Unseeing.
There was something satisfying about watching it shatter on the stone at the base of my tower.
The robe I’m swimming in slips off my bare shoulder, and I pull it back up, attention diving between the three-inch gap in the doorway again.
Rhordyn is in the next room, standing on the stage while Hovard’s pretty assistant flutters around him in a swish of silky, black material, stretching the measuring tape along his arms, across his chest, down the inside of his leg ...
I glimpse those silvery tattoos that wind around his side—a fine scripture sketched across his skin, tapered around muscles like the shading on a painting. Words I don’t recognize, understand, or even know how to pronounce.
I arch my neck, seeking a clearer view, cheeks heating. My gaze drifts up, only to catch on one quicksilver eye pinned to me through the gap like a perfectly shot arrow.
Sucking a sharp breath, I look away.
“Are we done here?” Rhordyn asks, tone so hard I flinch.
“Yes, Master,” Dolcie blurts, her voice gentle as a summer breeze.
I envy her that.
“And you’re after the black cashmere imported from the alps?”
“Yes,” Rhordyn answers. “But it’s a neutral ball, so Orlaith isn’t bound to Ocruth colors. She’s welcome to pick something different.”
Frowning, I glance up as the door creaks open.
Dolcie’s oval face pushes through, blue eyes stark against her frothy curls the color of soil. “Your turn,” she says with a sweet smile that looks forced.
“Lovely.”
I follow her through to the other room that’s steeped in sunshine spilling through large, square windows, instantly struck by the robust, earthen scent ofhim.
It’s a tight-lipped battle to maintain my composure.
Fiddling with the robe belt knotted around my waist, I step onto the fitting platform, trying to ignore Rhordyn weaving buttons through their holes, chin pressed against his chest.
Hovard sweeps in like a blow of autumn leaves, his fiery hair standing up in all directions. He has the creamy complexion of someone from the East, though he boasts the black garb of a Western resident, plus a few add-ons like frills around his sleeves and the swarthy lace appliquéd over his waistcoat. Small spectacles sit halfway down his nose, their shape matching his beady eyes that flick over my form.
He flaps a hand in my direction, attention turning to the rolls of fabric stacked in the corner. “Robe. Off.”
Rhordyn clears his throat and turns, staring out the window while finishing with his buttons, but making no move to leave the room.
Right.
I draw a shaky breath and loosen the bow around my middle, chewing my bottom lip. Silky fabric slithers down my shoulders, exposing the corset that’s barely containing me.
I have no idea how I’m supposed to move in this thing—or breathe properly—but this ...torturousarticle of clothing that shows far too much of my too-tight skin is apparently fashionable.
Dolcie scowled the entire time she was stuffing me into the awful contraption, likely because it wasted half an hour of both our lives. And now here I am, standing on a platform, feeling like a tree without leaves to smudge its shape.
Hovard rests his hands atop his swollen belly, eyeing me the same way I assess a rock before I slick paint across it. “You’ve gotten slimmer through the waist, my dear. If you’re not careful, you’ll snap in two.”
I open my mouth—
“Tut-tut! It wasn’t a question.” He flutters his hand about, retrieving a roll of lush, green fabric. It’s held against me, swiftly replaced with one the color of my wisteria, his gaze hopping from my eyes, my damp hair, the exposed parts of my skin, finally landing on the necklace draped around my neck.
He taps the stone with the tip of a pencil previously caught behind his ear. “You will be wearing these, yes?”
My hand shields the round, inky gem and baby conch in the next heartbeat.
