Page 92 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Wiping the crumbs from my mouth, I turned in my seat. Faren was already walking toward me, his skin ruddy and shimmering with the sweat of his labor. He rested those ropey forearms on the bar. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I said around a bite of pastry.

Faren had been asleep when I returned to our room last night and gone when I awoke this morning. I’d been relieved on both counts, but also—for reasons I did not wish to dissect—disappointed. I knew we were becoming too chummy, and that I should push him away, but as he leaned on the counter beside me, my resolve slackened.

“Anya overheard your conversation,” Faren said to Hattie. “She sent word for the seamstress.”

Hattie lifted her chin. “Anya, if you can hear me,” she called to the unseen sound magician outside, “you are the bride. Do not concern yourself with logistics on your wedding day.”

“I don’t need a seamstress,” I reiterated. “I’ll just wait here.”

“Nonsense,” Faren said brightly. “It’ll be fun.”

“Faren—”

“Have you ever been to a small-town wedding?” he asked. “They’re splendid affairs. My family used to attend them in the towns neighboring our estate. I know Lothgaimian customs are a bit different, but trust me, you won’t want to miss it.”

“Faren,” I insisted through gritted teeth, ignoring the amused look on Hattie’s face as she mashed more berries behind the bar. “I believe you’ve lost sight of our mission…”

He nudged my arm with his elbow, and instead of my magic prickling at the contact, it sparked. “Come on,it’ll be fun,” he repeated. “You do know how to have fun, don’t you?”

“Did someone request a dress?” A slender woman with a kind, angular face hurried through the open doorway, the heels of her fashionable boots striking the hardwood at a quick pace. A mountain of garments were draped over her arm and a cloth tape measure was looped around her neck.

“No,” I said at the same time Hattie replied, “Yes.”

Faren wiped a hand over his mouth, smothering a grin. He leaned closer to me, his breath hot on my cheek. “Live a little.” Then he was retreating from the counter. “I’m going to bathe. I’ll meet you down here before the festivities begin.”

“Come now, dear, let’s get you measured,” the seamstress said, grasping my arm. Her fingers were cool and firm as she tugged at me. I winced at the contact, but didn’t snap at her, instead sliding off my stool in the hopes that my compliance would cause her to let go.

She did, gesturing for me to follow her upstairs.

I grabbed the breakfast pastry that Faren had requested for me and shoved the rest of it in my mouth, crumbs tumbling down the front of my unsuitable shirt as I plodded up the stairs.

When the seamstress reached the door with the lavender sprig, she unlocked it and led me inside. Garments were littered all over the floor, along with trampled flower petals and cast-aside stems. There was no sign of guests staying here—it looked like a spare room being used for dressing.

“Iknewshe had extra availability,” I muttered to myself, vowing to hound Anya later for a second room—wedding day be damned.

“Arms up,” the seamstress said once we were alone inside.

I did the opposite, tucking my arms against my chest. “Can you not—” I cleared my throat. “I don’t like to be touched.”

Her smile was quick and warm. “No problem. Here”—she handed me the tape measure—“I need your over-bust, under-bust, waist, and height.”

While I measured and read the numbers, she rifled through the pile of garments until she eventually found two options for me to try. “Normally I would offer to help you into them, but I’m guessing you’d like to do that on your own?” When I nodded, she went for the door. “Take your time,” she said, before leaving me.

I traced my finger along the two dresses, considering their textures. One was a deep turquoise with a rather unpleasant linen-like fabric, and the other was cinnamon colored with a silky bodice and lining. I toed off my boots and stripped out of my clothes, reaching for the second option. It was a struggle to get the layers of the skirt over my head and tighten the laces in the back on my own, but when I finally succeeded in donning the dress, it felt…good.

I was no stranger to dresses. I’d worn them as a girl, of course, and a few instances in adulthood. In truth, I preferred them—the rich fabrics, the freedom of my legs under billowing skirts,the luxury of their impracticality. Tight trousers and black shirts were the uniform of my Order, but not my heart.

Even so, the thrill that went through me at the opportunity to dress up was…unexpected.

I turned toward the floor-length mirror in the corner, observing the fit. It had a square neckline, a cinched bodice, and a tiered skirt that wasn’t too full or cumbersome. There was no pinching, no odd restriction. The color carried a slight shimmer, and the hue suited me, bringing out the richness in my eyes and the messy waves of my hair. Most importantly, the fabric was divine, far silkier than the rough textures I normally wore.

In my reflection, I watched as a smile teased my lips.

“Any luck?” the seamstress asked through the door.

I turned the knob, allowing her a look.