4

At almost half past seven, I’m pacing the floor of the sitting room, anxiously awaiting my Faerie godfather’s arrival.

As I expected, my stepmother accompanied her daughters into the city and plans to amuse herself elsewhere while they’re at the ball. She never misses an opportunity to ingratiate herself into the upper levels of society, and she managed to secure an invitation to a gathering of wealthy ladies about her age, all of whom are just as rabidly eager for their daughters to secure a match to the Crown Prince. No doubt the gathering will be a bloodbath of razor smiles, cutting glances, and vicious words spoken over cups of tea. Or perhaps there will be gambling instead of gossip, and wine instead of tea.

This afternoon, I told my stepmother I didn’t feel well, that my dress wasn’t ready, and that I wouldn’t be attending the ball after all. She smirked, as if she suspected I would back out of the bargain we made, which piqued my pride. Even though she seemed willing to go along with my scheme, on the off chance I might be useful in forwarding her daughters’ interests, she’s clearly not confident in my ability to fulfill my part of the deal .

The clock strikes once to mark the half hour. As I turn on my heel to pace back across the room, I realize with a jolt that my Faerie godfather is sitting on the sofa. He looks utterly at ease, legs crossed and shoulders relaxed.

“There you are,” I say sharply.

“Startled you again, did I?” He grins.

“You did not. I was expecting you.”

“And where is the party dress I’m supposed to mend?”

It’s directly in his line of sight, draped over the other sofa. I point to it.

“Oh god-stars. That ?” He raises an eyebrow, and his lip curls disdainfully.

I bristle at the insult to my efforts. “I didn’t have much to work with—a castoff dress of my stepsisters and some scraps. I did my best.”

“I’m sure you did,” he says in a patronizing tone. “I do pity you mortals. So limited by the mundane reality of an existence without magic.”

“I don’t much care for magic,” I reply. “It has never brought me anything but misery.”

He glances at me keenly. “Let’s see if we can change that, shall we? But before we begin, there’s a small matter we need to discuss. The ‘granting of my grace,’ as your watch says.”

I haven’t forgotten the second part of the inscription. A kiss grants his grace .

“So I need to kiss the watch?” I say hopefully, although I’m fairly sure that’s not what it means.

“Very funny,” he replies with a knowing smirk. “No, you’ll be kissing me. Try not to stab me with anything, there’s a good girl.”

“This is some Faerie bargain nonsense, isn’t it?” I grumble.

“Indeed. Though there are other ways to seal a bargain. One of my favorites involves the joining of other body parts, rather than the lips.” His smirk widens to a naughty smile. “Perhaps you’d prefer that?”

Heat suffuses my cheeks. Though I’m a virgin, I’m by no means ignorant on the topic of sex. When I steal newspapers from the refuse bin of our neighbor down the lane, I sometimes find discarded leaflets among the pages—leaflets full of naughty stories and pictures. I’m not sure who in that house subscribes to the leaflet—whether it’s the husband, the wife, or the elderly aunt who lives with them—but I’ve gained plenty of detailed carnal knowledge from those scavenged papers.

Nevertheless, I don’t plan to touch the Faerie beyond what is absolutely necessary. I don’t trust him, not for a moment. My father may have had faith in this creature—but he also trusted Gilda.

“A kiss will do,” I tell the Faerie, steeling myself for the act. If I kiss him quickly, I won’t have to think about it.

He stands up, still with that lazy, suggestive smile on his mouth. Before he can make a move, I seize the lapels of his coat, rise on my toes, and peck his lips lightly before retreating several steps away.

The Faerie stares at me. “That wasn’t a kiss. There has to be an exchange.”

“Of what? Saliva?” I grimace.

“You act as if I’m some warty toad from the garden,” he says with a rueful laugh. “Surely the idea of kissing me can’t be that repugnant. Or perhaps you’ve had bad experiences with kissing as well as with magic.”

“No,” I reply, averting my eyes.

“Perhaps you’ve had no experience with kissing at all.” His tone is wondering, delighted. “That’s the truth, isn’t it? You’ve never kissed a man, and you’re a virg—”

“None of that has anything to do with our bargain,” I snap. “If the kiss I gave you wasn’t good enough, just kiss me and get it over with. ”

“Just what I’ve always wanted to hear from a woman,” he says dryly. He comes up to me, slipping his long fingers around the back of my head. Then he leans down and kisses me.

His mouth is impossibly smooth and soft. The tip of his tongue probes gently between my lips, and when I part them, his tongue slides into my mouth. Instinctively I open a little more, letting him in. The way his tongue glides against mine is the most arousing thing I have ever felt. My entire body buzzes awake, flaming up like a dormant fire stirred to life.

But caution sparks in my mind, too. I’ve read about Faeries, and I know their reputation for charming their way into the hearts and beds of unwary humans. I’m already risking enough as it is—I will not yield my body to someone who might be more dangerous than my stepmother.

Still, the fucker knows how to use his tongue. This kiss is easily the most wonderful thing I’ve experienced in years. I’ve been so worn out for weeks that I haven’t had any energy or inclination to pleasure myself, and I’m suddenly conscious that my body has needs, powerful ones.

What if I added one more thing to my list of plans for tonight? What if I found someone at the ball, someone human, who could kiss me like this and give me pleasure? My stepmother prizes my virginity and has explicitly forbidden me to have sex with any of the young men in the region… but that command has a few loopholes I can exploit. There might be a delicious freedom in defying her while also pleasing myself.

With a final swirl of his tongue over mine, the Faerie breaks the kiss. “There. A proper exchange has been made, and the bargain is struck. Now take off your clothes.”

Shocked, I back away from him, pressing one hand to my stomach and the other to my chest. “What?”

“I could take them off you with magic, but I thought that might be rather rude. Wouldn’t you prefer to do it yourself? ”

“And why would I undress for you?” I ask, sidling toward the iron poker beside the fireplace.

“I need to see your body, so I can create the right look for you. This shapeless sack you’re wearing conceals your form.”

“It’s not a shapeless sack,” I retort, but inwardly I know he’s right. The brown dress I’m wearing used to be Vashli’s, and it hangs loosely on my body. I see the logic in what he’s saying, but the idea of stripping down to my underwear in front of him sends a rush of hot blood into my cheeks. “I’m not comfortable undressing for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He cocks his head.

“A man—a male—who is very—” Beautiful , my mind whispers, but I refuse to say it aloud. “Someone who looks like you.”

“I can change the way I look.” His form ripples slightly as if I’m seeing it through water, and suddenly he’s a plump, pleasant-looking woman with gray hair and lavender eyes. “How’s this?”

“What did you… how did you…” I can’t formulate a coherent sentence—I’m too stupefied.

“It’s a glamour. I’m rather good at them.” He transforms into a gawky-looking man with spectacles, then into a busty, beautiful woman with raven-black hair. “Any requests?”

“Just yourself will be fine.” I’m tempted to ask for the grandmother glamour, since that form does feel less threatening—but I’d rather see him exactly as he is and remember who I’m dealing with.

He reverts to his sparkly purple self and relaxes again, spreading his arms along the back of the sofa.

Drawing a deep breath, I take off my shoes and stockings. Then I pull the dress I’m wearing over my head and lay it aside. Underneath I’m wearing a castoff pair of Amisa’s panties, made of soft cotton and lace, but worn nearly threadbare. My bustier is so old that its cups barely support my breasts anymore. I give it a self-conscious tug upward and force myself to meet the Faerie’s eyes.

There’s pity in his gaze, along with calculated interest as he rises and paces around me, inspecting my body from all sides. I know he’s seeing my scars too—marks of all the times I was forced to punish myself. But he doesn’t mention them.

“You must have new undergarments, that’s for certain,” he says. “Yes, yes… I think I know just the thing. Do I have your permission to begin?”

“Let’s be clear about this,” I say, as he circles me again. He seems distracted, so I say sharply, “Stop staring at me and listen .”

He refocuses his attention on my face, and I think I see a flicker of heat in his eyes. But the next second he’s all pleasant politeness. “I’m listening.”

“I take it you’re not going to mend the dress I made.”

“Certainly not. I’m conjuring you a new one, with new undergarments as well. But the clothing I conjure does expire and disappear eventually. You’ll have to leave the ball by midnight and be back here within half an hour after that, or you’ll end up quite naked.”

I return his grin with a glare. “I’m sure that sounds very funny to you, but it doesn’t to me. I’ve been humiliated quite enough for one lifetime.”

He looks repentant. “As long as you heed the warning and leave by midnight, there should be no such humiliation.”

“I’m not sure I can persuade my stepsisters to leave so early,” I say. “Most balls continue until one or two in the morning. I’ll need my own transportation to and from the palace. Can you provide that?”

“As an addendum to your first request? Certainly. I’m nothing if not generous. ”

There’s a twinkle in his eye when he says it, and something in the tenor of his voice sounds downright salacious. A faint flutter courses through my lower belly.

“What are you waiting for?” I snap. “Dress me and provide me with a carriage.”

“So demanding,” he purrs, gathering a handful of my hair and running it through his fingers. “Ah, now you’re thinking of impaling me with that poker. Don’t, I beg you—I’m merely gauging the texture of your hair so I can provide a hairstyle to complement the gown. And now—your ensemble for the grand ball.”

It happens in the blink of an eye. One moment I’m in threadbare undergarments, and the next I’m dressed in the loveliest blue gown I’ve ever seen. My hair is pinned half up, and the blond locks draping my bare shoulders feel so silky and soft I can hardly believe they’re mine.

“Have a look,” murmurs the Faerie, and the air shimmers in front of me, turning solid and reflective like a mirror, until I have a full view of myself, from head to toe.

The bodice of the gown sparkles like it’s made of gemstones, yet it’s as comfortable as a second skin. The skirt swishes airily around my legs. My whole body feels refreshed, and my face—I don’t know what he did to it, but my natural beauty has been enhanced without a trace of cosmetics. I look radiant and elegant. Like a future queen.

“There now,” croons the Faerie. “Some of my best work, I think. Of course I had a lovely subject, which helps.”

The compliment resonates through my body, all the more powerful because I never receive any such words of praise. But caution sparks in my mind, too.

“No sweet talk,” I tell him.

“Not even one tiny compliment?” He arches a brow.

“Not one. ”

“Very well.” He pouts a little, then his eyes flare wide with shock. “Shoes! I forgot the shoes.”

I lift the gown and stretch out my bare toes, but even as I do, a delicate silver slipper forms around my foot.

“Perfect.” He drops to one knee, catches my ankle, and lifts my foot to inspect the shoe. But when his fingers close over the anklet, he jerks away with a sharp cry, as if the contact hurt him.

I withdraw a step, letting my skirts fall back into place. The Faerie remains on one knee, stunned alarm in his gaze.

“What is this?” he asks.

I struggle to speak, but my lips won’t open. They only press themselves more tightly together, sealed by my stepmother’s command.

“I see,” he says slowly. “You can’t talk about it?”

I shake my head.

“You can’t tell me what it does, or who placed it on you?”

Again I shake my head. I can feel tears burning at the back of my eyes, and the last thing I want to do is cry when I’m supposed to be going to a royal ball.

“I need my carriage,” I whisper.

“Of course you do.” He rises, all his playful humor gone. His eyes have darkened and his features look harder, sharper, more dreadful and wicked.

Instinctively I wrap my hand around my pocket watch, whose silver chain still lies around my neck. I tuck the watch itself into the bodice of the gown, between my breasts.

“If you want to keep wearing that, I’ll glamour it to look like a fine necklace,” says my Faerie godfather. When I nod, the watch and chain transform instantly into a tiered collar of gemstones flowing from my throat to my breasts. I don’t miss the Faerie’s lingering glance at my newly adorned cleavage.

But he looks away the next instant and says briskly, “Come along, then! No time to waste. ”

He leads me outside, and as we emerge into the freezing night, a fluffy white wrap manifests from thin air and folds itself around my shoulders, while a white fur muff appears between my hands. I catch it and tuck my fingers into its warmth. The cold makes me cough, and the Faerie casts a sidelong look at me, frowning slightly. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or concerned.

The carriage he conjures is more unearthly than anything he has yet produced. He seems to fabricate it from the air itself—it looks as if it’s made of ice, glass, or crystal—maybe all three. Even the four horses pulling it look as if they’re made of glass, but he lifts a hand toward them and they turn white. With every swish of their long manes and tails, glittering snowflakes shake loose.

“I have never seen anything so beautiful,” I whisper.

“Magic is not inherently good or evil,” he says quietly. “It can be used to help or to harm, and I wish you were not so familiar with the latter. But for tonight, think of nothing except enjoying yourself. Dance, drink, and flirt with handsome gentlemen.”

That’s a privilege I can’t afford, though I don’t tell him why. I simply turn away and climb into the crystal carriage. The seats inside are draped in white furs, a delight to my weary body.

Without any driver to signal them, the snowy horses begin to move, and the carriage starts to roll away.

But when I lean out the window to thank the Faerie, he has disappeared.