“Mister protector of this realm and its people, if some rando dropped out of the sky and was shouting about—I don’t know—dragons or some other nonsense, I’d be so ready for them to leave.”
“Don’t let a dragon hear you call her ‘nonsense.’” He winks at me again.
I open my mouth to object, but with everything I’ve experienced since I fell through the portal, the idea of seeing a dragon doesn’t seem so far-fetched.
Kane takes another swig of ale and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“And I don’t have time to sit around and wait. Someone could walk in that bedroom at any time and take my stuff and my only way out of here.”
“Fawn—”
“You’re not my dad. I don’t have to listen to you.” And, if my dad ever decided to reach out, I wouldn’t have to listen to him either.
“I did save you, heal you, keep you safe, but of course, why listen to me?”
“Exactly,” I say, blatantly ignoring his sarcasm. “I’m going back to the palace, I’m getting the Empress, and I’m going home.”
I spin around, looking for anything to put on other than this blanket or my ruined Dior. “I need something to wear.”
“There are tunics in there.” He motions to the trunk in the far corner of the room.
I kneel in front of it. The same symbols etched into his sword and stitched into his cloak are carved into the wood and filled with molten gold. This close up, and fully myself, I can finally make out the symbols: the craggy peaks of a mountain, a lantern, a six-pointed star, and the weathered face of an old man. They flow together, each symbol pouring into the next, a single line connecting them all.
“The symbols tell a story, if you know how to read them.” He unties the cloth bundle on the table and smooths the fabric down around a fat loaf of bread.
“And what story does this one tell?” I open the chest, and I’m not sure if he answers because my attention is fixed on the jewels and gold coins resting on the top shelf.
“Spoils of war?” I laugh and look over at him.
“Payment.” The look in his eyes takes away my grin.
I turn my attention back to the trunk and sift through the half-folded shirts and strange leather pants that look way too tight and have laces crisscrossed up the crotch.
“This”—I hold up the pants, the laces dangling like limp noodles—“isn’t going to cut it. I need to fit in and look like everyone else. That was my problem before.That and the fact I had no idea what was going on. But I’m smarter now, and I’m not going to give anyone a reason to call me a witch.”
“And you believe that once you’re dressed more appropriately, you’ll simply walk back to the palace and demand entry? Do you not remember what happened last time you found yourself within the town?”
“Why do I feel like you’re only half listening?” I ask, but I continue without waiting for his response. “Like I said, I looked out of place. It’s not about asking why they threw me out. It’s about asking why they shouldn’t,” I say and return my focus to the trunk of jewels and clothes. “There has to be something in here that will work and isn’t so…big.”
I dig deeper into the collection of worn leather and stiff cotton. My fingers brush against luxuriously soft fabric. Gently, I pull out the garment. The velvet dress is creamy white. Its bodice is stitched with intricate embroidery, the patterns swirling and looping in a dance of golden threads that catch the light with every movement. I trace the lines of delicate forest-green silk laces that crisscross their way up from the small of the back to the nape of the neck. The same silk borders the neckline that dips in a modest curve, framed by soft off-shoulder sleeves that billow slightly before tapering into snug cuffs.
I stand and hold it up in front of me, the skirt cascading in a full graceful fall of the same lush velvet. “This is perfect.”
At the sight, Kane nearly chokes on his eggs. “Not that one. It doesn’t belong to you.”
“It doesn’t belong to you either,” I counter. “Turn around.”
“Modesty now? I’ve seen—”
“Turn around. I thought ye olden times were filled with dashing knights and gentlemen who threw their coats over puddles.”
“You don’t find me dashing?”
“Turn.” I motion, unwilling to give him an inch. Of course he’s dashing. And sexy. With a delicious come-hither smile that makes me hot in all the right places. And, clearly, he knows it. I’ll eat my own mismatched underwear before I add to that ego.
Reluctantly, Kane sighs and turns his back to me.
Quickly, I shed the scratchy blanket and slip into the dress, the fabric even softer than I expected. “Could you?” I ask hesitantly as I gather my hair and sweep it over my shoulder, revealing the intricate line of laces down the back of the dress.
