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“Wake up.
I stirred reluctantly, my body still heavy with sleep. Through half–open eyes, I saw him standing at the foot of the bed, an elaborately jeweled hairbrush in his hand. The sight was so unexpected it jolted me fully awake.
“Sit,” he commanded, nodding toward the vanity.
After what had happened between us last night, I wasn’t sure what to expect from him today. I slid from the bed and crossed to the vanity, my movements slow with lingering drowsiness. The cool surface of the chair sent a small shiver through me as i sat, watching him warily in the mirror as he approached.
To my surprise, his touch was gentle as he began to work the brush through my tangled hair. Long, careful strokes that didn’t pull or tear, his movements practiced and precise.
“How did you learn how to do this?” I asked, curiosity overcoming my caution.
“I did this for others a few times,” he replied, his focus on my hair rather than my reaction to this cryptic answer.
I wondered who these “others” were. Lysandra perhaps? Or nameless women who’d warmed his bed before I arrived?
His fingers worked through my hair, sectioning and weaving with surprising dexterity. I sat still, watching his face in the mirror.
His expression was focused, almost serene–a stark contrast to the blood–soaked monster from the judgment hall. How could the same hands that had torn a man’s heart from his chest now create something beautiful?
“Perfect,” he murmured as he secured the last pin.
When he stepped back, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. My hair was artfully arranged in an intricate style that emphasized the elegant line of my neck and the delicate structure of my face. It looked like something a professional stylist would create, not the Alpha of Ravenhollow.
He moved to the wardrobe and removed a gown I hadn’t seen before–deep emerald silk that caught the light with every movement. The cut was sophisticated yet daring, with a neckline that would highlight his mark on my neck.
“For tonight’s feast,” he explained, holding it out to me.
I stood, allowing him to help me into the dress.
“I’ll be here to support you, just in case you can’t walk well,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I huffed indignantly. “I can walk around just fine.”
“Then maybe we should change that?” The suggestive undertone in his voice made heat rise to my cheeks.
Despite my embarrassment, I couldn’t help asking, “Do you ever get tired?”
“No, not really,” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “And you should get used to it.”
He moved to a wooden box on the dresser and lifted the lid, revealing a set of emerald jewelry that matched the dress perfectly. With the same careful attention he’d shown with my hair, he fastened a delicate necklace around my throat and slid matching earrings into place.
“Are we not kind of late?” I asked, glancing at the time.
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Chapter 49
Yes, the feast had already begun, but common etiquette states that we arrive late, he replied, adjusting the necklace so it sat perfectly.
“What etiquette is that?”
“Would you prefer we arrive early and help with the decor?” His dry tone made it clear he found the question amusing.
When he finished, he stepped back to admire his work. His eyes traveled over me slowly, appreciation evident in his gaze.
“You look like a Luna,” he said simply.
The words shouldn’t have affected me, but they did. Maybe because hinted at something more real than our arrangement.
In this moment, I wasn’t just playing a role–I looked the part.
He offered me his arm, and I took it, feeling strangely formal despite everything we’d shared. As we walked through the corridors toward the feast hall, eyes followed us.
The grand doors to the feast hall swung open at our approach. Conversations faltered and heads turned as we entered. I held my chin high, conscious of my role as Luna, even if it was temporary.
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