Ronan

Chapter Sixteen

Rosa spent the last few hours of the day wandering the gardens of Triumph, inspecting the decaying state of the trees still shaking in the aftermath of her...orgasm. The very first one she hadn't given to herself in twenty years. By the time she'd made it back to her room, a long, green gown had been laid out on the end of her bed alongside a note.

She sighed, feeling oddly giddy as she lifted it. She frowned to see he hadn't written it by hand and had instead used magic.

A chance to treat you how I never did before.

Great. He was playing cryptic. Was she supposed to know what that meant?

She flipped the note over, anticipating an explanation.

Give and take, Rosie. Tonight, I'm having your mouth on me.

Her pale skin lit up with a blush that matched her hair.

The dress hugged her every curve, leaving her with a slit between her breasts and a leg exposed up to her thigh. Staring at her reflection, she felt like someone else. She looked like someone else. Someone worthy of affection. The kind of immortal that turned eyes on the street.

An hour or so later, she opened her door to a warlock waiting on the other side—not Ronan. Despite the complete lack of skin exposed or a voice to tell her any different, she'd be able to pick Ronan out from a crowd. His power was palpable, suffocating.

She followed this warlock without a word down several blank hallways until they stopped in front of a door. The warlock gestured towards it and it opened of its own accord. With a deep, nervous breath, Rosa stepped inside.

The door slammed shut behind her.

Ronan stood on the other side of the room. Nothing could've prepared her for the sight of him. He didn't look like he usually did. Dapper, he wore a nicely fitting suit, his hair styled neatly.

Pull yourself together woman.

Once more, her thighs dripped with heat.

Twenty years without a stir in the pot and now you're acting like a bitch in heat.

She fixed a smile upon her face.

"Thank you for the dress. It's... it's something. I've never worn anything like this before. Feels like I should be attending a ball or something."

She nearly missed Ronan opening and closing his mouth, lost for words.

"You look—"

"Out of place? Wrong? Cinderella-esque, rags to riches?"

His eyes narrowed. "Stunning."

Not the word she'd have gone for herself but she'd take it.

She'd never been called stunning before.

"I feel like a fraud."

She'd never felt a material so rich against her skin.

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean why?"

"How can a dress make you feel like a fraud?"

"You wouldn't understand. I'm not... This is the kind of dress that should be worn by... I don't know, Annaliese? Not me. Not Rosa the barkeep. It's... I'm impractical."

She was used to her apron and whatever else was near the front of her wardrobe. Most of her clothes ended up tatted and beer soaked anyway.

She had no business owning a dress like this.