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“No.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Atticus says. “Why don’t I take her down?”
“No.” Zander glares at his brother.
“But he doesn’t know that I don’t remember who I am—”
“You are not going anywhere near him or any other Ybarisan!”
I steal a look at Atticus, who shrugs nonchalantly. If he’s bothered by Zander’s stubbornness, he doesn’t let on. “We have both of Queen Neilina’s heirs. What do you suppose she’ll do when she discovers that?”
But Zander isn’t sharing in his brother’s amusement, his jaw rigid as he weighs me beneath a calculating gaze. “By the time she hears of it, one of them will already be dead. I’ll be sure to send along his remains for her this time. Elisaf!”
My guard pokes his head in almost immediately. “Your Highness.”
“Romeria wishes to return to her rooms for the rest of the day. I believe she has some garments to burn.”
I guess that means no afternoon walk with Annika. That’s fine. I think I’ve had enough of this place and these people for the day.
“Lovely, Your Highness.” Dagny’s words are muffled around brass pins held between her pursed lips.
I had barely sat down to my bowl of potato and parsnip stew when the seamstress arrived for a fitting, her arms laden with silk and chiffon, already cut to size in a gown. I didn’t mind the interruption, though. The woman’s jaunty personality is a welcome reprieve from boredom.
Corrin was right, I admit, as I peer in the full-length mirror and take in the tangible version of my sketch. Dagny is a marvel, and she works quickly, her nimble fingers adjusting the seams to better fit me. The cinched waist, the sleek, delicate sleeves that reach to the marble floor, blending in with the skirts in a cape-like fashion. The material covers all my scars without mummifying me, and the color—a pale bluish-gray shade I never would’ve chosen for myself—flatters my eyes and skin and contrasts well with my hair.
“Just how you wanted it, yes?” Dagny’s muted green eyes are dazzling with excitement as she steps back.
“It’s incredible.” I shift my leg, watching the material part on my thigh.
“It might be my greatest piece yet. No one has seen anything like it, you can be sure of that.”
No one here has seen anything like it.
“You will be the talk of the court, Your Highness.”
“I’m already the talk of the court.” I smooth a finger over the seam at the waist.
“Oh, don’t worry. That will flatten out when I stitch it properly.” Dagny waves my hand away. “Well?” She turns to Corrin, who has been oddly quiet. “Don’t you think Her Highness looks radiant?”
“If attention is what she wishes, she will certainly succeed. You’ll be showing off your undergarments.”
She’s referring to the high slit, no doubt. “I won’t wear them.” It wouldn’t be the first time I avoided seams by leaving my panties at home.
Corrin’s mouth gapes and she mutters something I—happily—don’t catch.
“Oh, one more here.” Dagny reaches for another pin, tucked into a small tin that sits on a side table. “Yes. That’s better.” She nods with satisfaction. “I’ll have this finished up in time for the royal repast.”
“Can’t wait,” I mutter. A new dress for a torture celebration.
“I suppose those Ybarisan monsters will get what’s deserved.” Dagny flinches. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness.”
“No, it’s okay. They are monsters.” May as well play the part convincingly. Though I don’t know if being chained up and fed from is what anyone deserves.
“I hear those brutes killed one of Lady and Lord Rengard’s tributaries. Slit her throat from ear to ear.” She tsks. “Just terrible.”
“Those men killed a mortal?” Nobody mentioned that.
“You be careful removing that gown. It’s full of pins. You’re liable to bleed all over that light material and ruin it before you get to strut around without your underthings,” Corrin answers curtly, steering the conversation away from talk of murder and gossip.
