It was Mina’s mask.
Fitting snugly around the top half of her head, it was made out of soft yellow-gold fabric, with long beams jutting out from it in a haloed crown of rays. It wasn’t a mask that was about disguising the Queen until the big moment as much as it was a mask about identifying where to look when the time came.
It gave off its own light, for goodness’ sake.
It was a spectacular creation.
Between the dress and the mask, no one would be able to take their eyes off her.
Words rose up and got trapped in her throat.
Between the gown and the mask, she would be the center of attention—Roz’s grand finale.
It was all too much.
The stylist carefully placed the mask over her head, securing the latch that would hold it in place until she pressed the release button.
As she did so, the woman with the perfect face hissed, “Careful with my masterpiece.”
The bald man hurried over to adjust individual curls once the mask was in place, and then stepped back with a smile.
Mina looked once more into the mirror.
The beautiful creature that stared back was made of living, breathing gold—exuding class and style despite the shine.
Tonight, the sun would set on Mina the scholar and rise on Mina the Queen.
CHAPTER FOUR
RATHERTHANCHECKthe alert when it buzzed through on his phone, Zayn checked his watch.
There was still an hour and a half until the start of the ball, and the car that would drive him was not due to arrive for an hour.
He could be getting ready. The timing was not unreasonable. In fact, his assistant had been anxiously glancing at the wall clock for at least twenty minutes.
Zayn ignored both of those observations. He was determined to finish reviewing the pair of trade agreements in front of him before he allowed Mina and her ball any more space in his mind. She had been a constant presence in it over the past week and a half, despite the fact that Zayn had expended actual time and energy to ensure that she would not be in his presence.
His wife.
He would not spend his time lost in thought about his wife.
Not when there was work to be done. He refused. He was not his father, who had not been above putting off his royal responsibilities to spend time with his wife.
Zayn would not be that man. Nothing came before Cyrano. His time of being irresponsibly carefree and open had ended the day his father had been shot. As King, he had no time for brown-skinned women with moss-colored eyes who lingered in his thoughts.
He refused to waste any time on leisurely preparing his attire, like some kind of old-fashioned dandy. He might have been born into royalty, but his father had instilled in him a sense of proportion.
He turned his attention back to the agreements, his will an iron wall around his mind, defending it from the obsessive onslaught of green eyes and wayward thoughts.
Forty minutes later he was nearly two-thirds of the way through the second agreement when his phone vibrated again. Once again, he ignored it.
“Your Majesty.”
Frowning, he turned his attention to his assistant. “Yes?” he asked tersely.
“I think you should see this.” The man held up his phone, a slight tremor in his arm.
The headline read:All Hail Queen Midas!Below it was a full-body picture of Mina who, unveiled in her ball attire, revealed a body that indeed looked sculpted from gold.