Chapter 139 The dress of destiny
IRIS
Today is dress day. I’m both excited and nervous, a knot twisting in my stomach, because while I’ve been dreaming about this moment once yesterday, there’s also the pressure of making it perfect and surviving Daisy’s brutally honest critiques.
“Ready?” Daisy asks, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed but her grin wide. She’s already primed with the sharpest commentary I’ve ever seen, and I know she’s been mentally preparing herself for the fashion onslaught she’s about to deliver.
I take a deep breath and nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do this.”
She claps her hands together. “Perfect! First up, classic elegance. But remember, no tears or dramatic fainting. I’ve had enough panic for one lifetime.”
I roll my eyes and duck behind the curtain of the first dress. When I emerge, it’s a soft champagne-colored gown, flowing and ethereal, with delicate lace along the neckline and sleeves.
Daisy tilts her head, inspecting me like a particularly discerning wolf on a scent hunt. “Hmm…” she murmurs. Her eyebrows lift. “Nice, nice. I like the sleeves. The lace is pretty. But…”
She purses her lips. “It’s… safe. Too safe. I feel like it’s the sort of dress you’d wear to a very polite garden party, not your mating ceremony with a future king of Lycans.”
I bite my lip, trying not to frown. “Safe can be elegant, though.”
“Sure, but I want ‘jaw-dropping, get-the-entire-fortress-to-gasp’ kind of elegant,” Daisy says firmly. She steps closer, squinting at the hem. “Also, the color washes you out a little. You’re glowing, Iris, and this just… doesn’t capture it.”
I sigh, tugging the dress lightly. “Noted. Let’s move on.”
Behind the curtain, I switch into the next gown: deep navy with a plunging neckline and intricate beadwork. I step out, expecting Daisy to explode with delight or critique.
She crosses her arms and slowly circles me like a predator sizing up its prey. “Okay, wow,” she says after a long pause. “That’s much better than the first. You look… regal. Like someone who could command a council of Lycans and still make it look effortless.”
I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “So… approval?”
“Half approval,” she says, frowning. “The color is fantastic, the beads are gorgeous, and yes, it’s dramatic but the neckline… risky. Too much risk. You don’t want to distract the king from his bride, do you?”
I roll my eyes. “He’s not going to care about the neckline.”
Daisy tilts her head. “That’s exactly what someone saying, ‘I don’t care what the critics think,’ would say… right before the critics attack.”
I bite back a laugh and step back behind the curtain, switching to the third dress. This one is ivory with a subtle shimmer and layers of tulle. I step out slowly, holding my breath.
Daisy squints again, pursing her lips. “Hmm… okay. It’s… fluffy. Cute. I like the shimmer. Very princess.”
I fold my arms, suspicious. “Very princess? That’s supposed to be good, right?”
She shakes her head. “Not enough wow. You need wow. We’re talking ceremonial-level wow, not bedtime-story wow.”
I groan and duck behind the curtain again, feeling the creeping frustration of indecision. My chest tightens. None of these dresses feel like mel, and the clock is ticking. In two days, I have to walk down the ceremonial aisle, fully visible to every Lycan in the fortress, Darian, and the gaze of the moon itself. I need something perfect.
I emerge for the final try, hesitantly pulling the curtain aside. My fingers brush over the maroon dress I chose almost on a whim from the wardrobe. It’s a Bridgeton-style gown, the kind with a fitted bodice, slightly puffed sleeves, and a full, sweeping skirt that drapes beautifully over the floor. The deep maroon is warm and rich, complementing my hair and eyes in a way the others haven’t.
I step out slowly, my stomach twisting. “I… I don’t know,” I mutter. “Maybe it’s too much… too dark. I don’t know if you’ll like it.”
Daisy freezes, her eyes widening, and then she slowly takes a step forward. “Oh. My. Gods.” She puts a hand to her chest like she’s trying to hold back a heart attack. “Iris. This. Is. It.”
I blink, startled by her reaction. “You… really think so?”
“Think so?” she echoes, her voice rising with excitement. “I know so! This is the dress of destiny. The one that makes people stop and stare. The color, the cut, the way it hugs your waist? perfection!”
I can’t help the smile creeping across my face. Her enthusiasm is contagious. “You really mean that?”
“Absolutely.” She grabs my hands, spinning me around once, and then claps her hands together. “You look stunning. Absolutely breathtaking.”
I laugh softly, feeling the tension in my chest release for the first time all morning. “I guess… I just needed reassurance. You haven’t really liked any of the others so far.”
Daisy winks. “That’s because those others were… well… not this. This? This is you. And trust me, you want me to be this excited when Darian sees it.”
I glance down at the floor, my stomach fluttering at the thought. She’s right, what would Darian think? Would he approve? Would he… gasp?
The curtain shifts behind me, and a deep, familiar voice cuts through my spinning thoughts.
“Iris…”
My heart stutters, and I freeze mid-turn.
Darian steps into the room. The moment his eyes land on me, everything else; Daisy, the sunlit room, the skirts of my dress, vanishes. He looks… speechless. His jaw tightens, and his gaze doesn’t waver. He’s staring at me like I’m the only person in existence, like the world paused just for this moment.
I feel my cheeks heat up under his intense gaze. “Darian,” I whisper.
Daisy, ever the dramatic instigator, gives me a conspiratorial wink and slips out the door. “Break a heart,” she murmurs under her breath before the click of the door signals she’s gone.
Now it’s just us. And I can feel the weight of his presence, the strength in the way he stands, the warmth radiating off him.
“You’re… beautiful,” he says finally, his voice low, steady, almost reverent.
I look down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze. My fingers fidget with the folds of the dress. “Th-thank you,” I mutter softly.
He takes a slow step forward, closing the distance. One hand reaches up, tilting my chin gently so our eyes meet. The warmth in his touch sends a shiver down my spine.
“Are you happy?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper, but it fills the room entirely.
I swallow hard, my chest tight with emotion. “I… I’ve never been happier,” I say. It’s true. All the uncertainty, all the pressure, the prophecy, the fortress, the ceremony, fades when he looks at me like this.
He smiles softly, a small, intimate curve of his lips that makes my heart leap. He leans forward slowly, as if giving me time, space, choice. And then his lips meet mine. Soft. Gentle. Certain.
I close my eyes and melt into the kiss, the world outside this room disappearing completely. The silk of my dress brushes against my arms, the warmth of his hand holds me steady, and every doubt, every fear, every hesitation evaporates.
When he pulls back just slightly, resting his forehead against mine, I can barely speak, breathless. “I… love this,” I murmur. “I love… everything.”
His lips brush against mine again, and this time the kiss is firmer, a promise, a vow without words. My fingers reach up, tangling in his hair, holding him as if I can never let go.
The kiss lingers, slow and tender, until finally we break apart, still holding each other close. His forehead rests against mine again, his voice soft and filled with certainty.
“You’re perfect,” he says.
I smile, finally daring to lift my gaze. “No… we’re perfect,” I whisper back.
And for the first time, I know that whatever comes next, whatever the ceremony, the future, the prophecy, this moment will be the one I hold onto forever.