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I think I know what I’m going to wear to Corvan’s banquet.
I don’t want to turn up adorned in lace and silks and jewels like some highborn court lady. I’m not going to paint my face and display myself like a flower amongst the thorns.
I’m going to wear whatIchoose.
And I’m going to see how Corvan Duthriss reacts.
Does the Archduke of Tyron merely want a beautiful jewel sitting beside him? A trophy wife to be seen and not heard, the way Lady Dorava is to my father?
No…I don’t want to believe that.
A vivid memory flashes through my mind.
Of him.
After he drank from me, he was so gentle. Protective. Warm. Unassuming. For a moment, it felt like we were just two ordinary people, and titles and ranks and his strangeconditiondidn’t matter.
My heart beats faster as I select a pair of trousers. They’re deep blue; high-waisted and tapered at the leg. I slip out of my loose pants and pull them on.
They fit like a glove.
I shrug off my knitted tunic and select an elegant white shirt made of fine cotton. It’s clean and crisp and very well fitted, just like the trousers. I do up the shimmering mother-of-pearl buttons before fixing the cuffs. Then I tuck it into my trousers, fastening the gold buttons on either side.
Next is a structured jacket, with long tails and sleek lapels, in the same rich blue as the trousers.
I walk across the room to the dressing table and look at myself in the mirror.
The wound on my lip has healed perfectly, thanks to Corvan’s magical blood. I look confident and assured. The clothing fits me well, the cut accentuating my shape. I’ve been told that my shoulders and arms a little too strong andun-delicate. Lady Dorava often remarked that my small chest needsenhancementto match my narrow waist and wide hips and thighs.
A rather unfortunate figure, that’s difficult to dress,my step-mother used to say.
But the clothes I’m wearing now fit perfectly. Somehow, I look taller, but maybe that’s just because I’m standing a little straighter.
Still, there’s something missing. The outfit is a luxurious backdrop, but it needs an accent.
I rummage through the smaller boxes and bags until something catches my eye—a russet colored silk scarf, intricately embroidered with gold and green threads; twisting vines with delicate leaves.
It reminds me of autumn. It tickles my fancy a whole lot.
I pick it up, running my fingers over the sumptuous fabric. I fold it lengthways several times and tie it around my neck, forming a loose bow.
I look in the mirror again, turning my head this way and that. The gold threads shimmer in the light, accentuating the gold-and-red highlights in my dark hair.
In all of my existence, I don’t ever remember wearing anything I’ve liked so very, very much.
I run my fingers through my hair and twist it up into a bun. A pair of gold enamelled hair pins lie on the dresser. I use them to secure my hair. Each is decorated with a small pink lily flower.
Strands of hair escape, falling around my face, but I don’t mind. It softens my appearance.
The glossy lacquered boxes on the dresser draw my attention. They’re of various sizes; some flat and square, about the size of my palm. Others are small, like a matchbox.
I open one.
A pair of teardrop-shaped rubies glitters inside.
I gasp. Each gemstone is as big as my thumbnail. They’re suspended on curved golden hooks, brilliantly cut and faceted to catch the light.
They remind me of Corvan Duthriss’s eyes.
