Hearing my aunt call Wynn useless makes my teeth grind. As if my friend deserves to take the fall for my tardiness. “She did find me, Aunty, but it took me a moment to get dressed.”
My aunt’s eyebrows arch toward her widow’s peak. An apt name considering the woman has buried three husbands in her almost two hundred years alive. “Heavens above, Allette. It’s half four in the afternoon. Why weren’t you dressed?”
Because I’ve spent the last two hours tangled up with my one true love.“Well, you see, I was dressed but needed to change because I spilled…um…um…”
Wynn pinches her thumb and forefinger together but keeps her little finger out as she tilts an imaginary cup toward where her lips hide behind that infernal mask.
“Tea!” I shout. “I spilled my tea.” Definitely sounds like something I’d do.
My aunt’s cane cracks against the stone floor. “Clumsy child.”
Who is she calling a child? I turned nineteen last week.
“Back in my day, we never spilled anything. Careless. That is what you are.”
How silly of me to forget. My great-aunt has nevereverspilled a thing because she is perfect, and anything less than perfection will not be tolerated.How will you get a husband if you spill tea, Allette?Think of the scandal!
“I will try harder,” I say, my smile as brittle as the old bat’s bones.
“See that you do. No man wants a careless wife.”
And no woman wants a husband she doesn’t care for. Wonder what she’d do if I spoke that thought aloud?
From behind my aunt’s shoulder, Wynn’s hand opens and closes, mimicking the elderly woman like a puppet. I hide my laughter behind a cough. Heaven forbid I find anything funny.Men do not wish for their wives to laugh like empty-headed dolts. At least, that is what my aunt claims.
But I know for a fact that Senan loves my laugh. So much so that he has made it his mission to make me laugh as often as possible.
If I must marry someone else, I hope the two of us can laugh together. My mother and father were always laughing.
Aunt Marjory’s cold, knobby fingers slip around my wrist. “Speaking of men, tomorrow night, Lord Windell is coming for dinner. I expect you to be on time and wearing proper attire.”
I can’t seem to get a bloody break. Listening to Lord Windell talk is as interesting as watching a pot of tea cool. Still, I owe it to my aunt to at least feign interest in the young men she thinks will make a good match for me. After all, she graciously paid my tuition at the academy and gave me a place to live when I graduated.
I bob my head like the dutiful charge she wants me to be. “Yes, Aunt Marjory.”
She proceeds to tell me what she expects me to wear and how to fix my hair. Apparently, I am incapable of making my own decisions, and my jerkin makes me look like I have no breasts. I do have breasts, they’re just small. And a certain prince is quite enamored with them, so I’m not at all worried about whether or not Lord Windell gets a good gander.
My hair shall be up and out of my face—because my high cheekbones are my best feature, and one cannot properly appreciate said cheekbones if they’re hidden by my “wild mane.”
After her tirade, she thankfully leaves me to my own devices. Wynn bobs a curtsy as the tyrant passes. The moment the old crow disappears, I catch Wynn’s hand and drag her into my chambers.
“Where have you been hiding?” Wynn asks under her breath. “I climbed every bloody stair in this tower and couldn’t find you. And don’t say your room because I checked in here twice.”
“Sorry. I was on the roof.”
“Again? Heavens, Allette, if you keep sunning yourself, you’ll be the most powerful woman in all the realm.”
If only Scathian magic worked like that. Yes, the sun refuels our elemental powers, but only to a certain point. Not that I expect her to understand the intricacies of magic since she is Tuath and wields none.
She gives my shoulder a rattling shake. “Are you excited? I bet you’re ecstatic. I would be if it were me.”
“Oh, yes. I cannot wait to see Lord Windell again.” The last time he called, he brought me a “lucky” rabbit’s foot. Not flowers. Not chocolates. A limb from a dead animal. If that doesn’t scream love, I don’t know what does.
“Maybe he’ll give you the other foot so you can have a matching pair. And the next time he visits, he can bring the third one. Soon, you’ll have an entire animal! You’ve always wanted a pet.”
I flop onto the bed with a groan. “Not funny, Wynn.” And honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him. All the man talks about is hunting or his “impressive” collection of flintlock pistols. Last month, he asked if I wanted to shoot my own rabbit.
Imagine murdering a poor, helpless bunny.