Serpent & Dove by Shelby Mahurin

Author:Shelby Mahurin
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-06-27T16:00:00+00:00

The Guest of Honor

Lou

King Auguste scheduled a ball on the eve of Saint Nicolas Day to commence a weekend of celebration. And to honor Reid. Apparently, the king felt indebted to Reid for saving his family’s skin when the witches had attacked. Though I hadn’t stuck around to watch the chaos unfold, I had no doubt my husband had acted . . . heroic.

Still, it felt odd celebrating Reid’s victory when his failure would’ve solved my predicament. If the king and his children were already dead, there would be no reason for me to die too. Indeed, my throat would’ve very much appreciated his failure.

Reid shook his head in exasperation as Coco burst into the room without knocking, a filmy white gown draped across her arm. Slinging his best Chasseur coat over his shoulder and sighing, he bent to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear in farewell.

“I need to meet the Archbishop.” He paused at the door, the corner of his mouth quirking in a lopsided smile. Excitement danced in his sea-blue eyes. Despite my reservations, I couldn’t help myself; I smiled back. “I’ll return shortly.”

Coco lifted the gown for my appraisal after he left. “You’re going to look divine in this.”

“I look divine in everything.”

She grinned and winked at me. “That’s the spirit.” Tossing the gown on the bed, she forced me into the desk chair, raking her fingers through my hair. I shivered at the memory of Reid’s fingers. “The priests agreed to let me attend the ball since I’m such a close personal friend of you and your husband.” She pulled a brush from her robes with a determined glint in her eyes. “Now, it’s time to brush your hair.”

I scowled at her and leaned away. “I don’t think so.”

I never brushed my hair. It was one of the few rules I lived by, and I certainly didn’t see a need to start breaking it now. Besides, Reid liked my hair. Since I’d asked him to braid it, he seemed to think he could continue touching it at every opportunity.

I didn’t correct him because . . . well, I just didn’t.

“Oh, but I do.” She pushed me back down in my seat, attacking my hair as if it’d personally offended her. When I tried to wriggle away, she whacked me on top of the head with her brush. “Be still! These rats have to come out!”

Nearly two hours later, I stared at myself in the mirror. The front of the gown—crafted of thin white silk—skimmed my torso before billowing artfully at the knees, soft and simple. Delicate petals and silver crystals dusted the sheer fabric of the back, and Coco had pinned my hair at my nape to showcase the elaborate appliqué. She’d also insisted I heal the remainder of my bruises. Another velvet ribbon covered my scar.

Overall, I looked . . . good.

She stood behind me now, preening at her own reflection over my shoulder. A fitted black gown accentuated her every curve—the

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