Midnight Beauties (Grim Lovelies 2)

Several Goblins stylists gasped.

“Not the hair!” December wailed. She smacked Beau’s broad shoulders with a hairbrush.

He put Anouk down and held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m going! I’m going!” He gave Anouk one final look. A corner of his mouth turned up, but something about it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You won’t kiss him like that, will you?”

“Impossible,” Anouk said honestly.

December started smacking him again with the brush until he fled.

The Goblins frantically fixed her fallen hair and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, and when the clock chimed noon, they opened the same door that Beau had walked out of, but the hallway beyond had vanished with the changing of the hour. Instead, a set of frosted glass doors with white ironwork stood before them: the entrance to the rooftop garden. Anouk twisted her hands in the folds of her dress, hoping the Goblins couldn’t see how they were shaking. With a grin, December threw open the doors.

Anouk braced for a blast of winter air. Her shoulders and arms and décolleté were bare, but instead of a harsh chill, she felt buttery warmth. Her muscles eased as she blinked into the sunlight. Summer sunlight, rich and bright. Just moments ago, snow and sleet were pounding against the windows. The rooftop garden, the last she’d seen of it, had been dreary and wet, the furniture covered with tarps, frozen puddles on the stone paths, rosebushes scraggly and bare. She tipped her head up and nearly tripped on her hem. It was still snowing. Someone—?Rennar, probably—?had cast a spell to create a dome of summertime over the rooftop garden. Beneath the spell, it was all flowers and the trills of birdsong. The rosebushes now burst with soft pink blooms the same color as her blush.

She felt eyes on her.

The rooftop garden was filled with more Royals than she’d ever seen in one place. She’d met the leaders of the various Courts at the Coal Baths and again at her engagement party, but in the days since, lesser Royals had also arrived. Dukes from the Minaret Court dressed in a bold vermillion. Ladies-in-waiting from the Barren Court with their arms overflowing with cherry blossoms. Knights bearing the crest of the Crimson Court dressed in shades of blush. Court of the Woods nobles in flowing coral robes. Duke Karolinge, a reluctant-looking officiant, stood at the front of the assembly in a red suit so dark it was almost black. The Goblins huddled in attendance around the edges of the garden, crammed in amid the rosebushes. They’d each donned a pink hat or a pink scarf or put on a smear of pink eye shadow. The only one not dressed in shades of red was Petra, who was wearing her black coat and champagne-colored sunglasses.

No one told a witch how to dress.

Rennar stood beneath an archway of vines in the center of the garden, dressed in red, a crown of gold antlers on his head. His eyes, normally such a cool blue, seemed to crackle like embers.

Anouk took a step forward and promptly tripped on the hem of her dress.

“Careful!” Cricket, standing by the doorway, moved to help her. Her hands were cool against Anouk’s burning skin. Cricket was wearing her ripped jeans but she’d put on a pink lace top for the occasion. A bouquet of roses was balanced in the crook of her arm.

Cricket gave her a dry smile as she helped her stand. “Try to make it down the aisle in one piece?” Her voice dipped low. “If we must go through with this ridiculous ceremony, at least let’s not make a fool of ourselves in front of the entire Royal Court.” She shoved the bouquet into Anouk’s arms. “Here. This is yours. I’ll hold your train. Apparently, I’m your maid of honor.”

Anouk blinked down at the roses. Someone had removed the thorns and wrapped the stems in lace. A wave of doubt suddenly washed over her. “Cricket, I’m not sure about this.”

“Me neither, but it’s too late to get out of it now.” Cricket prodded her in the backside. “Hurry up so we can at least eat cake.”

Anouk’s glass shoes wobbled on the uneven stones. On either side of her, the Royals observed her with cool indifference. She wondered what was going through their heads. Just months ago she’d been sweeping floors. What did they think of the leader of the Parisian Court marrying a maid? A beastie? Not the most likely individual to button up in a feathered dress and march down the aisle. Not the kind to lead a realm.

She could feel their judgment beating down on her. She swallowed, swaying slightly, then gripped the rose bouquet in determination. Well, she’d never asked to join their ranks. She was going to save their necks—?ungrateful though they were—?but she was doing it to save her own. None of them were risking their lives to set foot in London and face the Coven. They’d be here, in their protected penthouse palace, drinking rare wines and bemoaning the decline of the Haute.

She tipped her chin up.

Rennar watched her with an unreadable expression as she approached and took her place beneath the arch. Duke Karolinge loomed over them, looking uncomfortable in a suit instead of his robes. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses.

Rennar leaned forward to whisper, “You have grass stains on your hem.”

She looked down. Zut alors. If anyone could manage to ruin a magic-infused couture dress in thirty steps, it was her.

Cricket artlessly arranged her dress around her, kicking at the lace train to make it cooperate, and then joined Beau, Hunter Black, Luc, and Viggo, who made up the motley wedding party. Beau tugged on his tight collar. His eyes flickered to Anouk but he couldn’t seem to make himself hold her gaze. Cricket gave him a sideways hug.

Duke Karolinge slammed his staff against the ground and Anouk jumped.

“Let us begin.”

Those were the only words spoken in an earthly language. He switched to the Selentium Vox, rattling off a litany of oaths from a dusty volume he cradled in one hand. He seemed to be the only one interested in the ceremony. The other Royals looked bored. One of the Minaret Royals stifled a yawn. Queen Violante didn’t even bother to hide hers.

Anouk, with her basic knowledge of the language, tried to follow along, but it was so dry that when he launched into the history of Haute rites in the twelfth century, her mind wandered. Was she truly doing this? Marrying a prince? She thought of the wrinkled playbill she’d once pasted to the wall of her bedroom. Princes and princesses, daring rescues and sword fights. At the time, she’d dreamed of such things as she darned Mada Vittora’s socks into the late hours of the night. Such lives had belonged to other people. Special people. Not maids or gardeners or chauffeurs.

Overhead, the sleet turned to snow that pitter-pattered on the dome that Rennar had conjured. She let her gaze drift over the crowd. Viggo had moved to stand with the Goblins, slapping away their mischievous hands as they tried to steal things from the Royals’ pockets. Hunter Black in his suit, Luc, and Beau—?a trio of misfits. Cricket beside them, prettier but no less out of place.

And then, without warning, Rennar took her hand. She realized Duke Karolinge had stopped talking. The entire rooftop garden was silent, heavy with anticipation.

“What’s happening?” she whispered urgently.