Jaded Wears the Crown: Chronicles of Radelea by Samara Saward

Author:Samara Saward [Saward, Samara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

16

Ihave to marvel at Wyn’s brilliance. She knows when to dress me appropriately and when to put me in something a little more risqué. This morning, she has selected a traditional fae gown in garnet red.

A lot of fae believe red to be the colour of love, and many will assume that is the reason behind today’s gown. But love is not red. It is not pink or white or any other colour one might deem as happy.

It is grey.

Love is calm and strength, it is timelessness, wisdom, stability. Love is not good or evil, it is not right or wrong, and it does not conform to any singular definition. It is all-consuming and knows no rule or tradition or expectation. Love is not black and white. It is the grey between, where there is no reason. Only a desperate need to hold on to that feeling of warmth, security, and home.

The corset is built into the bodice, giving my already curvy body more shape. The sleeves flare at the hands like trumpets, covering them completely and creating loose folds that swish with every movement. And the skirt itself offers a strip of gold down the centre, as if there was not enough satin for the red to join at the front, instead giving that material to a widening train.

But the back — the best part of the gown — reveals the tight corset, laced with gold ribbon. It matches the gold lacing that has been sewn onto every hem and the golden tiara resting atop my head, the rubies glittering in the light.

This morning, I am every bit the princess. It is such a shame I am dressed to impress a hall filled with nobles and high fae.

I enter the dining hall, where breakfast is to be served any moment, to find I am the last to arrive, and Father is about to begin his speech of welcome. My face remains neutral as I sweep through the hall towards the empty seat adjacent to Fayeth, but inside, I am quivering.

Father has that look in his eye. It is a look I have seen only thrice in my life, one of unfettered rage and the promise of retribution. He has not forgiven me for my outburst yesterday. I did not expect him to, but I had hoped.

“Well met, Father,” I say, offering him a curtsey before taking my seat. “Fayeth, Rennyn.”

They murmur their greetings, hardly sparing the time to pull themselves from the conversation the three of them share.

To distract myself from Father and his wrath, I run my eyes over everyone here.

Across from me, Rennyn is handsome in emerald. The colour brings out the brightness in his eyes, making him seem softer than is usual. There are shadows beneath his eyes, a sure sign he remained at the fair until the early hours of the morning. I did not see him there, but we threw the celebrations in his honour and I know Father would ensure he remained until the event wound down.

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