Anouk fought the urge to comb back the hair falling in his eyes. “Rennar,” she said softly, shaking his shoulder gently. She kept her voice low, only for the two of them. “Tell me why you did this. Why you were kind.”
His blue eyes were piercing. He licked some moisture back into his lips as he rasped, “Call it a sign of faith that we can trust each other. I don’t want you to marry me because I’m holding your friends hostage. We enter into it freely or not at all. No more games. No more bargains.”
She gave him a slow nod.
Luc handed Cricket and Beau blankets to use until they could conjure them up some clothes. “A lot has happened,” Luc explained to them. “I’m afraid we haven’t brought you back with good news.”
“That’s okay.” Beau caught Anouk’s gaze from across the room and smiled, though his eyes flashed briefly to Rennar. “We’re back. That’s enough good news for one lifetime.”
Chapter 25
The beastie spell was taxing not only for the caster but also for Beau, Cricket, and Hunter Black. Their bodies had stretched, and so had their minds; evolving from animal to human in the blink of an eye would have fatigued even the strongest physique. When Mada Vittora had first transformed them years ago, she’d prepared pallets for them to rest on, strengthening herbs, and good hearty meals. At Castle Ides, there was no shortage of places to rest and sustaining suppers, though it still took them days to fully shake off the stupor. A near-constant stream of Pretty servants brought them chilled water and lavender-scented pillows and drams of pain-relieving elixir for their aching heads. Viggo oversaw their recovery with all the confidence of a boy who’d more or less successfully babysat a houseful of Goblins.
Anouk, meanwhile, ate cake.
Red velvet cake and raspberry cheesecake and tiramisu paired with champagnes and rosé wines and chocolate-infused merlot. She sampled roasted venison, baked Camembert, moules marinière. Rennar kept her so busy rushing from one wedding preparation to the next that she barely had time to pop in and check on her friends before it was time to taste-test more entrées.
A fleet of Pretty tailors took up an entire afternoon measuring her for a wedding wardrobe, but when December peeked in and saw the subdued fabrics they had chosen, she chased them out in disgust and rounded up the most fashionable Goblins to dress Anouk instead. The hours flew by in a flurry of black bows and long feathers and jagged-edged lace. The Goblins whispered the dress together, creating elaborate stitching that not even the most skilled Pretty could match. They added a few inches to the heels of her glass slippers along with a dash of enchantment so that they would leave glittering prints behind whe
rever she walked.
And the hairstyles! Elaborate braids plaited with magic, and updos that took the Goblins’ punk styles to a sophisticated polish. As soon as they had settled on a chignon shaped into a bow, Rennar appeared to whisk her away to the spell library, where a jeweler waited in the hazy blue lights to measure her for a ring. There was talk of fire opals and diamonds, of palladium metals. She’d barely selected a cut before Rennar paraded a stream of musicians past her, every type from jazz quartets to folk bands to punk rock and even a singer who—?December whispered in her ear—?was all the rage in New York after winning a televised singing competition. By the time she selected flowers, her mind was spinning. Florists carried in buckets of the most beautiful flowers she’d ever seen, all of them wildly impossible colors, and pressed her hard to pick a color scheme. She finally cried out, “Blush!” in a panic, and then everything from flowers to dresses to cakes were delicate shades of rose, pink, red, crimson. The cake was red velvet. The flowers were pink dahlias. Even her dress had pale roses woven in with the feathers.
“Please tell me this is the last of it.” She was seated on a throne by Rennar’s side, posing for a portrait by a Muscovite artist.
An arrogant smile flickered over Rennar’s face. “Come now, you enjoy it. You were drooling over the cakes.”
Her stomach groaned, betraying her. “I’m just saying that it’s an awful lot of work for a sham marriage.”
“My dear, all marriages within the Courts are shams. In the history of the near realms, I don’t think a single marriage has been a love match. That doesn’t mean they’re spared from tradition. In fact, some would argue that tradition is all the more important when the Royal Courts are nearly at war with one another, not to mention when the bride can’t stand the groom. You do still loathe me, don’t you?” His eyes dared her to contradict him.
“You’re fortunate that I’m good at pretending,” she said noncommittally.
And she was good at pretending. Pretending to enjoy his company. Pretending her smiles were real. Pretending to savor the luxury of royal life. She’d spent her life as a maid, so what was the harm of letting others wait on her for once? Of being the princess of her own fairy tale?
Pretending, it turned out, wasn’t difficult at all.
The night before the wedding, exhausted from dancing lessons and stuffed full of beignets, she dragged herself into the billiard room, which the other beasties had staked out as their own space, and flopped down on the long leather sofa. She gave a tired but satisfied sigh and took the last of the beignets out of her pocket. Music still chimed in her ears.
Beau and Cricket and Hunter Black had recovered enough to spend the evening poring over the Duke’s books from the Cottage. Judging from the small piles of moth wings on the table, Cricket had been practicing spell casting. And judging from the singe marks on the carpet, Anouk wasn’t sure if it had been successful.
Viggo sent her a wry glance over top of his book. “Nice of you to spare a moment from being pampered to come see us. We’re only staying up all night trying to figure out a plan for saving the world here.”
Anouk was poised to shove the last of a beignet in her mouth. She paused and guiltily wiped her hand on the sofa. “Rennar says I have to make it look convincing.”
“Yeah,” Beau mumbled, not taking his eyes off his book. “You could have fooled me.”
Beau’s face was still winter-pale, but the glassy sheen was gone from his eyes; he was himself again, minus the memories from the past few weeks. Yesterday morning, she’d brought him fresh coffee in bed and crawled beneath the covers and told him about traveling to the Black Forest and about him being locked in the stables. He’d gone moody and quiet until she’d mentioned how she’d sneaked him ham scraps, and that had mollified him.
She moved to perch on the armrest of his chair and run a hand through his messy hair, but he bristled. She stopped and turned to the stack of books instead. “Have you found anything?”
Petra slammed a book closed. “Black tears.”
Anouk raised an eyebrow. “You mean a reference to them?”
“No, real black tears. This morning while you were trouncing around sniffing bridal bouquets, Quine’s sister started crying black tears.”
Anouk’s face went slack. “Mia?”