Page 63 of Bride of Ash & Dust

But it would be easy to hide.

I pull the dagger out, then walk to the wardrobe and dig through the drawers until I find a few straps of black leather. When I turn back to Lilias, she’s watching me through narrowed eyes. I tilt my head toward the bathing chamber.

“In there,” I say.

She glances at the mirror. I nod. I’m sure there are ways to watch the bathing chamber too, of course, but for her sake, I haven’t mentioned that. I hold the bathing chamber’s door open while she walks in.

The smell of perfume is stronger in here, mixed with powder and a mélange of other scents I’d have a hard time identifying. It reminds me of the Golden Rose, of the rooms where the women prepare to entertain their paying customers, although I’m smart enough not to voice that particular observation.

“Why would I need a dagger to go to the Planting Festival?” Lilias whispers as I close the door.

I grin at her. “No reason.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and stares at the dagger in my hand. “How many of those are you wearing to the party?”

“Six.”

Her eyes widen. I start to fit the sheath to the leather straps.

“Most likely, you’ll never need it,” I say. “But, the one time you do—” My voice fades, and I hold the dagger out to my wife. “The straps should keep it secure,” I say.

She makes no move to take the blade.

“Where am I supposed to put that?” she asks.

I glance at her ridiculously tight bodice, then down at the waves of crimson silk spilling over her legs.

“On your thigh,” I answer.

“Oh, that’s convenient,” she snaps. “If anyone threatens me while I’m sitting next to the king of Vsenrog for the public Planting Festival, I’ll just ask them to wait a moment while I pull up my skirts.”

“No,” I reply, “you cut a hole in your dress.”

For the first time since I met her on the bleak, cold road outside of Vsenrog, Lilias looks truly shocked.

“Cut?” she says. “This dress?”

I grit my teeth. There it is, some part of me whispers. There’s the difference between life in Marion and life in Vsenrog, right there. My wife grew up in a kingdom where she didn’t need to carry hidden blades.

“Here,” I say, taking a step closer to her. “May I?”

She opens her mouth, like she’s going to argue with me, then closes it. She holds her breath as my fingers brush the cool silk of her skirt.

“You’ll find the pocket,” I say, as I run my hand along her waist, feeling the folds in the silk. “Ah. Here. See?”

I slip my hand into the pocket, pushing past layers of fabric and something that feels like a kerchief.

“Cut a hole right here,” I say. “Then you can reach your dagger.”

She makes a noise, something soft in the back of her throat. Her scent surrounds me, and gods, I’m so close I can see her pulse flutter beneath the skin of her throat. Her dark hair curls around her temple. If I twist my neck, I could brush my lips against the curve of her ear.

I step back, pulling my hand from the thick silk of her dress and grinding my teeth against the sudden rush of interest from my cock. Dumb bastard.

I clear my throat, then raise the dagger once more. The leather straps tremble as I hold it out to Lilias. She’s looking at it like I’ve just suggested she strap a live snake to her thigh.

But she takes it. Her fingers wrap around the sheath, and she holds it in both hands like she’s afraid she’s going to drop it.

“Fine,” she says. “But—how do you put it on?”