“Where’s the rest of it?” Scythe choked out.
Her question wasn’t an exaggeration. Most of the dress seemed to be… absent.
I steeled myself and pulled the garment from the box. The fabric, no more than a whisper, shimmered under the light. Tiny black gemstones caught the glow like spilled ink against transparent crimson. The material reminded me of blood—sheer, yet vivid. Two daring slits ran up the front, slicing from ankle towaist in the bold style of Draconia. The neckline plunged scandalously low, the shoulders designed to drape over my arms, exposing my collarbone.
If it didn’t fit, I’d have nothing else.
To wear it would feel like wearing nothing at all. The fabric offered no lining, no backing—just translucent red gauze stitched with black gemstones that would catch the light and every prying eye.
The three of us stood in silence, staring at the indecent garment. Edith’s hands clenched the table’s edge, her knuckles white. Scythe’s jaw hung open, and for once, she seemed at a loss for words.
Tallon promised to find the perfect dress. He left no time for alternatives, no chance to commission a gown or even alter one I already owned. This was it. The only option.
My thoughts churned. Was this humiliation planned, a way to shame me in front of the court? Or was it meant to flaunt what he believed was his?
My pulse hammered, anger and defiance warring within. I wasn’t a pawn, and I wouldn’t shrink beneath their stares. If he desired me to be on display, then I’d make sure they looked.
I chose to flaunt it.
Heat crawled up my neck, flushing my face as my hands dampened with sweat. I had to piss.
But I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and walked the corridors as if they were already mine. One day, they would be.
The dress revealed my thighs with each stride. Beneath it, black trousers hugged my legs like a second skin, as was the custom for female Draconis. It did little to quell the sensation of being exposed.
The fit was precise, a testament to Tallon’s interference. He hadn’t chosen this dress on a whim; a seamstress tailored it to my measurements. The timing, the craftsmanship—every detail screamed of deliberate planning. It was his doing, and I would wear it.
A strip of black fabric wrapped across my chest, barely concealing my breasts. I prayed it held through the night.
Radaanian women were modest, with their poofy-sleeves and high collars. Tonight, I paired my ensemble with towering boots, their sharp heels adding inches to my height. The taller I was, the more I could look down on Tallon—and ensure I’d never let him dictate my wardrobe again.
Gasps rippled through the halls, punctuated by the occasional stifled cough. Noblewomen clutched pearls while servants darted glances, their expressions caught between awe and scandal. My guards, stoic as ever, kept their gazes fixed ahead, helmets obscuring any hint of disapproval—or curiosity.
Boldness fueled by anger propelled me toward the herald. He hardly glanced up before his jaw slackened, lips forming a comicalO. His wide eyes bulged as though they might tumble from their sockets.
“Princess Nienna of Draconia,” I snapped, my tone as sharp as the steel on the guards’ belts.
“Of course! Beg your pardon, Your Highness!” The herald jerked his gaze away, fumbling with the parchment in his trembling hands. He squinted at it as though confirming I belonged there. “Yes, yes—here!” His foot caught on the edge of his robe as he scrambled to the ballroom door.
The guards moved to open it, one lagging behind as the heavy panels creaked apart.
Curse this dress.
“Announcing Priestess—Princess Nienna of Draconia!” The herald’s words cracked, wobbling into an undignified screech.
“The Dragon’s Heart,” I corrected, my voice cool and commanding.
Sweat gleamed on his brow as he darted a panicked glance my way, then back at the stairs. “The Dragon’s Heart!” he managed, his tone rising an octave higher.
The staircase across the room remained empty. No one to distract the audience. Every eye would be on me.
This was not the time to stumble.
I lifted my chin, determination anchoring my steps as I descended the staircase. Each movement was deliberate, measured. The carpet muffled the sound of my boots, its plush weave deceptively soft underfoot. I kept my gaze forward, refusing to meet the sea of stares until I reached the landing.
When I last stood on this landing, it was to announce my betrothal to Tallon. The memory clung to the air, a ghost with harsh edges, heavy and acrid.
This time, the urge to kill him settled in my chest, cold and clear.
