Page 75

Bria

R eadying for a ball back home had taken time, but not like this.

This is far more extensive. I had been bathed and scrubbed, familiar scents of vanilla and jasmine wafting from my now-pink skin.

Afterward, I was forced to sit for an uncomfortable amount of time and have now been standing for an equally excruciating period. My back aches.

My hair took the longest. Curling it at the long length I’ve let it grow to is no small feat.

The women attending me said it was no trouble at all, but I could tell they wished I kept it a shorter, more acceptable length.

When I leave it down it typically brushes the middle of my back.

Now curled, I can feel it tickling the skin past my shoulders.

No one back at the camp cared about the length of my hair since I was no longer a lady.

But here, here it’s different.I’m expected to act as I would back in Elwyn and changing my appearance and habits after five years where I’ve had no societal rules is proving difficult.

The last ball I attended was the last time my hair was curled and a small smile creeps across my lips as I think back to those times.

To all the balls and parties. To Cedric.

He’d commented on it curled once, told me I looked beautiful when it was done.

I still remember that night when he tugged on one of the curls and later when he dragged his hands through it.

And from then on, I’d asked Elia to help me curl it before any of the balls or gatherings where I might see him, making sure he would notice each time, that he would notice me . He always did.

But the rush of lust I felt when I was with him was always fleeting.

It didn’t stay coiled around me, curling my stomach into knots each time I saw him.

I’d wanted Cedric and I’d cared for him.

I did love him, truly. And even now, I have that distant hope that he is happy and has found someone to settle down with in our old town.

But those feelings, that love, was nothing compared to what I feel around Ev. And what I feel when he’s gone.

When he’s gone, I feel wildly out of control of my power.

It wasn’t like this at home, but it is here, where my enemies stand by my side and speak with me, touch me.

I can’t bear it and I know I’m losing my grip.

But when he stays next to me, something shifts.

His touch is soothing, calming. It’s almost as if he is absorbing some of the fire, some of the magic.

Like he’s sucking it in and allowing my body to quiet.

Different from how Silas strengthened it, made the fire burn with a vengeance, Ev seems to relax the flames, contain them.

The women helping me, Leniah and Jaleesa, are kind and make small talk with me, discussing which of the king’s guards they find attractive and commenting on how lucky I am to be dining with the king.

Both are beautiful young women who have no idea the horror of a dynasty they work for.

They live in blissful ignorance, not unlike how Nimai and I were before I came of age.

Though would they have a choice anyway? Born into a working class, I know they are lucky to have these jobs working for the king.

As they finish with the gown, I watch them straightening pieces and removing pins the seamstress left.My muscles are screaming from standing like this and the relief at knowing it’s coming to an end and that they are finishing up is washing over me.

Jaleesa strides to the armoire, throwing the doors open to reveal the full-length mirror within.

“Take a look, my lady.”

My breath catches in my throat. My deep blue eyes are rimmed in ebony and silver, lashes coated in a black shine, my lips a sharp crimson.

And the gown. The gown is even more amazing now that it’s complete.

It seems far too much for a dinner somewhere I don’t intend on staying.

But no one aside from Evander has the knowledge that we are leaving, that we are here to save my sister and for nothing else.

So really, there is no reason to not be draped in luxury.

Not when I am their future.

Stomach churning with the words Father Mallory spoke to me earlier, I can only imagine how Nimai felt when she was told.

She doesn’t deal with the dark side of the prophecy.

She was never forced to come to terms with death before she had lived a full life.

For me, even if I was stuck here and forced to live the life Mallory wants of me, I would only be trading one death for another.

But once the prophecy is fulfilled, Nimai is to go on living, able to build a future she wants.

So to be told she is instead to be used as a vessel, to breed a new line of powerful people for the same bastards who ripped apart our family…

The hurt she felt would have been unbearable, burdened by the disgust and the despair that must have taken her over down in the dungeons. And she had been all by herself. Alone.

But she is no longer alone, and I will make sure that she gets that life.

When I glance back down at the gown, I can’t help but wish I could keep it.

The smooth fabric is a deep midnight black that clings around me at the bodice, flowing down in a lavish skirt once it hits the bottom of my waist. The front of the bodice dips low, cutting a deep sweetheart neckline that reveals my collarbone and an expanse of cleavage.

The back comes down just as low, and the ivory skin of my upper arms and shoulders can be seen contrasting with the dark fabric.

There’s a feeling of overexposure with this much skin showing, especially here.

The sleeves begin a few inches down my arm.

They are sheer ebony fabric, cut off before the inside of my elbow, while the back tapers down the length of my arms. A long slit runs the length of the front, from the base of the skirt up to my waist. It reveals my legs any time I take a step, only covered by the skirt underneath that rises well above my knees.

Back home, the gorgeous gown would be scandalous, though the fashion is more modern in Easthallow.

With silver threading woven throughout the dress, it sparkles in the light, and I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t made of pure silver or even moonlight.

It has been spun into whorls along the bodice, the arms, and the skirt, making the entire dress glitter, looking like a trail of swirling starlight along my legs.

Had it not been crafted by the king and his court, I might see it as an honor to wear it, something that is so clearly made for me, to recognize my connection to the dark side of magic.

They are not honoring Lilith with this dress, though, nor Uldnoir.

This is an homage to Vaohr, only acknowledging that I hold the darker side of his power.

It is a bit amusing, this whole night and the conversation I’m about to have with the king. None of the people who will sit at that table know of my ability to raise the dead. They are asking me, the mistress of nightmares, to bring forth life. Ironic.

Evander still doesn’t know about the conversation with Father Mallory, and likely won’t until later tonight. I glance toward the clock on the mantle and see how close the time is. We have merely fifteen minutes before we are expected downstairs.

Leniah removes the amulet Quinn gave me and sets it aside for the dinner tonight.

In its place she now drapes a silver choker dripping with sapphires and diamonds along my neck.

The center stone is radiant—a circular diamond, bigger than anything I have ever seen, that reflects the blue of the sapphires encrusted around it.

It’s a glowing orb like that of the temple.

Or the moon. I clutch at it, feeling the cool, smooth surface of the stones as Leniah steps back.

I thank the two women and as they walk together to the door, I move to shut the armoire, a bit shaken by the image staring back at me. When I turn, I catch Ev standing in the doorway. He slipped through as the women were leaving.

I must stop breathing when I see the striking figure he cuts in the fine, black dress clothes.

A broad chest and shoulders ripple down into muscular arms and abs, all noticeable in the way the fabric clings to him.

The dark onyx of his tunic and pants makes his hair appear a darker hue and his chocolate eyes deepen into wide pools, more inky than brown.

The corner of his mouth turns up, revealing that sunken dimple on his left cheek, and my heart resumes beating, racing to catch back up.

He drags his eyes down the front of my body in the formfitting gown.

Ev doesn’t take his gaze from me as he reaches behind himself to lock the door and starts moving toward me—a slow prowl with a bottle of whiskey and a leather strap dangling from his hand.

As he nears me, I realize I need to breathe and gulp down air. His hand reaches around my back, his rough fingers moving along the fabric until they meet bare skin, and the smile widens. He brings his lips to graze along my jaw.

“Oh, the gown is worth it,” he remarks, the words trailing along my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake and an ache between my legs.

I lean into him, breathing in sandalwood. Such a difference from the usual lemongrass he smells of, but a delicious scent nonetheless. His lips remain by my ear in a featherlight kiss as his hand flattens against my back.

“You like it?”

He moves his head again, hovering his lips above mine and allowing me to stare into his gold-flecked irises.

“I love it. Though I would prefer it on the floor,” he murmurs against my lips before pressing into me and sending a flood of desire into my body at the imagery.

I can taste the spice of the whiskey on his tongue as he moves it inside, licking along the edge of my lips as he goes.

I want him to keep kissing me, to drown out the world around us.

I push back into him, letting my own tongue graze along his, sending sparks shooting down my spine.

His touch and words send arousal to the deepest parts of me.

We could easily stay like this, melting into one another, exploring with our mouths. But reality is knocking, and we have places to be. As if we both understand this at the same time, we part, and I let out a long sigh.

He smiles again, his lips slightly reddened by my lipstick, and I reach my thumb up to fade the stain from his skin.

He presses his lips to my hand and I have the shocking realization that everything about him is perfect, as if he were made for me.

His touch calms me, his voice steadies me, he makes me feel alive.

Evander holds out the bottle of whiskey. “Drink up, my lady,” he says, a teasing lilt to his voice.

My body starts to thrum with energy the second my lips hit the top of the bottle.

I’m going to see my sister. I take a long swig, letting the warmth of the liquid seep down my throat and letting my eyes flutter closed.

It’s good, something higher quality here in the capital than the whiskey back in the camp.

I take another long drink when I notice my hands are starting to shake.

I have never been this nervous in my life, not that I can remember.

Evander grasps the bottle and I open my eyes to see him watching me, his eyes fixed on mine. I lift it from his grasp and take one more sip, not breaking my gaze. He huffs out a laugh and snatches the bottle from my hand before I can take any more.

“I think that’s enough if you want to be standing when you go downstairs. Did you even eat anything?” he asks accusingly, arching a brow.

I grimace. I haven’t eaten since this morning. My stomach growls in response to his words and he shakes his head disapprovingly.

“That’s what I thought.” With that, he takes a long pull off the bottle and moves to set it by the bed. He strides back over to me and picks up my hand, placing the leather strap he holds into my palm.

“For your dagger,” he offers, his eyes darkening.

I let out a laugh as I examine the thin strap, a small sheath attached to one side. I have always worn my daggers in a bandolier, just like the men.

“Where exactly is that supposed to go?” I query and he takes it back, holding out the loop of soft leather for me to see as he kneels before me. My stomach tenses at the sight and I involuntarily clench my thighs together.

“Let me show you,” he purrs, and he lifts my right leg, sliding the band upward, past the hem of my skirt. His fingers brush against my inner thigh and I suck in a breath. Thoughts of the other night come slamming back to me.

Evander watches me closely, as if he fully comprehends all the dirty things that are coursing through my mind.

He smirks as he tightens the strap before dropping my skirt back into place.

His hand shoots into his boot and he straightens, pressing the hilt of a dagger into my palm.

I take it graciously and lift the skirt to slide it into the sheath.

With the long slit and short inner skirt, it’s easier to access than I would have imagined.

Ev holds out his hand and I reach for him, letting our fingers clasp together.

“Let’s go see your sister,” he says with a grin, and I squeeze his hand as we walk out the door.