“I need to change. I shouldn’t get married in muddy shoes.”
He tilted his head at her, that mischievous, genuine smile lighting his features for the first time since that morning. “You are already dressed.”
Mouse looked down. A cloud of white silk and satin expanded around her. It boasted a deep-cut neckline that reached down to the swell over her breasts with a dramatic stiff lace collar that nearly touched her ears. She could see embroidery worked over the sleeves and bodice, which shifted where it met the skirt and turned into a pattern of leaves and glitter.
“Is it a spell?” she whispered.
“It was put on you by magic, and it has magic within it, but it is not an enchantment like the car or the house. Every stitch is real.” Thornwood held out his hand to her. “Never fear. It won’t disappear at midnight.”
Mouse smiled distantly at the joke.
“Where were you just now?” she asked. He frowned. “You came in behind me, so you were outside. I thought you had preparations to make here.”
“Can’t a husband have his secrets?”
“You aren’t my husband yet. Where were you?”
Thornwood’s mouth twisted. His eyes asked her a question, but she wasn’t sure what it was. “Mouse, I…”
“Everything is ready, sir.” Mickelwaithe’s voice cut the air between them, and Thornwood’s mask fell back into place.
“Excellent. Unfortunately, it seems that Mouse’s wedding guesthas declined our invitation. Can you find another mortal witness, Mickelwaithe?”
Mouse opened her lips, ready to tell them about Mr.Hobb’s invitation, but Mickelwaithe spoke before she could.
“I already took the liberty,” Mickelwaithe said, bowing.
“Good man.”
Mouse doubted that Mickelwaithe had been called a man in a long time, and the words felt out of place in this pop-up fairyland. Those were words that Bertie and Roger used, not these mystical creatures who lived off moonlight and beetles.
Was it a good thing that they spoke like this? It indicated that they felt something akin to camaraderie and friendship, didn’t it?
Mouse thought those were human things, important things. She could not remember why that mattered to her, but it did. Thornwood led her down the dark corridors to the ballroom. Then, he slipped through the door.
“We must do things properly,” he said, pressing her hands to his lips. “I will see you inside.”
Mouse looked in after him. Mirrors shone on every wall, reflecting the candlelight. If the hallway was dark as night, the ballroom was the day. It was empty but for a carpet of flowers trailing toward the grand fireplace. There was no one in the room but Thornwood, although music drifted to her, played by invisible hands.
Mouse ducked back into the darkness. She could not think or breathe. The scent that greeted her at the door was even stronger here, overwhelming every new thought that came into her head. Then, clear as a bell, she heard the voice again.
You are enchanted, you fool!
“Are you all right, my lady?” Mickelwaithe asked, emerging from the shadows at her side.
“You are good at that. You would have made a brilliant spy duringthe war,” Mouse panted, and the words were her own, familiar after something strange had commandeered her throat.
“I will keep that in mind should I ever need to change occupations.” His voice was gentle in the dark, the shadows softening his rigidity. “He would be furious if he found out I asked, but are you sure you want to go through with this?”
There was no need to clarify the “he” Mickelwaithe meant.
“There is something wrong here, isn’t there? I can feel it.”
“That is not for me to say. This marriage would keep the house away from your human enemies. But do consider that there are other things beyond flesh and bone.”
“Please, I cannot understand riddles right now.”
“His lordship is kind for a Faerie. But he is still a Faerie, and he cannot deny his nature.” Mickelwaithe gazed into the darkness. “Take this.”