Shadow's Claim (Immortals After Dark #13)(28)

The difference between the two women was striking. Voluptuous Morgana wore a gauzy scarlet skirt, an intricately wrought gold top that concealed her breasts—barely—and a connecting jeweled collar. Claw-tipped gauntlets covered her hands and forearms.

Her pale blond hair was interwoven throughout her gold headdress. The piece was substantial, fanning out behind her like a barbed sunset, so wide it had narrowly cleared Bettina’s doorway.

Her mask was black with inlaid onyx, highlighting her lustrous eyes, her nearly black irises.

Morgana was resplendent; Bettina was . . . Bettina.

On almost every day of her life, she was reminded of her own ordinariness. The male she loved considered her nothing more than a plucky—sisterly—tagalong. Her godmother, a renowned beauty, considered her the awkward spawn of Bettina’s late mother.

Strangely, the Dacian had gazed at Bettina as if she were the most beautiful creature in the world. Of all the females the vampire had ever met, she had been the only one who could bring him back to life.

And the things he’d told her! For him, Bettina’s eyes hadn’t been promising good things, or even seductive things, but irresistible ones. He hadn’t merely found pleasure with her, he’d savored her “treats” because she’d “delivered.” He hadn’t simply enjoyed her taste; it had maddened him.

Just thinking about his husky tone as he’d uttered these shocking things made her face and chest flush—

“You appear overtired,” Morgana said with a critical eye. “This won’t do. You must look your best when you’re presented this eve.”

“I believe you mean displayed.”

Morgana’s three Inferi froze in their unpacking, amazed that Bettina would contradict the great queen.

Ire flashed in Morgana’s fathomless gaze. “Need I remind you that you agreed to this tournament?”

“Only because I didn’t understand what it would really be like. You made it sound like a noble affair filled with romance and pageantry.” Bettina had pictured hot suitors from allying demonarchies battling fiercely for the right to call her wife.

“I will forgive this insolence, chalking up your behavior to nerves.” Morgana’s eyes glittered with warning, silvery pinpoints dotting her dark irises—the rattle before a bite.

Immediately backpedaling, Bettina said, “Nerves, yes, of course.” She could feel Morgana’s power brimming. Which made her wonder, Why did I ever vow not to tell her about Caspion’s predicament? Her godmother could eliminate the vampire assassin with a flick of her hand.

The tiff forgotten, Morgana directed her Inferi to get to work on Bettina. “Hair, dress, makeup, jewelry, mask.” Clap clap. “We want the princess looking elaborate! But not necessarily ostentatious. Though she could never upstage me, I don’t want her to appear to be trying to.”

Bettina sighed and cooperated, dutifully raising her arms, closing her eyes, puckering her lips. Resisting Morgana was impossible—and for others, deadly.

Raum had once asked Bettina, “How can you even tell your godmother loves you?”

“One, because Morgana keeps visiting me in a realm she hates. Two, because I keep surviving the visits. . . .”

Within minutes, Bettina had been transformed. She wore a cropped, sleeveless top of gold mesh, with slightly thicker mesh to cover her breasts. Her skirt matched, slit up the sides, to show off her jeweled garters and silky thigh-highs.

Her mask was made of bold jade-green feathers that jutted up like small wings well past her head. Her thick hair had been wrapped around her diadem, holding it in place.

“Well?” Bettina asked.

“You are pensive, and it affects your looks. You’re not exactly a great beauty anyway. Mouth too wide, cheekbones too sharp. You appear to your best advantage when you smile.”

Last night in the dark, her smile had made the vampire’s breath hitch. Why do I keep thinking about him? He’s not returning.

Then Morgana’s words sank in. “Do I really need to appear to my best advantage?” Bettina dared to ask. “The competitors aren’t here for me.” Morgana opened her mouth to argue, so Bettina said, “Oh, there might be some that are attracted to me. But at best, I’m an . . . an afterthought.”

“Afterthought? Do you actually care what they’re thinking whether before or after?” She tsked, examining her costume claws. “You should be thanking your godparents for this opportunity. You told us that you wanted to feel protected. To Raum’s archaic way of thinking, that means a protector. In any case, this is for your own good. Or have you forgotten that night?”

“As if I ever could.” As if you’d ever let me. The humiliation of the court, her cowardly screams echoing from this spire as they’d set her bones . . .

“Do you remember what you told me when we were tucking your ribs back into your torso like little babes under a blanket?”

Bettina nearly retched. “I-I remember.” She’d promised them anything.

“Everyone in the kingdom heard you shrieking like a banshee,” she continued. “Then I arrived, soothing your woes.”

Morgana had scratched her with a toxin-dipped metal claw, and the world had gone blessedly black. . . .

Before an attack could seize her, Bettina hastened outside to the balcony, breathing deeply of the twilight air. She peered upward, some part of her expecting to feel the whoosh of wings at any moment. If she couldn’t trust her barrier spell . . .