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“It’s not simply about clothing, Ellie.” His eternal patience in the face of my questions makes me grind my teeth. “It’s about how you are seen and perceived. First impressions carry a lot of weight, particularly among those who have only heard rumors of your arrival with me.”

The young woman waits patiently while we argue … Well, whileIargue. He just stands there. When Sacha nods to her, she comes closer, and holds out her arms, then points at me.

“She wants to measure you. She’s showing you how she wants you to stand.”

I eye him for a second, then sigh dramatically, throwing my head back for maximum effect. The performance earns me somethingI’ve seen perhaps three times since meeting him—a twitch at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile but dangerously close. The tiny crack in his control feels like a small victory, and I have to fight the answering smile tugging at my own lips.

I allow the woman to take her measurements, lifting my arms when guided, turning when prompted. She mutters to herself as she works.

“So, this party.” I change position so she can measure across my shoulders, still oddly pleased with myself for provoking that almost-smile. “What will happen?”

“It’s a celebration of my return. It will formally introduce key Veinwarden leaders, who will acknowledge my position. Following that there will be a reaffirmation of purpose.” While his expression doesn’t change, there’s a hint of something in his tone that suggests he finds these ceremonial aspects tedious. “Afterward, there will be a more traditional relaxed celebration. Food, music, dancing.”

“Your position?” I’m fishing, and not subtly.

“The only remaining Veinblood in Meridian.”

But I know it’s more than that. He’s more than just a return of someone with magical powers.

The young woman finishes her measurements, exchanges a few more words with Sacha, and then departs with a final courtesy to him and a nod in my direction.

“She says she’ll return with your dress in a couple of hours. The gathering begins at twilight.”

“What if I don’t want to go?”

His eyebrow arches, a subtle shift that manages toconvey volumes. One hand lifts between us, shadows coiling between his fingers like smoke waiting for command. The darkness thickens, pulls into itself, becomes something almost tangible. When he points at me, the tendrils unfurl, and wrap around my wrist.

“I could make you attend, Mel’shira.” His voice is low, almost idle, and soft. The gentleness in his tone is a stark contrast to the demonstration of power.

Mel’shira?He said that once before. Before I can ask its meaning, he flicks two fingers, and the shadows pull. I stumble forward, my breath catching as the distance between us narrows. My free hand rises to brace against his chest but stops short, hovering in the space between us.

The grip on my wrist isn’t painful, but for one heartbeat, I can’t tell if he’s warning me, teasing me … or seeing how close he can bring me before I try and resist.

“I won’t, of course. It’s entirely your choice.”

He releases me, the shadows unraveling, leaving nothing but the ghost of pressure against my wrist, and the memory of how easily he closed the space between us.

“But your absence will generate questions I’m not certain either of us wants to answer quite yet.”

I stay where I am, frozen in place, while my heart races. His head tilts, a faint acknowledgement, then he turns. My heart hasn’t slowed by the time he leaves, his coat brushing the door frame as he passes through.

I rub my wrist where the shadows touched me, skin tingling in their wake. I consider going after him, demanding an explanation,some clearer line about what just happened, but I don’t. The truth is, I’m not sure I want clarification.

I don’t even know why I’m arguing about the gathering at all. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.

Dropping onto the bed, I sprawl out on the mattress and try to practice the words from Mira’s lessons. Anything to distract me from the evening ahead. But my mind keeps returning to the lightstone, and the way everyone looked at me afterward. The suspicion, fear, and curiosity on their faces bothers me more than I want to admit.

Worse still is how my thoughts drift to the way the shadows felt coiling around my wrist, the pull of them drawing me closer before he let me go. The way his fingers flicked through the air.

And the moment, brief as it was, when I saw a crack in Sacha’s mask. That almost-smile.

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t mean anything … but somehow, it does.

A sharp knock at the door jerks me awake, disorienting me. I sit up too fast, blinking, as the door swings open. Several women arrive as afternoon turns into evening. They bring not just clothing, but basins of steaming water, combs, and what I think might be cosmetics.

One of them lays a dress across my bed. A breathtaking sweep of deep blue fabric that shimmers like a midnight sky before full dark. Silver embroidery traces constellations along the neckline and sleeves, patterns that catch and hold the light.

It’s beautiful in a way I didn’t expect, and the sight of it makesthe breath catch in my throat. If I put it on, if I wear it, I’ll look like I belong here. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.