Chapter 92: Revenge Dress & King in Cardiac Arrest

Sometimes you just have to hit the FUCK-IT button.

This was one of those times.

Outside of her crown and white dress, all of her clothing was Maddox’s doing, stored in a guest suite she hadn’t entered until she needed a dress for tonight.

The room was generous. Mountain view. A fireplace large enough to heat twice the space. Fresh flowers on a writing desk by the window.

Guinevere took it in. "I should probably face the music and start living here."

"Absolutely not. This is a dress retrieval mission only," Blair snapped. "I’m not losing my roommate to a storage closet with a bed."

The bed was large, covered in pillows, with three black velvet boxes lined up at the foot.

Blair was already opening the smallest before Guinevere finished crossing the room.

"HOLY FUCK."

She snapped it shut, then handed it to Guinevere with a mischievous smile.

Guinevere was already grinning. But when she opened it, her grin fell into a jaw drop.

Inside the box were large gold dangle earrings. Teardrop shaped. Lined with white diamonds with a canary yellow diamond in the center.

"These are beautiful." She looked up at Blair, then back down at the earrings. "The most beautiful set of earrings I’ve ever been gifted, if these are for me."

"Of course they are for you. Unless we are in the wrong room. We’re not."

Blair was already opening the second box. Then she froze. "These just told me to go fuck myself and I thanked them."

Guinevere took the box out of her hands, then looked down to see shoes that matched the earrings.

"Are those diamonds?"

"Yes."

Guinevere lifted the shoe, studied it for two seconds, then pressed it against her chest like a woman reuniting with something she’d lost. "I love it so much. When I die, I want to be buried in these. Understand?"

Blair stared at her. "You’re hugging a shoe."

"I’m aware."

"Fine, but if I die before you, then I get them."

They both reached for the last box with grins on their faces. There was a note on top.

For the woman who told me I had a place in this Keep,

I don’t give gifts, and if anyone asks, I will deny this was me.

- Kael

"Does that say Kael?" Blair asked, already pulling the dress out of the box.

"Yes," Guinevere answered.

"A dress from the wrong brother. Which might be better. Wearing a dress from a husband who doesn’t know you’re his wife is a level of sad I can’t accessorize around."

"I can’t believe he—"

Blair cut her off mid-sentence.

"Oh, this is disgusting. This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever touched. I hate you. Put it on. Actually don’t. I want to have sex with this dress. I’m not kidding. Give me a minute alone with it."

Guinevere looked at the dress. Then the shoes. Then the earrings.

"Fuck it."

✦✦✦

"Are you crying, Blair?"

"No," she snapped. "I created a monster. I’m so proud."

Crimson silk. Off the shoulders, floor-length, fitted tight enough to leave almost nothing and just enough to make a man look twice to be sure. There were dresses that showed more skin, but something about this dress made it feel more intimate.

Large gold earrings dangled heavy from her ears, catching the firelight every time she turned her head. Her white hair fell in loose curls past her waist, brushing the curve of her hips, shifting gold where the candles touched it.

"I’m going to need you to walk slower than me so I don’t have to stand next to you looking like the before portrait."

"Agreed," Guinevere replied. "I look good. If I weren’t already married, I’d shoot my shot."

Blair caught her elbow and spun her a half-step so they were face-to-face while still walking. "Oh, now she remembers she’s dangerous. Somebody warn the lords."

She spun Guinevere back around mid-step and linked their arms without asking. Walking formation. Non-negotiable.

They turned the corner. Still arm in arm, they began to descend the staircase to the Great Hall, entering the room the way a lit match enters oil.

BALLROOM 1: Do It Again (She Fucking Did)

The music didn’t stop. But every conversation died mid-word. Champagne flutes paused mid-lift. A woman grabbed her husband’s jaw and turned it forward. He turned it back.

The torches in the hall went out, then roared back to life with gold flame, while runes on the walls and columns lit around the staircase where they walked.

Someone near the back dropped their drink, glass exploding.

Blair gave Guinevere a flat look. "You absolutely did that on purpose."

"Did what?"

Guinevere’s lips twitched. Then she looked up and noticed all of the stunned faces. Whoops.

"I might have overdone that."

"You think," Blair hissed. "You’re not sorry though."

"I’m not."

Blair looked at her sideways. "Do it again."

Guinevere actually laughed. It was small but it was there. For a second she forgot about everything and was just a girl entering a ball, casually making the torches flare.

Just as they got to the bottom, Blair grabbed her arm, and pulled her into the adjacent hall.

"Maddox," she said under her breath.

BALLROOM 2: The Glow Job

Guinevere’s face fell. She understood the stakes. But truthfully, all of their interactions thus far made her feel too many things to unpack. The first time, his approach was familiar. Different man, same choreography. The way a man hits on a woman he is planning to forget by morning. The difference was he was supposed to be hers. The second time he was mad at her for being in his war room.

Two for two. She wasn’t looking for a third. She swallowed it down and kept moving. Then her neck prickled like someone was watching her. She turned on instinct.

Maddox was across the hall, jaw set, eyes locked on her, wearing an irritated expression similar to the war room earlier.

It surprised her before a familiar grief flooded into her chest. The one she’d been feeling since their matebond went quiet. She broke the stare first and walked faster out of that ballroom.

Blair shot her a sideways glance. "Stop looking sad."

"I’m not sad." As soon as Guinevere said it, the torches dimmed. She glanced around confused. "That wasn’t me."

"Shit. You’re glowing."

Guinevere looked down at her hands. Gold. Glowing. Merge fever 2.0 had arrived uninvited and there was no off button.

She was gone before Blair finished blinking. Blair chased her through the crowd in heels, muttering words that would have gotten her removed from a temple.

"You are the most accidentally destructive person I know," she hissed.

"Am I still glowing?"

"You just sprinted through a gala glowing like a lantern and you’re asking me if you’re still glowing. I need a goddamn drink." 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

BALLROOM 3: Twelve Steps Before the Next Dickstorm

Blair grabbed two champagne flutes, handing one to Guinevere.

She downed hers. Grabbed a third off a passing tray. "One for the glowing. One for the running. And one for whatever happens next, because something always happens next with you."

Guinevere took a sip of hers. "That’s fair. You should probably grab a fourth."

Blair looked at her glass, then at Guinevere, then at the passing server. "Already ahead of you." She grabbed a fourth.

They made it twelve steps before the next thing happened.

The heat of a hand hovered at the small of Guinevere’s back. Close enough to feel. The ghost of a touch before the touch. Guinevere stopped. She was about to turn when Blair yanked her forward with the urgency of a woman who had seen something Guinevere was not going to be allowed to see.

"Gods he’s being so stubborn."

Blair pulled her through archways.

"Was that necessary, Blair?"

"Yes." Blair did not elaborate.

BALLROOM 4: Put it away, Hadrian

She looked behind Guinevere. "Hadrian Ashburn en route. He is a prick. Yes, I am attracted to him."

Hadrian aggressively cut through the crowd and planted himself right in front of where Guinevere was walking.

"The gods finally did something right. That dress should be illegal on a body like yours, Princess. I haven’t been able to look away."

He held out his hand. "Hadrian Ashburn."

She knew his face. He was a good rider from one of the oldest houses. Six foot three, muscle, looked like a god. But she hadn’t heard him speak until right now.

Blair swatted his hand. "Put it away, Hadrian."

He flashed a grin not looking away from Guinevere. "Right now I’m debating whether to challenge whoever thinks they have a claim on you... or just steal you and fuck the regal poise right out of you. I’d start by putting you on your knees and teaching that mouth better uses than polite conversation."

Guinevere blinked. Then blinked again, in case the second blink rearranged what she’d just heard into something less horrifying. It didn’t. She turned and walked.

"You’re disgusting," Blair clipped.

"Disgustingly good with my tongue, yes."

The crowd shifted around them as they moved away.

BALLROOM 5: Balls So Big They Attracted a Dragon

Just as they reached the next room, a body landed on one knee directly in front of Guinevere.

Her soul left her body. A scream left her mouth. Her champagne glass left her hand.

He snatched it out of the air one-handed without looking away from her face. No champagne spilled. If he hadn’t just scared the daylights out of her, she’d have appreciated it.

He flashed a grin that probably had a one-hundred-percent success rate thus far in his life.

"That was cute. Keep looking at me like that and I’ll stay on this knee permanently."

Guinevere didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or smack him.

"One drink," he continued. "Right now. Private terrace. If you’re not laughing within ten minutes, I’ll walk myself out."

He sounded so sincere she almost felt bad.

Before she could answer, a hand closed around the back of his collar and lifted him off his knee like a dog being pulled from a table. Maddox Drakencrest stood behind him, gold eyes burning, and when he spoke, the Draconic command hit the air like a wall.

"Back. Away."

Hadrian’s body obeyed before his brain could negotiate. His boots dragged three feet across the stone. His grin survived. Barely.