Page 18 of Fortune's Blade

Claire shot him a look. “So, I thought that a change was in order. I borrowed Louis-Cesare something from Tanet and Tamris donated yours, Dory. She feels bad.”

“She feels bad?” I stared at her. “She almost threw Louis-Cesare to his death!”

“It was a mistake; he startled her—”

“And you therefore get a dress,” he said sardonically.

“—and since we don’t want any more mistakes, put it on! The food will be served soon!”

I didn’t know why that mattered so much, but Claire was looking positively panicked. I decided that I was past worrying about it and unwrapped the dress. It turned out to be a floaty yellow and orange number with speckles of silver, which wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that it was almost identical in style to the one that Claire was almost wearing. Louis-Cesare’s was the same only in royal blue to match his eyes and with striations of gold running through a slightly heavier, more velvety, fabric. But both were . . . not exactly modest.

Claire saw me noticing. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dory! This is no time to be prudish! We have to make a good impression.”

“We’ll make an impression, all right,” I said, noticing that the robes were open on both sides, so that a scaley ass had somewhere to go when it shot outward. But for us . . . a belt might help, but not much since I guessed I wasn’t supposed to wear underwear with it. Claire didn’t, judging by the flash of something further up than thigh that I occasionally got. The amount of fabric was fairly voluminous, since it was expected to cover more flesh than we had, but still. Were snaps out of the question?

But I noticed her glare and swallowed the comment.

She was really good at that.

I put on the dress. It actually covered me pretty well, but only because it was massive. It trailed the ground by at least two feet, and may as well have been a tent. One of those with multiple rooms that slept a family of eight.

Claire looked me up and down and sighed, because no way could I walk in it. I wasn’t buckling to the ground only because it was as light as a feather, and softer than any silk I’d ever touched. It felt like wearing a cloud, and complimented my short dark hair and black eyes as if it had been made for me. Tamris had good taste.

But it also made me look like a kid wearing her mother’s clothes.

I was swimming in this thing!

“I could run up to my room,” Claire offered. “I’m a bit taller, but I should have something—”

“Aren’t we late?” Louis-Cesare asked, causing her to turn on him angrily. Those two had butted heads ever since they met, and things had only softened somewhat after the wedding. But this time, her expression shifted into something other than anger, causing me to glance back at my partner and—

Damn.

No, seriously.

Damn.

Louis-Cesare was six feet four, which put him on the short side for a shifter, at least of this variety. But Tanet wasn’t fully gown yet, either, being a rambunctious teenager. And the robes that probably left him looking like the gangly, half-grown kid that he was looked . . . different . . . on our resident super model.

They were still too big, but the extra fabric hung nicely off of broad shoulders and fell in rich folds to the floor. The sides were presumably open, but Louis-Cesare appeared to have secured them well, I guessed with more of the little ties, and you couldn’t tell. With his wide rapier belt to gird the whole thing in leather, his abundant auburn locks cascading past his shoulders, his strong jaw and keen blue eyes . . .

Well.

“You just need a crown,” Claire said, and then she flushed.

“I will take that as a compliment,” he said, bowing over her hand.

I didn’t say anything. He did look a lot like a medieval king, one of those effigies carved out of marble and lying in prayerful repose in a cathedral somewhere. But he also, surprisingly, looked like a dragon. One in human form, but believable nonetheless.

Unlike me.

“I’m wearing what I came in,” I told Claire, throwing off an acre of soft fabric and revealing the wine-colored slip dress I hadn’t bothered to take off. “If my five foot two scares anyone, they’ll just have to remain scared.”

“It’s not about scaring them as much as fitting in,” she said, tearing her eyes away from Louis-Cesare. “You need to look like you belong here—”

“But I don’t belong here. And nobody is going to believe that I do.”