Page 167 of Daggermouth

The drugs began to take effect, spreading through her system like warm honey, dulling the sharp edges of her pain without clouding hermind. Relief flooded her muscles, allowing her to straighten slightly, to draw a deeper breath without the knife-like stab between her ribs.

She took one last look at the plaza below, at the predators gathering hungry for others’ suffering, then turned away and moved toward the dress.

The fabric slipped through her fingers like water, cool and sleek against her skin. Lira had chosen well—the high slit would allow her to move, to fight if necessary, but she’d doubted that was her reason for choosing it.

Do not hide the damage he has done to you, let the world see the monster he really is when the time is right.

Understanding dawned slowly. This wasn’t just a dress—it was a statement. A weapon. Evidence.

Shadera slipped it over her head, wincing as she raised her arms to guide it down her body. The silk clung to her curves, the white fabric stark against her dark skin. The neckline dipped between her breasts, exposing more bruising along her collarbones, while the back plunged low enough to reveal the constellation of scars and bruising littered there.

She gathered the scarf in her arms as she slipped into the black heels at the foot of the bed, then reached for the mask last, the familiar weight settling in her hands. The skull grinned back at her as if it were the promise of death, a reminder of what she was—what she’d always been.

She forced herself to take a deep breath, testing the medicine’s limits, then exhaled as she turned toward the door.

It was time.

Greysonstoodinthecenter of the living room, staring at the note in his hand as if it might transform into something else if he glared at it long enough. Lira’s script swam before his eyes, each word a weight settling into his bones.

Trust the Captain. He’s with us. When the time comes, follow his lead.

The rest of the note contained instructions for the ceremony, details he’d already committed to memory, but it was those three words that kept repeating in his head.

Trust the captain.

A soft sound pulled his attention away from the paper, the soft click of heels against marble. He dragged his eyes upward and audibly gasped.

She was light given form standing at the edge of the room. The dress exposed the brutality of what she’d survived these last few days, the bruises blooming across flesh like violent flowers.

And yet, despite it all—despite the damage mapped across her skin—she was breathtaking.

Something caught in Greyson’s chest as the realization finally, truly, settled into him. This woman was about to become his wife.

The thought should have disgusted him. Should have filled him with rage, with revulsion. Instead, he felt a strange, twisted knot of emotions that he couldn’t begin to untangle—protectiveness, admiration, desire, guilt, all of it tangled up with one single, horrifying truth.

He wanted to be her husband.

“Did you get one from Lira too?” Shadera asked, her voice rougher than usual, proof of the screams she’d swallowed in that cell.

Greyson’s throat worked, suddenly dry. He cleared it with a sharp cough, forcing his gaze back to the paper in his hand. “Yes,” he answered, the word coming out hoarse. “It was left by my suit.”

She took a step into the room, moving carefully. She must have received medicine as well, he realized, noting how she held herselfstraighter than should have been possible with her injuries. Still, he could see the cost of each movement in the tightness around her mouth, the careful way she distributed her weight.

The air was tight between them now, charged and uneasy in a way it hadn’t been before. The casualness in how they’d existed around the other, even while planning each other’s deaths, was gone, replaced by caution.

“Mine said we can trust the captain,” she said, her good eye fixed on his face, searching for his reaction.

Greyson nodded once, sharp and quick. “Mine says the same.” His gaze flicked toward the door separating them from the Veyra, then back to her. “If that’s the case, we should prepare ourselves.”

Confusion flickered across her features. “What do you mean?”

He gestured his head toward his bedroom at her back as he strode toward it. As Greyson passed her, for one single second his eyes fluttered shut, his breath catching in his lungs as her scent engulfed him. A low groan slipped over his lips as he forced himself to keep moving.

She followed him down the hallway and into his room, then paused at the threshold of his closet as he entered. He moved to the back corner and knelt. His fingers found the edge of a floorboard, lifting it to reveal a hidden compartment beneath.

Inside lay a small arsenal—four handguns, a collection of knives, spare ammunition, all with serial numbers that would never be traced back to him, unlike the ones in his weapons room.

He glanced up at Shadera as she leaned against the doorframe to steady herself. Greyson selected one of the guns and checked its chamber, then rose, extending the weapon toward her grip first.