I recoiled as if struck. She was getting ready? On her own? Was she truly prepared to face her tormentor and Grimm? It had only been a few weeks since the incident. It felt too soon.
“We wouldn’t want her to enter the dining hall before her benefactor,” Anderz said carefully—a veiled warning.
I needed to be there when she arrived.
“Counselor Dyre, I beg your leave. I have a dinner to prepare for.” I stormed off to my dressing room, my heart pounding in my chest.
The maids worked quickly, summoning a seamstress to alter the dress. They let it out a bit so I could breathe. The gown, a soft gold and green, evoked a warm summer day. These colors adorned most of my formal attire, a reminder of Togamar, or perhaps the imaginary woman from my hallucination.
They braided the long section of my hair, tucking it under the rest, to create the illusion of length pinned tightly to my head. The scent of lavender oil and fresh linen only churned my nervous stomach. They gave me warm gold slippers embroidered with gems, though no one would see them under the floor-length skirts. Then they slipped a belt around my hips, adorned with peridots and sunstones, tying the dress together.
Sainte vanished only briefly to ready himself. He returned wearing a fine dark tunic decorated with tiny metallic snowflakes that caught the gentle light. His fresh black boots shone with a mirror-like finish. As he strapped on his black leather chest piece, I smirked at the exaggerated muscles formed into the armor. It was but a tease of the true strength beneath.
“Breathe, Your Highness,” a servant urged.
My stare snapped away from my Valahant as he looked up from buckling the clasps. I bit my lip to keep from laughing as the seamstress finished up her task.
He observed me in the reflection of the polished mirror, my gaze purposefully avoiding his. When his focus returned to the buckle he struggled with, I found myself watching him once more.
The man embodied everything a woman could want. His trousers, loose for movement yet snug to reveal the strength in his legs, accentuated his physique. As he moved, his tunic stretched taut over his broad shoulders, seams straining. Large hands fumbled with the smaller buckles of his formal armor.
Impatience gnawed at me as the seamstress tied off the final thread. Without waiting for her approval, I stepped off the fitting stool and strode to Sainte. He glanced up, hesitating when he caught my gaze. I flashed a sly grin and strode close, smacking his hands away from the buckles. As I fiddled with the clasps, I ignored him as he lifted his head to stare down the maids and seamstress.
“That is all.” I jerked my chin in dismissal without taking my eyes off my task.
“Yes, Your Highness,” they muttered and scurried out.
The seamstress lingered, moving at a snail’s pace. I arched a brow at her, challenging her audacity. She cleared her throat and quickened her strides, closing the door behind her.
Sainte grunted as I secured the tiny straps. “I can manage.”
“Maybe I want to help.” I peered at him from beneath my lashes. “You wouldn’t deny a girl wanting to lend a hand, would you?”
His jaw tightened, looking terribly unnerved.
I couldn’t resist. My fingers werethere, and he was so serious, almost fearful of my proximity—I had to. There was no other option.
I tickled him.
He flinched, a surprised grunt escaping his lips as my touch danced over the leather, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath, the slight shiver of his reaction. The light filtering through the window caught the snowflakes on his tunic, making them shimmer as he spun out of reach.
A smirk lifted my lip. “I didn’t know you were ticklish.”
“I’m not,” he huffed, tugging at the clasps on the other side of his armor.
“Liar.”
That got his attention. He straightened, eyes gleaming with dangerous intent.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned.
He took a menacing step closer. “Are you ticklish,Princess?”
“No. I’m not.” I choked out, then darted off as quickly as my gown would allow, the skirts swishing around my ankles.
“Coward,” he muttered, returning to his buckles.
My smile hurt my cheeks as I neared the hearth. The warmth of the fire danced across the dress, making the gold hues shimmer. It was odd how easily I’d taken to wearing such clothes. I remembered Kelsie attempting to make me wear dresses as a girl, but at some point, I stole the older boys’ trousers and claimed them as my own. They gave me strength, made me an equal among the boys. Kelsie tried to keep me in skirts, but my rebellion, coupled with her busy brood, won out.
