Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove, #1)(71)

Overall, I looked . . . good.

She stood behind me now, preening at her own reflection over my shoulder. A fitted black gown accentuated her every curve—the high neckline and tight sleeves adding to her allure—and she’d pinned her wayward curls into an elegant chignon at her crown. I eyed her with a familiar pang of jealousy. I didn’t fill out my own dress quite so well.

She smoothed the rouge on her lips with a finger and smacked her lips. “We look straight out of the Bellerose. Babette would be proud.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” I reached into my gown to lift each breast, squeezing my shoulders together and frowning at the results. “Those courtesans are so beautiful people pay to be with them.”

Ansel entered the bedroom a moment later. He’d trimmed his mop of curls and smoothed them away from his face, emphasizing his high cheekbones and flawless skin. The new style made him look . . . older. I eyed the long lines of his body—the sharp cut of his jaw, the full curve of his mouth—with newfound appreciation.

His eyes boggled at the sight of Coco. I didn’t blame him. Her gown was a far cry from the oversized healing robes she normally wore. “Mademoiselle Perrot! You look—er, you look very—very good.” Her brows rose in wry amusement. “I mean—er—” He shook his head quickly and tried again. “Reid—er, Captain Diggory—he wanted me to tell you—I mean, not you, but Lou—that, ah—”

“Good lord, Ansel.” I grinned as he tore his gaze from her. He blinked rapidly, dazed, as if someone had clubbed him in the head. “I feel a little insulted.”

But he clearly wasn’t listening. His eyes had already gravitated back to Coco, who stalked toward him with a catlike grin. She tilted her head as if surveying a particularly juicy mouse. He swallowed hard.

“You look very good as well.” She circled him appreciatively, trailing a finger across his chest. He went rigid. “I had no idea you were so handsome under all that hair.”

“Was there something you needed, Ansel?” I gestured to the room at large, sweeping an arm past Coco’s impressive bosom. “Or are you just here to admire the general decor?”

He cleared his throat, eyes gleaming determinedly as he opened his mouth once more. “Captain Diggory requested I escort you to the castle. The Archbishop insisted he go on with him. I can also escort you, Mademoiselle Perrot.”

“I think I’d like that.” Coco slid an arm around his, and I burst out laughing at the alarmed look on his face. Every single muscle in his body tensed—even his eyelids. It was extraordinary. “And please—call me Brie.”

He took great care to touch as little of Coco as possible as we walked down the stairwell, but Coco went out of her way to make the endeavor difficult. The Chasseurs who had been forced to stay behind stared unabashedly as we passed. Coco winked at them.

“Might as well give them a show,” I whispered.

Coco grinned wickedly and pinched Ansel’s backside in response. He yelped and leapt forward, whirling mutinously as the guards snickered behind us. “That wasn’t funny.”

I disagreed.

Ancient and unadorned, the castle of Cesarine was a fortress befitting its city. It boasted no intricate buttresses or spires, no windows or arches. It loomed over us as we joined the throng of carriages already in the receiving line, the setting sun tinging the stone with bloody red light. The evergreens in the courtyard—tall and narrow, like two spears piercing the sky—only added to the grim picture.

We waited for what seemed like hours before a footman in Lyon livery approached our carriage. Ansel stepped out to greet him, whispering something in his ear, and the man’s eyes widened. He hastily took my hand. “Madame Diggory! Captain Diggory has been anxiously awaiting your arrival.”

“As he should be.” Coco didn’t wait for the footman to help her down. Ansel scrambled to catch her elbow, but she brushed him off too. “I’m anxious to see if this Chasseur of yours is as doting in public as he is in private.”

The footman looked startled but said nothing. Ansel groaned under his breath.

“Please, mesdames, make your way to the antechamber,” the footman said. “The herald will ensure you are properly announced.”

I lurched to a halt. “Properly announced? But I have no title.”

“Yes, madame, but your husband is the guest of honor. The king insists on treating him as royalty tonight.”

“Potentially problematic,” Coco murmured as Ansel tugged the two of us forward.

Definitely problematic. And not the fun kind.

I had no intention of being announced to a room full of strangers. There was no telling who could be in there watching. I’d learned my lesson with Estelle. There was no need for a repeat performance.

I took in my surroundings, seeking a discreet entrance. At a ball held in my husband’s honor, however, I had no idea how I might remain discreet—especially in such a ridiculously sheer dress. I cursed inwardly as every eye turned toward us as we passed. Coco’s sinful figure didn’t help matters.

Richly dressed aristocrats milled about the antechamber, which was as dark and dismal as the exterior. Like a prison. A prison with candles flickering in gold candelabras and wreaths of evergreen and holly draped across the doorways. I think I even spotted mistletoe.