Page 87 of Where Darkness Falls

“I bet you ten silver coins that she chooses Virgil,” Riordan whispers.

Laisren laughs, then not so quietly replies, “I bet you twenty that Emyr will?—”

“Enough,” I command, pinching the bridge of my nose.

What in bloody Celestae is wrong with me?

Since when do I pick fights like a scorned teenager?

“I apologize for my behavior, Virgil,” I say.

The mysterious Galrosan nods his head, sitting down once more.

“Can we discuss the reason I’m actually here?” I ask, allowing my shadows to unfurl from me.

“Yes, High General,” they reply in unison.

My shadows dome around us.

“Let’s begin then.”

Knock!Knock!

“Come in,” I call out.

Emyr definitely enjoys being punctual,I think to myself.

Tilly is putting the finishing touches on my hair when the door swings open. One by one, the Galrosans file into the large room, donning their obsidian steel armor. Their eyes widen, as their postures become rigid. None of them utter a word.

After several long moments of silence, I ask, “Is something wrong?” I look down at my dress, but I don’t see any flaws. The crimson satin, off-the-shoulder gown Tilly chose for me is truly stunning. Thousands of glittering sparkles spread out across the dress like a canopy of stars. The sleeves are slightly puffed toward the ends nearest my hands, but two bands cuff the material at my wrists. The corseted top cinches in at my waist, showingoff my figure, while the skirt sweeps the floor, with a slit to the right that stops above my knees.

I don’t see anything wrong with the dress, yet not a single one of the Galrosans appears to breathe, let alone blink.

I shift from one foot to the other as Tilly places the last bit of black baby’s breath in the small waterfall braid she’s created through my hair. She kept my wavy curls in their natural state, only leaving down a few pieces to frame my face. I’ve yet to see her work, but with how they are boring holes into me, I am afraid to look.

“Looooivvvvveeiiiiley,” Tilly beams, grabbing my shoulders to turn me toward the large mirror.

My lips part slightly as I stare at the reflection before me. I think it’s my face, yet somehow it looks so different. No wonder the members of the Cadre are glancing at me as if I’ve grown a third head.

Compared to the drunk and bloodied woman they found in The Violet Lily, this woman is striking—confident, even. The deep crimson accents my strawberry hair and pale skin beautifully, drawing out the rosiness of my cheeks. My waves spill over my shoulders as the floral wreath woven into the half-braid makes me appear regal.

My outward appearance is in complete contrast to the worry and fear that swirls around inside of me. Perhaps this is a type of armor—distracting others from what I truly feel.

Is that why Emyr always wears his armor?I wonder. If so, then perhaps we have more in common than I originally believed.

One of the men clears their throat, forcing me to turn back toward them.

Virgil removes his helmet, crossing the room to me.

“You look radiant, Maeva,” he says, a gleam of pride in his features.

“I agree,” Riordan says, joining Virgil’s side. He whistles low, gesturing for me to spin once more.

I laugh, obliging him.

“You definitely aren’t the reeking woman from the floral shop anymore,” Riordan teases. “You look like a princess.”

“You’re quite lovely, Maeva,” Laisren interjects from his place beside Emyr.