Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128374 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Three taps. Pause. Two taps. Sebastian’s signature knock.
“Come in!” Jas and I call out in unison. Her hands pause their pinning at my waist.
We both turn to the door as it swings open. When Sebastian sees me, his eyes go wide and he throws a hand over his eyes. “Sorry, I . . . Sorry.”
“I’m decent.” I laugh at his pink cheeks. “Come on in.”
“Shut the door behind you,” Jas says, speaking low. “We don’t need Madame V coming in here.”
Sebastian gives a curt nod and steps into our room, shutting the door as requested. “You look really nice,” he tells me. The words come out strangled, as if he’s not sure how to give me a compliment. And why would he? I don’t know if he’s ever seen me in anything fancier than cleaning scrubs or the fitted black pants I favor for excursions into the night.
“Thanks.” I consider the thin brown fabric pinned around me. He’s just being kind. I don’t look nice. Just . . . awkward.
“Wait until you see it in the proper fabric—think a thin velvet the color of the deepest emerald,” Jas says, smiling up at me. “You’ll be stunning.”
It’s my turn to blush. I keep my head bowed so Sebastian won’t notice.
I can’t believe I’m actually excited about this gown. Jas knows how I feel about dresses and not being able to move freely, so she designed mine as loose-legged pants that’ll pass as a skirt when I stand. On top is a sleeveless fitted bodice that dips a little too low for my taste. It’s the kind of outfit our cousins would kill for—or at the very least whine and beg for until we gave it up.
“What’s the occasion?” Sebastian asks.
Jas resumes her task of fitting the muslin at my hips and sticks a pin in her mouth as she adjusts the seams, leaving me to speak.
Guilt rushes through me at the memory of Sebastian’s sweet kiss on my forehead last night, his request that we not go. “We don’t have a choice, Sebastian,” I say gently. “If there’s any chance—”
“You’re not serious.” Sebastian’s gaze swivels between me and Jas before landing on me. “But you hate the fae. Tell me how anything good can come of this. And don’t tell me you’re going to steal from the queen. I’ll tell you now, that’s a death sentence.”
“I’ll be careful.” I hate the disappointment in his eyes. “We have to do something.”
He stares at me, his jaw ticking and those wild sea eyes bright with his frustration. When I’m convinced he’s going to say more, he turns on his heel and storms out of our room.
I lunge forward to rush after him, but Jas grabs my arm. “The dress.”
“Help me,” I squeak desperately. I don’t know what I’m going to say to Sebastian. I’ve promised Jas we’ll go to the ball, and I won’t back out now, but Sebastian’s been my rock for two years and I can’t stand the idea of him being angry.
Jas works quickly to remove the right pins so I can step out of the thin cotton. I pull on a pair of slacks and a tank before rushing up the cellar stairs and into the courtyard that Madame V shares with Mage Trifen.
A shock of white in my periphery catches my attention. Sebastian’s sitting on the stoop just outside the courtyard, his big hands sharpening the tip of his staff.
My stomach always goes wild at the sight of him—not just a little flip-flop, but a full-on tumble down a hill that never ends.
Unlike my cousins, I was too busy surviving my adolescence to have crushes or worry about falling in love. But then Sebastian moved in next door, and the first moment I saw him, I felt something different . . . in my stomach. In my lungs. All along my skin.
The first time he smiled at me, it was as if my chest opened up, as if my heart were trying to reach out and grab him. Somehow I got around my awkwardness, we became friends, and I got to see him almost every morning. We didn’t spend a lot of time together—just enough that he became a bright spot—and his smile got me through my fair share of hard days.
He’s not smiling now.
I lower myself onto the stoop beside him, tucking my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. I sit there for long minutes. He sharpens his staff to a deadly point, and I watch. We let the birds in the courtyard do all the talking.
I’m not good at feelings. I’m good at working and doing, and the only person I’ve ever been any good at sharing my emotions with is Jas. No one else has ever mattered enough to be worth the effort.