Miranda exchanged a look with Faith, who was both amused and bemused; Miranda remembered that Faith had been helping David with his new toys, and they’d had some promising results.
“Now, this won’t be a perfect image, but …” David brought up a window and typed in a string of commands; another window popped up, this one a media player. At first it was nothing but shadows and fog, but David adjusted a dial on the camera and turned it toward Miranda. “Watch the screen.”
As her eyes lit on the monitor, the foggy image in front of her flickered, and …
“Oh my God.”
It had been a while since Miranda had seen her reflection—she’d seen the one in the mirror during the
Rolling Stone
interview for a few seconds—but she had found herself incredibly frustrated at having to get by without one; she had hair-and-makeup people for performances, but she never had any idea what they were sending her out looking like onstage. And for every night, she generally went without makeup at all and didn’t try to do much with the unruly mass of her hair. She had yet to master Deven’s ability to perfectly apply eyeliner by feel, and really, why bother when she was going to run and fight and sweat it all off?
The last time she’d seen herself, she’d been human … or a human on the verge of transition, with David’s blood in her veins. She’d still been pasty and unhealthy looking, with dark circles under her eyes.
“I forgot about that scar,” she said softly.
“I can cover it better if you want it to disappear,” Faith said. “It’s really faint.”
“No,” Miranda told her. “No … I want to see it. I earned it.”
Faith had spent nearly two hours working on Miranda’s face and hair for the ball and had wrought some sort of cosmetic miracle. The red tumble of curls had been secured atop her head, with a few tendrils artfully falling down into her face; the effect made her neck look longer, graceful, and even just in her bathrobe, she looked elegant and refined.
Miranda would never have left the house in half the color that Faith had applied to her face, but it was gorgeous. She’d used at least four shades of eye shadow, and Miranda’s natural eye color was practically luminous against the palette. Faith had even fastened several tiny jewels, like Indian bindis, down Miranda’s left temple. Her lips were a deep bloodred with a purple undertone.
Miranda felt her eyes start to burn. “I look like a Queen,” she said.
David tipped her chin up with his hand so their eyes met. “You always do, beloved,” he replied. “I just wanted you to see it.”
“Don’t cry!” Faith instructed. “I don’t want to have to redo all of that.”
Miranda stared into her own face for a long moment, swallowing hard.
This is who I am now … It’s real.
“Come on,” Faith said. “Time to get you into your dress.”
“I’ll wait outside.” David rose, leaving the camera where it was and giving his Queen a loving smile before he left them to their preparations.
“Did you feel like this when you saw yourself?” Miranda asked Faith, who was fetching the garment bag from where it hung on the back of the door.
“It was weird,” Faith admitted. “It’s been a lot longer for me.”
Miranda sighed and stood up so that Faith could help her into the gown they’d spent four hours shopping for last week. Miranda had thought she should wear green, what with her hair and eyes, but Faith had quickly squashed that idea. Every redhead in the world wore green dresses, the Second told her. She had a better idea.
Still skeptical, Miranda stood still while Faith pulled and tucked and yanked various bits of the gown down over the insane bra situation that they’d bought. It was reasonably comfortable, though definitely not something she’d wear to fight or perform in. Still, she had refused to go anywhere totally unarmed, and Faith had chuckled and produced a small wooden knife that slid into a hidden sheath on Miranda’s garter.
“Okay,” Faith said. “Take a step back, and I’ll move this thing so you can see the full effect.” The Second took the computer and turned it sideways so that the image switched to vertical.
Miranda started laughing. “Jesus, Faith. Are you sure that’s me?”
Faith grinned. “You plus some helpful girly scaffolding.”
The gown was dark plum, almost black, and shimmered when it caught the light; it was fitted to the waist and then had a flowing skirt that was slit expertly to reveal glimpses of her calves as she walked. Her shoulders and arms were bare, and while she’d been afraid her skin would look pallid, it glowed; her Signet made the entire ensemble complete.
“All right, go blow your husband’s mind while I finish getting ready,” Faith told her.
Feeling faintly dazed, Miranda nodded and slipped on her shoes, then left the bathroom.
She heard a half-choking sound when she emerged, and had to hold back a giggle.
David was standing by the fireplace, staring at her with wide eyes over a glass of Scotch that he had apparently inhaled when he saw her.
Miranda smiled, put a hand on her hip, and said, “What do you think, my Lord?”
He set the glass down on the mantel and came up to her, still staring, and she half expected him to seize her arms and throw her down on the bed. His hunger for her was palpable, and his eyes were dilated and full of fire.
He looked as beautiful as she did—she’d never seen him in a tux before and hadn’t thought it possible for him to look
more
sophisticated, but there it was. It was so attractive she wanted to rip it right off.
They stared at each other. “Faith will kill us both if you smudge my makeup,” Miranda said, her voice husky with desire.
In response, David leaned into her, lips moving lightly along her neck while his hands encircled her waist and pulled her tightly to him. She sighed, eyes closed, and sucked in a breath at the sting of his teeth in her throat.
He took only a swallow, and by the time he lifted his mouth she knew the wound was gone. Carefully, so as not to smear her lipstick, she ran her tongue across his lips.
“I have something for you,” David said, the words a whispered secret between them.
“I bet you do,” she replied impishly.
Reluctantly, he turned away to retrieve a flat box from the dresser. He opened it and showed her its contents: a set of earrings and a ring, stones and setting a flawless match to her Signet.
“They’re perfect,” she said, letting him put the jewelry on her. He lifted her hands and kissed her fingers before slipping the ring on her middle finger next to her wedding band.
“Now you’re ready,” David told her with a smile.
A knock at the door, and the guard outside told them it was time to head for the ballroom.
“Faith,” Miranda called.
“I’m right behind you,” the Second returned. “Go on ahead.”
Prime and Queen smiled at each other, and Miranda felt the first moment of genuine excitement she’d had in days. Whatever was going to happen, at least for a minute she’d get to dance with her husband like a Disney princess, something she would never have imagined possible for herself a few years ago.
This is who I am now.
David bowed and offered his arm. She gave him an almost-graceful curtsy, laughed, and took it, and together they left the suite.
The first time she set foot in the Haven, she was a slave, wasting away from starvation and abuse. She was almost too weak to stand, and she lived in the quiet hell of eternal despair. She had no hope, no will to live, no will at all.
Then a woman had come into her life, and without saying a word, she changed everything. Her dark-honeyed voice, her proud shoulders, the purpose in her stride had awoken something … something fierce, something that would not go quietly into the darkness …
And the next time Cora set foot in the Haven, she, too, was a Queen.
“Are you sure … ?”
They stood near the end of the line of Pairs waiting to descend the grand staircase into the ballroom, she in floor-length velvet and he in his tuxedo. On the far side of the wide double doors she heard a booming voice announcing each Pair one by one. She recognized a few from their state visits three years ago; her Prime had many friends, and the array of names and territories had been dizzying.
Cora turned to Jacob. The syllables of her new home language—Czech—were still a little strange to her, but she tried to honor her Prime and her subjects by becoming as fluent as possible. “I am, my Lord.”
He took her hand and kissed it, giving her that kind, nose-crinkling smile that warmed her to her toes. “I am proud of you,” he said. “You are doing far better than I am with all of this.”
She shrugged. Perhaps her stomach was quaking a little from nerves, perhaps not, but the truth was: “I have nothing to fear.”
Jacob nodded. “That’s right, my love. You are now the equal of anyone here. Not to mention you have your yeti to watch over you.”
Cora held out her free hand, and in a few seconds a large, shaggy head bumped it. The servant standing nearby made a startled noise as Vràna the Nighthound, Cora’s guardian, appeared from where she had been sitting in the corner and stepped up to her mistress’s side.
Nighthounds had started out as Scottish deerhounds, but centuries of selective breeding had produced an uncannily intelligent creature the size of a pony that could run as fast as a vampire. They were imposing animals, to be sure, but usually quite docile unless called to defend their masters. Vràna rarely left the Queen’s presence, though Cora knew better than to take the dog into the ballroom. Vràna would wait for her out here, quiet in her corner and completely unnoticed.
Cora scratched Vràna’s head, then gestured for her to return to her post. The breeder Prime Deven had acquired
her from had shown Cora a series of one-handed visual cues that Vràna had been taught to obey from puppyhood, though over time Queen and Hound had come to understand one another at an almost psychic level.
She wished she could take Vràna in with her. Hound on one side, Prime on the other, she felt safe … protected. She knew she wasn’t weak, but she was not a fighter, and the thought of …
“He is in there,” she said, almost too softly to be heard, staring at the doors. “In a few minutes I will … we will …”
Jacob touched her face. “We don’t have to do this. As long as I come to the meeting tomorrow—”
“No,” she said, perhaps too quickly. “I have to. This is my world now as much as his. I have a right to be here.”
They held each other’s eyes a long moment, and Jacob smiled again, shaking his head in wonder. “You surprise me every night,” he said. “I would never have imagined your strength. I thank God every night when I wake beside you that we found each other.”
She smiled back. “As do I … my love.”
Now he was practically beaming; she was still hesitant to express affection and only very rarely solicited physical attention of any kind. They had made great progress together, but in many ways she was still trying to shed the restrictive skin of who she had once been, and he gave her all the space she needed, telling her just after they met, “We have years ahead to travel down those paths. There’s no need to rush down them—think of all we might miss.”
They moved forward until they had reached the doorway, and the uniformed guard acting as herald consulted his list and then verified their identities with Jacob.
“Here we go,” the Prime said, taking her arm and leaning in to kiss her cheek.
Cora took a deep breath and closed her eyes in a second’s prayer as she heard her name called. Her mind was racing, and all she could think to pray was,
God help me … God help me … amen.
The ballroom opened out before her, a vision of formal dress and candlelight and music. The staircase ended at a red carpet that lined the room’s center; on either side, watching each new couple enter the room, were the Pairs of the Council, applauding after names were announced. The orchestra was set up in the far corner, playing a regal but upbeat march. There was so much to take in, and Cora had never seen anything like it; she remembered all the fairy tales she’d heard as a child about princesses and masquerades, and indeed it all felt so unreal, as if she had stumbled into a fairy tale of her own.
Cora scanned the crowd as she and Jacob took the stairs, but she couldn’t see Hart anywhere. One of the hundred terrors she had feared about this night was the thought of meeting Hart’s eyes, tripping over her gown, and tumbling headlong down the staircase.
Instead, she held her head up and smiled, nodding to the Queens she recognized and a few who were watching her curiously—sometimes logistics prevented a Pair from making a state visit, and there were some, like Japan and Australia, that had tendered regrets and sent gifts.
The variety of costume and facial features among the Council was astounding; while most had come in Western-style ball gowns and tuxedos, some were in traditional dress for their homelands, and the colors and luxury were enough to make her head spin. There were glowing stones everywhere; the Primes wore them in place of a bow tie. She had never seen such a diverse crowd before—every imaginable ethnicity was represented.
It seemed to take a year to reach the last step, but as soon as they did, the herald called out another Pair’s names, and the room’s attention shifted back to the top of the staircase. Cora let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. Jacob, smiling, squeezed her hand, and together they joined the throng of onlookers.
A moment later, the herald announced, “Prime Deven O’Donnell of the Western United States and his Consort, Jonathan Burke.”
Cora found herself grinning in spite of her anxiety.
Both Deven and Jonathan looked absolutely splendid in their tuxes, though Deven as always cut an interesting figure with his facial piercings and spiky hair, which was, just now, shot through with violently red streaks. It was strange to Cora to see two men walking arm in arm the way all the other couples did, but it didn’t bother her the way it seemed to bother a few of the others standing around her. She knew that Hart had considered Deven a deviant, but it surprised her anyone else would. Hart was a fool—surely they all knew that?