Storm Born Page 0,95

ankles.

"It's 'champagne,'" I corrected. "And what's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. It's lovely." He turned back frantically to his valet. "It's not going to match any of these, Muran. What else do we have?"

Muran bit his lip. "There's the green velvet, your majesty. Its trim has that shade in it. Paired with an ivory shirt, it would look quite stunning."

Dorian made a face. "Silk or satin would be better. Grab it anyway, and see if there's anything else we're missing. Oh, and send someone to do Lady Markham's hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?"

"Nothing, were you sprawled in my bed after a night of passion." A young woman hurried forward, and he jerked his head in my direction. "See to her, Nia."

Nia, a tiny thing with olive skin, curtsied to me and led me to the parlor where Dorian and I had first chatted. I couldn't see what she did, but her fingers worked as deftly and intricately in my hair as Dorian did when tying the cords around me. I'd only once had my hair done by a stylist, and it had been for a wedding in which a cruel friend had required me to wear orange taffeta. The event still woke me with nightmares.

A slight tingle occasionally brushed my skin as Nia worked, and I realized she used magic in the styling. I supposed it was handier than a curling iron, but geez. What a disappointment to discover you had the magical equivalent of cosmetology when other gentry got healing and the ability to tear buildings apart.

"There you are, my lady."

She took me to a mirror, nervously assessing my reaction. Scattered braids ran toward the back of my head where the rest of my hair had been gathered up into a high ponytail. She'd smoothed and curled most of that hanging hair, but a few tiny braids hung in it here and there. Long, smooth locks framed my face, curled slightly at their ends. Violets and dark ivory sweetheart roses adorned some of the braids.

"Wow," I said.

Nia wrung her hands. "My lady likes?"

"Very much."

She beamed. With her petite frame and smooth face, she looked about sixteen but could probably actually boast a century. "I didn't know how humans wore it."

I smiled and gave her arm a small pat. "It's wonderful."

She looked ready to swoon with joy, and I recalled how eagerly Dorian's staff always jumped to obey his commands. Was I inspiring that kind of loyalty? Or fear?

Dorian swept into the room then, resplendent in a forest green robe made of silk. The edging contained an intricate pattern of ivory, russet, and gold, set off by the black slacks and ivory shirt underneath.

"Much better," he said, taking my hand. "Come, we're late."

Muran and a few others followed as we headed for the throne room. Dorian didn't actually run, but an urgency underscored his movement.

"Why the rush?" I asked. "Don't they wait on your every pleasure?"

"Certainly. But I have to be in there before the other monarchs arrive, or we'll create a complication of etiquette. Everyone will bow when we enter, but the other monarchs don't have to. If they're in there before me, it'll be awkward."

"What do you mean by 'bow'? Does that mean - "

A herald hurled open the double doors and announced in a booming voice: "His royal majesty, King Dorian of the House of Arkady, caller of Earth, protector of the Oak Land, blessed of the gods."

"Whoa," I breathed. Dorian squeezed my hand.

" - with Eugenie Markham, called Odile Dark Swan, daughter of Tirigan the Storm King."

I didn't think I'd ever get used to being titled, but my astonishment over that faded compared to what happened next. Everyone in the room turned toward us and fell to their knees, heads bowed. Dead silence followed. Slowly, almost in a glide step, we walked down the center aisle, and I tried to look straight ahead and not at the sea of obeisance.

Civilizations rose and fell in the time it took us to reach the throne. When we did, Dorian turned us around to face the assembly and made a small, nondescript gesture. I don't know how the others saw it with their heads so low, but they all rose and the drone of life and music promptly returned. People moved again, mingling and laughing. Servants scurried to and fro with drinks and trays. It could have been any human party, save for the occasional troll and wraith sipping wine. The men dressed in variations of the Renaissance look Dorian seemed