DEMENTED | Romance | Fantasy | Slight Thriller

Chapter Twenty-Seven: What's good for Absinthe

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Chapter Twenty-Seven: What's good for Absinthe

Twilight had long since passed on Absinthe's ruddy towers, and as the night continued to progress Ebony sat in front of her vanity, hair being styled and coiffed by several different handmaidens. She had sent for a dress of midnight black with sequins that glittered like stars–a design she previewed in her personal and extensive catalog–and it would arrive as soon as it had finished being tailored to her size.

The Prince was not with her. After gossip had spread to her sister and the invitation had been sent out, he was offered the consort room adjacent and connected to hers; a room, Ebony realized, she had never foreseen anyone staying in. He was not yet officially declared, but now everyone knew. And she didn't know how to feel about that–even though there was nothing between them.

She wished there was, a little. She desperately hoped she wasn't the only one whose heart did excited somersaults while inside her wardrobe, or that there was a little bit of truthfulness in his gesture when he kissed her hand. But those were foolish thoughts. He could not love anyone; let alone a mere mortal. He was a few steps away from being a true god–he could not care for her.

She'd picked out his outfit in the catalog as well–with the same starry fabric to match hers, only in a dignified suit and cravat. By no doubt displaying their outward status, although it was already known.

As more and more curls were painfully pinned into an elaborate style, she wondered why her sister would throw such an impromptu banquet–and then remembered that although she ruled well, everything was done last minute for her. She'd once invited the Duchess of a neighboring province for High Tea and had forgotten to let anyone else know until little more than an hour before the gathering. Everything had been hurried–including the guest list of others attending, and Ebony remembered being thrust into an out of season gown and seated mere minutes before the Duchess arrived.

And yet–inviting all courtiers and consorts was such an elaborate affair–she would never invite so many to a banquet simply for a mundane announcement. This was going to be extremely significant. Either they would be going to war with another realm or Crimson was getting married–and either was highly unlikely. She laughed at the thought–Crimson wedding another? In truth it was more probable a member of the court insulted her and she was about to desecrate them and everything within their possession. But she had changed in the time they'd been apart. Who was to know what her sister hid up her sleeve?

She tilted her chin upward as a handmaiden began rouging her cheeks with shimmering powder, making her face glitter similar to her gown. Banquets in Absinthe were impressive displays of wealth and beauty, and to shimmer brighter than the stars at night would stand out in an impeccably acceptable way. When they were done with the shimmery rouge, a handmaiden motioned that she would now apply kohl, and so she closed her eyes. Fatigue crashed into her like a curse almost instantly. When was the last time she had slept? The exhaustion she felt was all-consuming. And yet she forced herself to pry open her eyes when they finished.

It wasn't that she hadn't ever seen herself after the preparation for a formal event. In fact, she'd once been used to it–nearly every week for every monumental moon phase. But it had been so long since then, and she'd forgotten how good she could look. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, and for once it wasn't practiced or forced. She looked stunning. She wondered what the Prince would think of her when they would reunite–she hoped he would notice. But then she came to her senses and shoved the thoughts back far into her mind.

The banquet would be starting shortly, but she still needed him to escort her. She hoped he was ready, and they'd at least made him look presentable–maybe his hair would be tamed, his cravat a little more tidily tied. But when there came a knock on her door and he stepped through... his appearance was unkempt and heither hair nor cravat were proper.