the room.

I haven't spotted Calvin yet, but I know he's here. In the darkened space behind the burgundy curtain, I sit on one of the benches and inhale deeply. By the sun. What's happening here? I've never gotten along with Aunt Elza or Florian before, but they're being extra insufferable this evening. Then the tears come so quickly I scarcely have a moment to stop them.

When I bury my face in my gloves to weep quietly in peace, I don't even notice there's someone looming over me until it's too late.

"Po?" a familiar voice rasps, and when I lift my head, my heart swells. Calvin crouches down in front of me and pulls my hands away from my face to hold them gently. "Are you okay? Why are you alone in here, crying?"

His hair is slicked and parted to one side, and his black suit is tailored to perfection. The bowtie is a nice touch, too. He's still wearing his usual pair of glasses, but I like them. They make him look intelligent. Dignified.

"I-It's nothing," I lie.

His expression softens, and he lifts his hand to brush his fingers against my cheek. His skin is so, so warm. Humans are incredibly soft and warm in all the ways my people are not. My heart races in my chest as I wonder briefly what it would feel like to have that perfect mouth of his between my thighs. For once, I don't scold myself for having those thoughts. Instead, I entertain them—let them color my cheeks and bring a soft smile to my face until he's peering at me askance.

"What? What's so funny?" he asks, mimicking my smile. "Is there something on my face?"

"No," I say quickly. "No, your face is perfect. You look very handsome."

Calvin responds by lifting his hand to stroke a tendril of lavender-colored hair that's slipped out of my braids. "I like this color on you. It's beautiful," he murmurs. "Lilacs are my favorite flower."

"Oh." I blink. "You like it? It was done purely through carelessness, I assure you."

He smirks. "Yes, I like it. It suits you. It's more whimsical this way, I think. Just like you."

I let out choked laughter as more tears slip down my cheeks. But now I'm not sure why I'm crying. Because of the stress? Because I've finally fallen apart? Or perhaps because, yes, I have fallen apart, but Calvin is now here with me, picking up the pieces?

"I was looking for you," he says. "But you weren't at the table. I wanted to ask you for a dance. If you're allowed to dance with me, that is."

My heart melts at the thought of being led onto the dance floor by him. Being held by him as he sways me across the ballroom for everyone to see. "I would love that," I say. "Then I would truly feel like a princess."

"Then please," he says as he stands up and extends a hand to me, "let me treat you like a princess."