Chapter 99

Ruby

After we finished cleaning up Vivian’s room last night, Atwood told me that he had a lot of work to do for preparations since the wedding is almost here, so I decided to sleep on my own. My bed felt cold and empty without him there, but I knew that it would only be forty-eight hours until we’re officially married and will share a bed every night.

I’m awoken this morning by Polly knocking on my door. She has a sweet smile on her round face; a massive improvement from Alice’s mean mug waking me up every morning.

“Good morning, Princess,” she says with a curtsy, entering my room and opening the curtains to let the morning sun in. “I hope you don’t mind, but Lycan Atwood has asked me to wake you early this morning.”

“What for?” I ask groggily, sitting up in bed and rubbing my eyes.

“Your wedding dress fitting, of course!”

My eyes widen and my heart begins to flutter. It hasn’t fully hit me yet that our wedding will be so soon, but hearing that my wedding dress will be fitted today finally gives me the realization.

While Polly makes my bed, I quickly jump into the shower. When I’m finished, I brush my teeth while Polly combs my hair. I keep my silk robe on, since I figure that the seamstress will only have me get undressed for the fitting anyway.

“It’s half past eight,” she says, looking at the clock. “The seamstress should be here soon.”

Just as expected, there is another knock on my door not even five minutes later. Polly goes to let in the seamstress; she’s the same seamstress that made my first wedding gown and my birthday gown. I feel a little guilty that both of those dresses got ruined, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I’m sure Atwood is paying her incredibly well.

The seamstress, a small woman with short dark hair and round features, comes in carrying a large box that dwarfs her even more. She also carries her seamstress bag under arm, which makes me wonder how such a small woman is carrying those two things so easily.

“Good morning, bride-to-be,” she says in her heavy French accent. “Let’s hope this wedding goes a little better, hm?”

My face turns a little red at her words, but I know she’s only teasing. She gestures for me to stand in front of the mirror while she opens the box to pull out the dress.

“The groom asked me to start working on this a few months ago, so all that’s left are alterations. It seems that your body has changed a bit.”

My face turns even redder, and I stammer to come up with a response.

The seamstress laughs and pats me on the shoulder. “That’s a good thing,” she says. “You were a girl before. You’re a woman now. Disrobe and arms up, please. And close your eyes.”

I feel a bit better now with the seamstress’s reassuring words, so I remove my robe and hold my arms up. She pulls a chair over and stands on it to lower the dress down over my head.

With a few tugs and pulls, the dress slides on. The seamstress nimbly hops down from her chair and laces up the back before telling me to open my eyes again.

I can’t help but gasp when I see the dress.

“It’s… beautiful!” I say, holding my hand over my mouth in awe. It’s truly even more beautiful than my first wedding dress. Instead of a pure white color, it has a slightly blush-pink hue that makes my white hair stand out even more. The skirt is full, with delicate beaded flowers all over it and a long train behind it. It has a corset-like bodice with a sweetheart neckline that perfectly shows off my breasts, and long, beaded sleeves that come to a point on the back of my hand.

It’s a dress fit for a princess.

The seamstress has me hold my arms out while she pins certain spots on the arms and waist that need to be taken in. She also marks where the skirt is a bit too long on me and fusses with the underskirts to make sure that the skirt sits perfectly.

“Is it too tight here?” she says, tugging at the bodice. My breasts are spilling out a bit, but I shake my head.

“It’s not too tight. I like it.”

The seamstress smirks and winks at me, not saying anything about the bodice as she returns to rummaging through her bag for a measuring tape.

As I look at myself in the mirror, admiring the beautiful dress, I suddenly find myself transported into a vision.

It’s our wedding day. I’m walking down the aisle with a beautiful bouquet of white calla lilies and vibrant green ferns. Around me, the people in the church pews look on with awe, some holding handkerchiefs to their teary eyes.

I should be happy. I should feel at peace. But I’m not.

I want to marry Atwood, but something is wrong. Someone is here who shouldn’t be here. No matter how hard I study the crowd, I can’t see anything that is amiss, and yet I feel the eyes of an intruder upon me.

Swallowing my fear and just chalking it up to nerves, I climb the stairs to meet Atwood as he stands in front of the priest.

When I look back out at the crowd, however, I see it.

A dark figure stands at the very back of the church. I can’t see its face or any of its features; just a tall, black form. Even though there are no eyes for me to see, I can tell that it’s staring right at me.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

When the vision ends, I’m still standing in front of the mirror with the seamstress crouched beside me, still rummaging through her bag.

“Aha!” she says when she finally finds the measuring tape. She returns to working on my dress, completely oblivious to the frightening vision I just had and my racing heart.

While the seamstress finishes her work, I try not to let my vision get to me. And yet, I still can’t shake the ominous feeling of being watched.

Who was the dark figure? Is it symbolic, only representing my own fear? Or is it an omen of a dark presence that will enter my life?

Soon, the seamstress finishes her work and helps me take the dress off. She packs the dress back up in her box while I put my robe back on, then scurries away to go and finish her work.

I’m alone again. The feeling of being watched still lingers.

“Do you feel that?” I ask my wolf. Maybe she’ll have some idea of what’s happening to me.

She’s silent for a while before finally answering. “Yes,” she says. “I feel another presence. Similar to the one I felt when you had your wings, but different.”

“Different how?”

“This one is darker. Much darker. The other one was full of light, but this feels like a looming shadow.”

My wolf’s words send a shiver down my spine. Without so much as changing out of my robe or putting on slippers, I bolt from my room and run down the hall toward Atwood’s study. When I open the door, however, he’s not there; he’s not in his secret room, either. Biting my lip, I run out of the study.

“Are you alright, Miss Ruby?” a concerned servant asks. She’s holding a bundle of white tulle. It looks like a wedding decoration.

“Have you seen Atwood?” I ask breathlessly.

“He’s in the ballroom,” she says.

Before the servant can say another word, I bolt down the hallway and down the stairs to the ballroom. The sound of a multitude of voices emanates from the open door. Men stand on ladders as they hang decorations from the ceiling, while servants set up tables with white cloths and beautiful arrays of flowers.

At the front of the room, where Atwood’s throne sits, he is standing with his hands on his hips and directing two men as they place a second throne next to his.

Atwood must sense my presence, because he suddenly snaps his head around and strides toward me, ushering me out of the room and shutting the door behind himself.

“What are you doing?” he says. “I wanted this all to be a surprise.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, still out of breath from my frantic running, “but I had to find you.”

Atwood places his hand on the small of my back and guides me away from the door and into a small alcove with a small, round stained glass window that depicts a black rose.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern drawn across his slender face.

“I had a vision,” I answer in a shaky voice. “About our wedding. There was a black figure… Just like a shadow, but it was staring at me. When I came out of my vision, I could still feel it.”

“Oh, love,” Atwood says gently, pulling me into a hug. His scent calms me, but I still feel tense. “It must be your nerves after everything that’s happened these past few months.”

“But I’m scared,” I reply. A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek.

“I know,” Atwood says, pulling away and holding me by both shoulders as he stoops to my height. He kisses my cheek right where the tear fell. “I know you’re scared, but it’s all over now. I’ll always protect you, no matter what.”

I nod, looking down at my feet.

Despite Atwood’s words of affirmation, I still can’t shake the feeling of being watched.