A Kiss at Midnight

Chapter Fourteen

Each face a blank canvas. Delicate strokes applied with a steady hand. Powder of coral, peach and salmon pink chosen for tonight's palette. Wings of midnight to outline. Blush pink to highlight. Thought this artwork would not grace a wall but a ballroom instead. Hair was next. Strands woven into tightly coiled ringlets. Crowns of flowers and feathers to hide the nest of hairpins beneath. Parted down the middle, the rest drawn back into a braided bun.

Once her hair was done, Ilona moved to sit on the bed. She tucked up one leg, hugging it to her chest. Something she had done since childhood whenever she felt out of sorts.
It had started when she was five years old. Some details were fuzzy but she could remember chasing after Carys and his older sister, Georgina through the town square of Peyton. Their age an advantage, her short legs unable to keep up. They vanished around a corner and she hurried after them, hearing a chorus of voices. A note of desperation in her voice as she asked them to wait for her, Ilona didn't want to be left out again.

She was nearly there when a skirt of canary yellow stepped into her path. An unavoidable collision. The woman's ungloved hand accidentally brushing against her forehead. A ring of silver on her finger.
Ilona stumbled back, screaming in agony. Her hands clutching at her forehead. Wide eyes watched as Mina ran over to pick her up.

"Goodness, child. What on earth?" The woman exclaimed, a look of alarm on her face.

Understanding in Carys and Georgina's expression but the other children did not. A boy gave her a strange look.

"She is odd."

Ilona froze at the words. Am I?

The words digging into her mind as Mina took her home. Lingering in the kitchen's doorway as Mrs Van Helsing spoke to her mother of what occurred. Anna turned to look at her daughter, concern ablaze in her gaze. Ilona's expression crumbling and she ran, ignoring her mother's cry of her name. She side-stepped her father who walked through the front door, weary from travel.

"Ilona?"

No response.

In the safety of her room, she tucked one leg up on the bed's edge. Hugging it to her chest, she let out a sniffle. She reached up, rubbing at her bandaged forehead. Mina had the power to heal but it couldn't heal all wounds and this would scar beyond the skin.

"I don't want to be a wolf anymore," she said to herself, tears rolling down her cheeks.

In the years since that, Ilona learned to accept who she was and found ways to make herself happy despite the loneliness. Yet, as she reached up, her fingers brushing the scar, the feeling of watching a play but being unable to participate in remained and never did she feel it as strongly as she did being here.
This world of nobility, fancy gowns and sparkling gems upon necks my friends happily belonged to, has no place for me. I would spend a lifetime, avoiding the simplest of touches for fear of silver.

She rested her cheek against her knee. A sad sigh escaping her lips.
Mother, I wish you were here.

Jessica returned from her search of the wardrobe, a look of triumphant on her face. Ilona rose to her feet upon seeing the gown in her maid's hands.
A bodice of azure blue with deep pleats fanning out from atop her bosom. Draping upwards then sloping down her shoulders to meet sleeve caps of the same shade but were trimmed with lace of teal. The bodice ended with a sharp point at the waist while the gradient of blue to teal was softer. A bell shaped skirt, gathered pleating on it. Each stitch carfully done.
At the touch of lace beneath her fingers, Ilona's brows furrowed. "I don't recall seeing this dress before."

"There was a note attached, Miss. Here," Jessica said, holding out the folded paper. "Perhaps it is a gift."

For the briefest of moments she thought it was from Carrick then she saw the handwriting, her expression softening.

"All we need is courage when playing a game of chance. To do so, take a deep breath and remember. It is one dance. One dinner or an evening worth it all. Breathe, my darling. Also a gown of blue is a tradition in our family. Who knows it may bring you into the arms of the one worthy to stand by your side. Love Mother."

A crinkle of paper as Ilona clutched it to her chest. Her lips curving into a smile to stem the tears threatening to fall.
In so many stories, Annalise was the dagger, the villain. A plague upon the land while the true blight hid behind palace walls, bloated on stolen power. In Ilona's story, Anna was her daughter's shield. The one with a gentle touch to wipe away tears, reminding Ilona that she was loved and worthy of being loved in return. The world always seemed a little less dark when she held me in her arms.

A sharp tug on the laces and a bow concealed at her waist had the dress ready to glide across a dance floor. She smoothed a hand down her skirt, her gaze flickering to the bathroom door. Her thoughts turning to Carrick.

He cannot see it having allowed the darker part of his mind to claim him as once his father's words did. He isn't some monster to be shunned. For I don't see a beast of a man, I see Carrick. A man and wolf who survived what tried to take so much of him. He was once mine and my heart still sings for him even if he listens to the melody of another these days.

The door opened and Carrick appeared, dispersing the sadness infecting her mind. Ilona's breath quickened as he strode towards her. A coat of charcoal grey stretched across his shoulders. Intricate designs of navy blue embroidery stitched to his lapels, drawing the eye there to glimpse the waistcoat and starched shirt of white beneath and perhaps under a certain light, the body beneath it all? Breeches of navy blue encased his booted legs. His hair swept off his face and held back under the ties of a sable ribbon.

His steps came to a halt in front of her. All air leaving him in a breathless rush. Ilona was a beauty to behold in blue. How he longed to reach out, to brush the delicate lace. To push against the flowing rivulets of blue, plucking her from its grasp as the gown pools at her feet. Unraveling those raven tresses until only an inky waterfall flowed around the grip of his fingers.

Ilona pondered his appearance, her lips pursed. Though he shouldn't, Carrick still felt that itch on his palms, to hide his scars.

"Your hair is tied back much too tightly. Please, let me fix it."

Her touch gentle, his body a willingly marionette as he lowered his head, giving her his assent. Ilona undid the ribbon, allowing the strands of walnut brown to cascade down his shoulders once more. Pulling back several strands, she returned them to the ribbon's hold while leaving the rest as is.

Her fingertips grazed his jawline, causing his gaze to flicker to her fingers then to her own gaze.

"If we are to talk then I want it to be with the real Carrick," she said softly. "Not the pretence of the man I know."

Her words rendering him utterly speechless.