Anya gives her a polite smile. “I was told appearances are armor.”
For the first time all evening, I almost laugh.
Larisa’s eyes flick to me. She knows exactly where Anya got that line.
“You remember selectively,” Larisa says.
“I remember useful things.”
The hall goes quiet. A few staff members near the side corridor suddenly find reasons to lower their eyes. Viktor would enjoy this if he were inside. Alexei would have applauded.
Larisa steps closer, scowling now without bothering to disguise it. “Red is a dangerous choice.”
Anya’s smile doesn’t move. “I know.”
Larisa studies her for another moment, and something unpleasant settles behind her eyes. She expected to see a frightened underling’s daughter dressed up beyond her station. She expected something decorative. Something she could dismiss.
“You understand what tonight is?” Larisa asks.
Anya’s smile fades. “Yes.”
“Do you?”
“She does,” I say.
Anya glances at me. I take Anya’s new coat from the waiting maid before anyone else can touch it. Black, lined with fur, fitted to her frame. I step behind her and settle it over her shoulders.
She stills when my hands brush her skin.
Only for a second, but I feel it.
I lean close enough that my voice stays only between us. “You look beautiful.”
Her breath catches. It’s a small thing. Barely sound.
She turns her head slightly, not enough to face me. “That sounded painful for you.”
“It was.”
She almost smiles.
I fasten the coat slowly, my fingers careful at her throat. The urge to touch more is immediate and unwelcome. Her skin is warm. Her perfume is subtle, something clean and expensive under the scent that is only her.
I step away before I forget we are in the hall.
Larisa is still watching. Her scowl has deepened.
Anya turns back to me. “Are you ready?”
I look at her. At the red dress. At the lifted chin. At the woman Dmitri thought he could humiliate and still keep.
“Yes,” I say. “Now I am.”
Her eyes hold mine for a moment. Then she offers me her hand. Her fingers are cool in mine, but her grip is steady. Together, we walk toward the front doors while Larisa stands behind us, silent and displeased.
For once, the old woman has nothing to say.
And that feels like the first victory of the night.
