Page 86 of Embers of Ruin

That last part, at least, wasn’t my fault.

Probably.

“You look well today, Lieutenant,” I say.

Mazelle's eyes narrow, the corner of her mouth curling with dry amusement. “How kind of you to notice.”

“Of course I did, especially after yesterday.”

“I know what you meant.” Her tone is dry and flat.

“You flew pretty far,” I say, looking her over. “I’d have a healer check for a concussion, just to be safe.”

“Fortunately,” Mazelle replies without missing a beat, “my skull is considerably harder than yours.”

A smile threatens at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it. “If it helps, I didn’t mean to throw you.”

“It does not, Lady Tarethyn.”

“Ah. I thought it wouldn’t.”

She steps farther into the room, and only then do I notice the bundle draped over one arm. Black fabric spills over her sleeve, catching the firelight with deep blue undertones. Silver thread glimmers along the edges like frost.

My stomach immediately sinks.

“No. Not today.”

Mazelle doesn’t even blink. “You have not heard what I am here to say.”

“You’re holding a gown, which means whatever you’re here to say will be terrible.”

“His Majesty requires your presence at dinner.”

I stare at her, then at the gown for a long moment before my eyes drift back to hers.

“No,” I repeat, because sometimes the simplest answer is the most satisfying.

Mazelle moves to the bed and lays the gown across the dark furs as if I have agreed to anything at all. “The royal court gathers tonight. Advisors, selected noble houses, scholars, and foreign envoys from the southern settlements will be present.”

“How unfortunate for them. I’m sure it’ll be deeply unpleasant.”

“You will attend.”

I arch a brow, intent on staying in this room for the rest of the day. “I’ve developed a sudden illness.”

“His Majesty will send a physician to tend to you.”

“Then tell him I died.”

...I’m fairly certain nothing would make her happier.

“He will want proof.”

He’d probably march beyond the Fields of Elyucia, drag me out of Illurine’s afterlife, and deposit me right back into his personal hell because, as he so frequently reminds me...

I am his.

I hate that I know this, but I do. His possessiveness seems to know no bounds—not even the gods could keep him from me if he decided otherwise.