Wildest Dreams (Fantasyland #1)(83)

“I’ll get the dress,” Bess declared and hustled to the shimmering bolt of blood red satin scattered with jet beads that was resting over the lounge.

“Get yourself up, my princess,” Alyssa ordered and I got up and walked to the mirror.

In short order, they had my ensemble complete and it was so awesome, even if Frey was waiting, I took a moment to examine myself in the mirror and take it all in as Bess did some final spritzing with perfume behind my ears and at my cle**age (yes, royalty didn’t even spritz).

The girls had told me that any member of the aristocracy would be wearing the colors of their House. And it was Mother’s idea that I would not wear the deep red color of the House of Wilde the gold that denoted the crown of Lunwyn or my own color (as Winter Princess) of ice blue.

Instead, I would wear the color of the House of Drakkar, blood red.

And that I was, a blood red satin gown that hugged my body tight from ample cle**age to h*ps then flowed to my feet with a small train at the back. It was liberally and artistically decorated with hundreds of thousands of polished jet beads, heavy around the bodice but lightening as it skimmed my body and becoming only a sprinkle at the hem.

The gown didn’t have long sleeves but was off the shoulder with short, thin straps that made the bodice a sweep across my exposed cle**age and shoulders.

I had on long, black silk gloves that went up high on my triceps and, over the gloves at each wrist, was a tangle of strand after strand of jet beads. At my neck was a choker of more strands of beads, the same dangling from my ears. My makeup was done in deep colors, charcoal grays and blacks at the eyes and raspberry at the lips and cheeks. And my hair was swept up elegantly but softly in curls and twists.

But the best of all was the headpiece.

Mother had told me when a Drakkar queen sat the throne, she didn’t wear a crown. She wore somewhat what I was wearing.

A headpiece made of woven and dangling jet beads that covered my forehead from hairline to nearly eyebrow with dips of it coming to the bridge of my nose and down my temples. This disappeared into my hair at the sides but was woven through the curls and twists.

It… was… awesome.

The whole thing was.

Though, it had to be said, the dress was super tight and weighed a ton and that headpiece thing, albeit cool-as-shit, was kind of annoying. However, I figured I’d get used to it and hopefully be having so much fun, I wouldn’t even notice it.

“Oh, Finnie, you look beautiful,” Bess breathed and I smiled because, silently, I agreed.

Usually, I could take my looks or leave them. Mom had taught me how to play to my strengths, thick hair, unusual eyes, burgeoning curves (before she left me, they’d burgeoned since) and I did it without thought.

Truthfully, I would never have guessed that red would look good on me but with the dark makeup and the jet beads, my hair seemed shiny white and the blue of my eyes was stark.

So now I thought I looked fabulous.

I took another moment before joining Frey to embrace each of my girls and say quick, heartfelt words of thanks before I rushed (trying not to look like I was rushing) out of the dressing room and into the bedroom while taking in a soft breath. I was looking forward to Frey’s reaction because it was safe to say my husband thought I was beautiful (since he’d told me this more than once) and I couldn’t wait to see what he thought of this.

I got three feet into the room when I stopped. Vaguely, I noticed his eyes come to me and he did what he often did when he first saw me, his body arrested and his eyes locked on me.

But I was too busy taking him in to note his reaction.

Holy moly.

I’d never seen him in anything but his so dark brown it was nearly black clothing.

But now he wore all black. Black breeches, polished black boots and a black shirt with puffy sleeves and a high collar that covered his neck nearly to his earlobes, tied with a cravat. This old-fashioned getup might look ridiculous on any other man but absolutely did not on him. He had a shined, black leather strap on a slant across his chest to which was attached not to a rough hide but instead a length of high-quality black wool that hung at a slant on the back and, where it ended at the backs of his calves, there was a short edge of glossy black fur. His thick, dark hair had been swept back, his strong jaw was shaved and he looked so beyond handsome, for a second, I couldn’t breathe.

When I could, I whispered, “Hi,” and he blinked.

Then he moved to me, leaned in, grabbed my hand, tucked it in his elbow and muttered, “We’re late, we mustn’t delay.”

I felt the air in the room change and could almost swear I heard the whoosh of five balloons of deflated excitement whizzing around the room like they’d just been struck by a pin.

“Right,” I whispered as Frey led me swiftly to the door and then I turned my head and aimed a smile at my girls. “Thanks ladies, see you in the morning before we go.”

“Right, Finnie, see you,” Alyssa called, looking almost, but not quite, as disappointed as I felt.

“Have fun,” Esther called.

“I will,” I assured her.

Jocelyn and Bess both waved, Jocelyn’s disappointed eyes on me, Bess’s on Frey.

Then out the door we went and Frey moved us quickly down the hall toward the stairs.

We were headed to the third floor.

The Palace was enormous, the first floor filled with official function rooms in one wing such as drawing rooms, a study, a formal dining room, a formal morning room and the like and in the other wing, places where family gathered such as a less formal dining room, a billiards room, a library and a conservatory. The first floor also had the kitchens and laundry. The second floor was filled with living space for family and guests, bedrooms, dressing rooms, personal sitting rooms, sewing rooms and such. The fourth floor held the servants’ quarters.