Zane sidles up next to me. “That’s Halley Street, the busiest and most chaotic street in Lumenas. The most famous theaters on the isle are just a few blocks away.”

  No wonder it’s so vibrant here. “That’s incredible.”

  “Ready to see it for yourself?” they ask. “Once everyone wakes up, that is.”

  I cast a glance at where our companions doze on the furniture around us. Monty is slouched in one of the chairs by the fire while William naps on a divan, hands laced on his chest, a book covering his face. Daphne is…somewhere. My grin spreads wide as I return my attention to Zane. “I can’t wait.”

  “I already know where we should go, but…” Zane assesses my attire through slitted lids. I shrink a little under their scrutiny, as I don’t look nearly as impressive as them. Zane is outfitted in wide-legged slacks and another flowing robe-style top—red silk this time, decorated with white cherry blossoms that are so delicate they must be hand-painted. Matching blossoms twine around their antlers and weave through their russet waves. A spattering of glitter adorns their cheeks, dancing with their pale freckles.

  Meanwhile, I’m dressed in a simple blouse and walking skirt. I changed from my travel attire after washing up in the largest, most luxurious bathtub I’ve ever had the pleasure of using, but I haven’t done anything else to enhance my appearance. No cosmetics. No fancy updo.

  Zane winks. “Come with me.”

  I follow them from the wall of windows. I take only a few steps before Daphne drops from the ceiling, nearly startling me out of my wits. Was she napping in one of the chandeliers?

  “What are you up to?” she asks, stretching her front legs with a yawn, her curved back arching toward the sky.

  “You can come too,” Zane says, waving us forward.

  We enter the bedroom area, partitioned by tall screens. Past the bed, vanity, and dressing table, are another set of screens. Beyond them stand several racks filled with an array of clothing in every color I could imagine. Everything from ballgowns to frock coats to articles I have no name for hang from the racks. My eyes snag on glittering gold sequins, iridescent silks, impossibly fine lace, and gorgeous brocade.

  Daphne darts from rack to rack. “Are these for your performances?”

  “Some of them,” Zane says, approaching a rack with the most varied collection of articles. “Others are gifts from designers. They send them to me, hoping I’ll wear them to an event or performance.”

  I join Zane at the rack as they lift a slim black dress covered entirely in fringe.

  They hold it up toward me as if imagining it on my figure. With a shake of their head, they return the article to the rack. “Some of the ensembles don’t fit me. Antlers, you know.”

  I assess Zane’s clothing with fresh eyes. No wonder they favor the robe style with sashes or other frontal closures. I never considered how difficult it might be to get dressed with antlers.

  Zane lifts the hem of their trousers, revealing toned calves that end in hooves. “I don’t wear shoes either, and yet…”

  They stroll to a wall beside one of the racks and pull a crystalline knob. A drawer slides from the wall, filled with leather oxfords. Then they pull another drawer out from beneath it, this one filled with silk dancing slippers. Another contains low-heeled, lace-up ankle boots like I favor.

  Daphne hops into the drawer of dancing slippers and assesses a pair in yellow silk adorned with pink roses. “Designers just give you these without considering whether you can wear them?”

  With a wry grin, Zane shrugs. “I think they just want an excuse to gift me things. If I like their style, I commission custom clothing from them later, so it’s a win-win. It also provides me with ample gifts to send my friends home with whenever I have guests.”

  I’m still marveling over Zane’s hooves. “May I ask…is this your seelie form or unseelie form?”

  “Seelie,” Zane says as they return to the rack of varied clothing and rifle through the articles again. “I’m a deer in my unseelie form. I only take that form when I visit extended family who live in the forest, though.”

  Zane pauses over a cream lace gown, then removes its hanger from the rack. The style favors fae conventions, with loose lines, a dropped waist, and what appears to be an open back. They hold it out for me and angle their head toward one of the free-standing dressing screens around us. “Try this on.”

  I blink at them, then at the gown. “You…want me to wear that?”

  “And if you like it, keep it.”

  I wave my hands. “I couldn’t.”

  “You can. It’s going to waste here. Think of it as payment for staying at my place.”

  My lips quirk. “You want me to take a dress from you…as payment for staying at your place.”

  Their grin widens. “Correct. Trust me, in that dress, you’ll fit right in once we’re out on the town. You’ll regret it if you wear what you’re wearing now.” There’s no taunting or judgment in their tone, which makes me believe they might be right.

  My gaze drops back to the gown. Even at a glance, I know the lace is finer than any I’ve worn, and my earlier yearning returns. I want to know what it feels like to wear something so elegant. So different from the style I normally favor. Slowly, I reach for it. “If you insist.”

  “I do,” Zane says, shoving the hanger into my hand and practically forcing me behind the screen. As I begin to undress, Zane adds to Daphne, “You can try something on too. Do you like that yellow silk?”

  Daphne’s monotone replies with a wary, “Kind of.”

  “Here, take that behind the other screen.”

  I’m curious what Zane sent Daphne away with. Do they have anything small enough to fit the pine marten? How adorable would that be?

  I manage to change into the lace gown all on my own. With its open back, it’s obviously meant to be worn sans corset. That gives me some pause, though it won’t be the first time I’ve gone without a corset in public since arriving in Faerwyvae. I wore nothing but my chemise as a top when we arrived in the Solar Court, after all. This, at least, was meant to be worn this way.

  Once dressed, I emerge from behind the screen. Zane brings their hands together, beaming at me. They take me by the shoulders and angle me toward a mirror. “I knew it would be perfect.”

  I worry my lip as I assess my reflection. The dress is every inch the gorgeous confection I thought it to be on the hanger, and seeing it grace my figure makes me equal parts anxious and elated. It does suit me well, the cream lace complementing my blushing complexion and auburn hair. Even my spectacles manage not to look out of place, as the dress’ unique features and flared hem draw the eye most. The front of the gown boasts a high neck, like the everyday blouses I wear, but my shoulders are bare. I shift to the side, where the gown takes another departure from the norm, the sides dropping away to reveal bare flesh. The front is wide enough to drape elegantly over my small breasts, but the sides show off the barest curve. It’s a play on cleavage I’ve never seen before—side cleavage.

  I turn further around to assess my back and nearly blanch. The high neck of the gown ties at my nape, but there’s nothing beneath that aside from the trailing ends of the bow until my waist.

  I dart a glance at Zane. “Am I showing too much skin? Is it perhaps missing a portion?”

  “No,” they say, unable to hide their laughter. “That’s how it’s supposed to be worn. Don’t fret. You look incredible.”

  I smooth the front of the dress, then give my shoulders a shake. Thankfully, everything stays in place.

  Footsteps sound behind me, and I turn⁠—

  A yelp leaves my lips as an unfamiliar female strides out from behind the other dressing screen. She freezes at my reaction, her shoulders rising to her ears. She’s not much taller than me with shoulder-length black hair, dark eyes, and a tan complexion. Then I see the gown she’s wearing, one of yellow silk with pink-and-white flowers. The top half is modest and bordering on plain, with cap sleeves, an empire waist, and a straight neckline. It reminds me of fashions from the last decade, a style still popular in Bretton. Then the bottom half ends above her knees, spreading out wide with layers upon layers of cream lace beneath the yellow skirt. This would be a shocking sight, for one rarely shows their legs in public—certainly not back home in Bretton—if I wasn’t starting to understand who I’m looking at.

  I take in her hunched posture, the curl of her fingers that she holds near her waist as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.

  “Daphne?” Her name comes out with a gasp. “Is…is that your seelie form?”

  She grimaces. “Yeah.” It’s the first time I’ve heard her words while seeing her mouth move. In her pine marten form, her voice simply emanates from her.

  I assess her all over again, admiring the points of her ears, her dark eyes, and her long black lashes. Unlike Zane, Daphne’s humanoid form reveals no hint of her animal manifestation. She looks slightly younger than me, but with fae aging the way it is, she could be older. I resist the urge to ask—because even I can hold my tongue for the sake of not being rude—and instead say, “You’re stunning.”

  Another grimace, then a sigh. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t seem to think that’s a compliment,” Zane says, tone curious.

  Daphne shifts from foot to foot. “I haven’t taken this form often, and when I do…well, people expect things of me. Poise. Accomplishments. They usually end up disappointed.”

  My heart sinks. I know how that feels. I too have disappointed people who had high expectations of me. The most painful time was with a man who thought he loved me. In my case, it was my looks that disappointed him, after my words on a page painted a much prettier picture.

  Daphne wrings her hands, then shakes her head. “I’m not going out tonight.” A shudder rips through her, and the next thing I know, her humanoid form is gone, replaced with the pine marten. Then, just as fast, she returns to her seelie form. She clasps her hands in an apologetic gesture as she faces Zane. “Oh, sorry! I’ll change first.”

  “Keep it,” Zane says. “You don’t have to wear it tonight or go out with us if you don’t want to, but please take the dress. It suits you.”

  Daphne wrings her hands again. “All right.” She shrinks back down to her unseelie form and darts away.

  I watch her every move, marveling that I’ve witnessed a fae shifting between her two forms before my very eyes. And her clothing remained in place on her seelie form without affecting her unseelie form. What a delight to witness firsthand!

  Daphne slips from view, but she’s replaced with a new figure. William halts and whirls in place, staring after a scurrying Daphne, before proceeding forward. “Z, are you in⁠—”

  He pulls up short as his eyes fall on us. They settle on me, sweeping from my head to my feet and back again. His throat bobs, and it seems to take great effort for him to speak. “Are…we…uh, leaving soon?”

  Zane purses their lips but doesn’t successfully hide their grin. “We are. Is Monty awake?”

  “He’s already gone.” William’s attention is on his cufflinks, the buttons of his dark gray suit not fully fastened, but his eyes keep flashing to me.

  I try to maintain an innocent expression, though triumph sizzles in my chest. So, he likes my new dress.

  “Gone?” Zane echoes.

  “He said something about a boxing match.”

  “He did mention that earlier,” I say.

  “It will be us four,” William says.

  “Three,” I correct. “Daphne doesn’t want to go out tonight.”

  William shrugs. “That’s fine⁠—”

  “Two, actually,” Zane says. “I’m not going either.”

  William and I shift our eyes to them.

  Again, Zane tries to hide their grin, but it’s no use. “Turns out…there’s this thing.”

  William levels a knowing look at his friend. “A thing?”

  “A thing. But you know where to take her, right? You two have fun.”

  “We were supposed to all go together.”

  Zane strolls past us with an exaggerated shrug. “Yes, but…there’s this thing. And…look at the time. I simply must be off.”

  William scowls at their back. “I know you’re up to no good when the only true thing you can say is there’s this thing.”

  “There’s this thing,” Zane says again, their voice farther away now. I can’t see them beyond the partitions around the dressing area, but I imagine they must be near the elevator doors. “Have fun!”

  William heaves an aggrieved sigh, then turns to face me. His expression softens as his eyes meet mine. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” he says, voice low.

  “Looks like.”

  He angles his head away from the dressing area and his lips curl in a sideways smile. “Shall we?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  WILLIAM

  Itry not to show just how elated I am to be left alone with Edwina tonight. And in that fucking dress. Bless my luck. Bless Zane. Maybe bless Monty too. I’m starting to suspect they conspired against us yet again. Or are they conspiring for us? Whatever the case, it takes all my restraint not to outright stare as we ride the elevator down to the lobby, but I still manage to drink my fill whenever she isn’t looking.

  Blooming hell, this is the first time I’ve seen her in anything like this. Even the dress she wore to Somerton House was in the human style, modest compared to the expanse of flesh on display behind her, the way the cream lace hugs the curve of her ass before flaring slightly at the knee. Don’t get me started on the front. The sides. I’m equally as turned on by what the lace hides as by what it reveals. Peaks, valleys, the barest curve of her outer breasts.

  She cuts a glower my way, and I realize I’ve been staring. “What?”

  I resist the urge to avert my gaze and instead assess her while she’s looking this time. Her hair is styled in its usual updo, loose wild tendrils already escaping to brush her shoulders. I reach for one of the strands and tuck it behind her ear. “You look nice.”

  Her eyes widen behind her lenses, and a flush creeps from her neck to her cheeks. She nudges her spectacles and quickly fixes her attention on the closed door of the elevator. “Thank you.”

  I tuck my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her again. What I wouldn’t give to reach for that tie at the back of her neck and tug it loose. My trousers tighten at the thought, and it’s all I can do to remind myself we have plans. Important ones.

  Outside the apartment, the noise of Halley Street crashes around us. Horse hooves, carriage wheels, chatter, music. We immediately get swept up in the flow of the crowd. I clasp Edwina’s gloved hand as a figure tries to step between us, tugging her close to my side and forcing the pedestrian to go around. “Let’s stay together,” I say over the noise.

  I keep her hand in mine as we navigate Halley to the next corner. As we turn down the cross street, the chaos is cut in half. It’s still loud and crowded and packed with pedestrians and performers, but it’s easier to walk without getting separated.

  Yet I don’t give Edwina back her hand.

  She doesn’t seem to mind, as her attention is more on our surroundings. Her eyes constantly bounce from the buildings to the storefronts, jugglers, musicians, sword-swallowers—there’s so much to see and she marvels at every sight. I’m almost certain my hand around hers is all that keeps her from getting swept away and stolen by her own awe.

  After a few more blocks, the bustle dies down further, and I catch sight of the sign I’ve been looking for: Orion Street.

  “We’re almost there,” I say, giving her palm a squeeze as we turn down Orion.

  She finally pulls her gaze from our surroundings to look up at me. “You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

  “That’s because it’s a surprise. But trust me. You’ll like it.”

  She’s back to staring at lights and people, which is good because I don’t want her to see the small A-frame sign outside the building just ahead. I shift so I’m in front of her, blocking the sign as we stop outside the midnight blue façade of a theater called Vulture’s Prose.

  “We’re here.” I release her hand and open the door for her. As she enters ahead of me, I’m graced with another delicious view of her bare back. Blooming hell.

  We enter the narrow foyer and are greeted by a ticket taker. I retrieve two tickets from my waistcoat pocket and hand them over. The young man bows and gestures for us to proceed. The theater is small and quaint, so there’s no grand lobby, no extravagant auditorium. Instead, we enter a wide space with several rows of chairs and a modest stage at the far end.

  An usher guides us to our seats—front row, thanks to Zane. Most of the seats have already been claimed, as we’re only minutes away from curtain. We’re cutting it close, but I didn’t want to arrive too early lest Edwina overhear what play we’re about to see. I really do want this to be a surprise.

  The stragglers fill the remaining seats in the audience, and whispers of excitement spread as we wait for the curtain to rise. Nostalgia falls over me. Vulture’s Prose reminds me of the kinds of theaters I spent my youth in. The kinds of theaters my mother, Lydia, preferred to perform in, often in this very city. I preferred them too, as a child, for everyone seemed like family. The actors would let Cassie and me try on costumes and wigs. It’s where I fell in love with acting myself.

  If only I’d stayed in settings like these. With Lydia. With Cassie. If only I hadn’t strayed so far to attend university.

  Then maybe Lydia would still be alive.

  The curtain finally shifts, and a fae male with aqua hair and a top hat emerges. With a flourish of his hand, he says, “Vulture’s Prose proudly presents The Governess and the Rake.”

  Edwina sucks in a breath, sitting forward in her seat. As the curtain parts, she swivels to face me. Her eyes glisten beneath the glittering stage lights. “Will.”

  My heart cracks at the sound of my name. The name only those closest to me use. Does she even know? Is she so overwhelmed that she hasn’t realized she’s shortened my name? Does she have any idea how much it makes me want to fucking kiss her and taste that name on her lips? My truest identity. The stripped-down version of me that isn’t playing a part.

 

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