Crescent (Book 1)

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Snow falls softly outside my bedroom window. Steam and wafts of freshly-pressed eucalyptus rise from the bath prepared in the bathroom, and servants stand at the foot of my bed when I finally peel my eyes open. I barely slept last night, and my head aches from poring over the final details with Moira yesterday.

After attempting to show me a few traditional dances, Moira eventually gave up altogether. She focused on teaching me everything else that is expected of a lady. But, the day is finally here.

The servants rip the covers back, yanking me toward the bathroom. They strip me, untie my hair, and for a moment, they stare at my form. It's not the fact that I'm naked that makes me cover myself. It's the way their eyes poke and pry, noting every imperfection before they finally allow me to sink into the steaming bathwater.

But they don't stop there. They lather soaps smelling of pine and vanilla into my scalp and scrub every possible nook and cranny. They wordlessly run handfuls of water over my back, and when they've scrubbed a thin layer of skin away, they dry me off and swaddle me with a towel before directing me to the armoire in my room.

My reflection is beet red. Maybe from scrubbing, maybe from embarrassment, but I hardly have a moment of peace before they set to work again. One of them tugs a pick through my matted hair while the other cakes my skin in white powder. My hair is tugged upwards and back, each strand delicately twisted. Diamond and silver gemstone pieces decorate my head in a crown now, and my skin no longer looks quite so flush. Instead, my skin glows, filled with a warmth I don't feel.

Ceth's gift is unwrapped on my bed, and inside it, I find a silver floor-length gown with diamonds decorating the bodice down to the flowing skirt. The dress itself is fit for a princess, or a lady, I imagine. It isn't one of those gaudy dresses I remember seeing in shops back home. The fabric is rich, the satin smooth. As I slip it on, I find it hugs every curve. The neckline perfectly covers the scarring on my chest- perhaps the only reminder that I'm not the person I pretend to be tonight.

Matching heels and a lustrous set of teardrop earrings come with it all. It's as the servants finish with the last touches that the noise downstairs finally bombards me. The smell of spices carries into my room, along with the smell of honey blooms and flowers. More servants shuffle to and fro in the corridors outside, and I know everything is being arranged into final places before the guests arrive. The servants finish, disappearing before I can even say thank you.

Past the smells and sounds, I'm lulled from my stillness by the sound of a piano playing sadly down the hall. The sound beckons me out.

The notes are slow and somber, a song I've never heard before, and it's coming from one of the rooms Moira and I passed over on the tour. The door is open just a crack. Nic is the one sitting at a sleek piano forte, slowly thumbing the ivory keys and repeating the songs just played.

"No," Ceth corrects, leaning over Nic to replay the chord progression. "Like this."

He plays the proper keys back, but suddenly, it isn't Nic sitting at the piano at all. It's Rosie.

She's playing on the old upright piano in the study like always. The ivory keys are worn and the piano is just slightly out of tune. She plays scales back and forth, and my mom sits on the bench beside her, nodding along. Rosie taps her foot, notes flowing from her as easily as breathing. She becomes the notes, her proud laugh a harmony to the song. I watch her in awe from my spot on the stairs like always.

Mom smiles when she sees me, spotting me from the corner of her eye, and for some reason, I back away. I feel like I've been caught doing something I shouldn't. Like I'd been stealing, hiding and locking away a moment that wasn't mine to have.

The moment shatters. I jolt backwards, but Ceth hears it because his eyes find me. It's like being caught all over again. The door opens to reveal me standing there. I awkwardly wipe my palms on the hem of my dress as Ceth's attention turns to Nic. "Go find your mother," he says, but his eyes are on the glittering dress I'm wearing.

Nic strolls past me with a lazy wave and a grin much like his father's. "Hell, you should dress like this more often," he winks as he passes. I almost reach across and hit him. He calls "See you at the party" over his shoulder and leaves.

Ceth stalks toward me slowly. He's wearing his signature suit, but I imagine that's just until he changes for the party later. His eyes pin me expectantly, and I fumble nervously for words. Right. Why am I here?\

"I didn't know you played," I keep my tone uninterested as I say it.

His earlier dismissiveness has also returned. He smiles, eyes raking up and down my body. "I expect you're sore after such an eventful past few days."

He's talking about forcing me to shift, but his implication burrows beneath my skin. I smile viciously, ignoring him. "I hope you enjoy your party," I make my leave, but his voice stops me:

"I'm glad you wore the dress. It suits you. But I believe you forgot something."

I pause, turning on him slowly. "What?"

Ceth's green eyes glitter dangerously, and I steel myself as he crosses the room and stops less than a breath away from me. "We haven't made it official yet."

"Official?" Our lips meet, and he steals my breath, lips crushing mine. I push at his chest angrily, but his tongue sweeps my lips again. He tastes sweet and earthy like ripened fruit and smoke, but the deeper he kisses me, the more his taste turns ashen in my mouth. His hands find a home at my hips, and he pulls back, still holding me against him. "You bast-"

"Ah, ah," he tuts, breathing against the shell of my ear. "You should know better by now. You agreed to this." I bite my tongue to keep a retort from rolling off of it. "You look delectable."

I shove him hard, breaking us apart, but his laugh is hearty. I wipe his taste off my mouth and shoot him a look like death as I saunter off without reply, trying to forget the moment entirely. His kiss was a finality. A promise of what's to come.

I'm like a livewire, on edge despite how much I've prepared for this. I fill the hours until everyone arrives by adding finishing touches to the decorations around the castle. No two kinds of bouquets adorn the same table. Onyx jewels decorate the tapestries, towers of glasses filled with exotic colored liquors adorn the tables, and russet banners fill the courtyard. A sigil of a stag is embroidered into them- the Vervalian crest. Tonight, it will be my crest.

It's an unwelcome reminder of why I'm here, and hatred settles like a rock at the bottom of my gut. The day I was shot. The day I lost my family. I hate everything about it, and I don't know if I can last until the gala months from now. Let alone get through tonight.