“Yes,” Rhordyn says, spinning, and I meet the chilling intensity of his all-pervading stare.
I don’t take this necklace off. Ever. Rhordyn gifted it to me when I first came to this castle, and I’ve worn it ever since.
Some of my earliest memories are from when I was so small that climbing Stony Stem felt like scaling a mountain, even with Baze or Cook holding my hand, easing me up each step, my necklace a comforting weight around my neck.
Though it felt heavy back then, this stone taught me to walk with a stronger stance. To keep my head up andmove.
I’ll be wearing it in the ground one day.
Rhordyn rests his back against the wall beside the window, looking very much at home with his feet crossed at the ankle. I almost roll my eyes when Dolcie bends over to retrieve some pins off the floor, peeking back to check if he’s watching.
“Very well. We can work around it. Now, I like the green.” Hovard pulls a long slice of fabric close to my eyes. “This tone compliments the shade of your hair. Or there’s the rose gold; a gentler approach,” he muses, replacing the sample. “More innocent, too.”
How can he say that when my breasts are practically jumping out of this torture suit? I miss my chest wrap.
“Then there’s the red, which would lookstunning, but it’s likely to draw ...” he tips his head from side to side, “matureattention.”
He continues stuffing information in Rhordyn’s direction while holding different swatches near my face. As he speaks, Dolcie drapes a stiff, creamy fabric across my skin. Piece by piece, it’s pinned against my body, forming a pattern that exhibits me in a way that leaves very little to the imagination.
The garment begins to take shape, and my stomach twists a little more with each panel of fabric she fits into place, my gaze dropping every few seconds to see just how much skin she’snothiding.
When she drops her pincushion, she again shoves her voluptuous curves in Rhordyn’s direction, and I jump on the opportunity to maneuver some of the fabric so it’s not so revealing.
She’s quick to set it back the moment she stands up again.
“Can’t you make the neckline a little higher?” I whisper, quiet enough that only she can hear.
“Oh, honey, no.” She drops her voice low, stealing a glance at my hands wrung together. “There’s nothingendearingabout a woman who dresses like a little boy and constantly has dirt beneath her nails. That’s no way to become a promised lady.”
My cheeks heat. “Excuse me?”
She shrugs, tucks a twirl of hair behind her ear, and throws me a coy smile. “Everyoneparades their breasts at fancy gatherings these days. If you don’t, you’ll have no hope in standing out amongst the masses, and you’ll be stuck in this castle until you’re an old crone.” I grit my teeth as she threads another pin through the thick fabric. “I’m doing you a favor. Trust me.”
I’m about to tell her to shove herfavorup her ass, along with her pincushion, when Rhordyn’s voice rents the air.
“Less cleavage.”
Hovard’s ramblings are severed mid-sentence, and my gaze darts to Rhordyn’s face, but he’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Dolcie, giving her cherry cheeks and bedroom eyes his full, undivided attention.
“Master?” she asks, tone light and innocent, hands still against my breasts that are rising with every sharp pull of breath.
He pushes away from the wall and strides forward, head tilted to the side. “Do you need me to say it clearer?”
Dolcie looks up at him through her lashes. “But I thought—”
“You thoughtwhat?” The last word snaps out of him, and Dolcie pales, her mouth falling open but failing to shape words.
“That you’d be p-pleased. That you’d want her to look appealing for any potential suitors.”
He stares at her, unblinking, the tense moment lasting long enough that Dolcie withers. Beads of sweat collect on Hovard’s temples, and his eyes dart between the two.
“It’s fi—”
Rhordyn cuts me off. “Orlaith told you exactly what she wants, and you blatantly ignored her request. Unless you want to find yourself out of a job and lose your residence within this castle, I suggest you fix the pattern. Now.”
Dolcie drops into a curtsey so fast you’d think her knees had given way. “Yes, Master. S-sorry, Master.”
She gets back to work, rearranging the fabric across my bust with trembling hands, and I hiss when a sharp sting has me staggering back, shielding my left breast. “Ouch!”
