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She emerged forty minutes later, having done a pretty good job with her hair and make-up, if she said so herself.

Her hair was curled into a cascade of waves, her eyes dark and sultry. She seldom wore lipstick since her natural lip color was a dark berry. But she’d added a slick of gloss that highlighted her cupid’s bow.

For once, she’d given in to Daa’sten’s endless cajoling to wear vertiginous shoes which would lessen the height difference between her and the average Vraxian. The crystal-embellished footwear he’d sent raised her six inches off the floor and were surprisingly comfortable to walk in.

But the star of the show was undoubtedly the dress. It was, as per Daa’sten’s usual standards, a thing of beauty. He’d designed it to look as if it was made of flames. Layers of red and orange billowed as she walked, and light-changing crystals on the bodice gave the illusion of fire licking at her neck and shoulders.

She knew she’d nailed it when Vahn laid eyes on her. For once, he was speechless.

“Well?”

she asked, after he’d stared for a full thirty seconds. “Do you like it?”

It was only with the greatest of effort that he managed to keep his reply neutral.

“You look fine.”

“Do me up?”

She turned and he saw the back of the dress had a dozen little buttons that needed fastening. He began to close them, cursing under his breath as he pulled at the dress, wondering why he’d suddenly become so clumsy.

She moved her hair to one side to get it out of his way and he saw the tattoo of a little bird-of-prey high on her shoulder. Its wings were outstretched, its curved beak open. Seeing it sent a jolt through his whole system.

“Vahn? You okay? Sorry it’s a bit fiddly.”

“It is no problem.”

He finished buttoning the dress and she turned around.

“Thanks. You look nice too.”

Though nice hardly did him justice. He was wearing a silk tunic of the palest grey slashed to the waist, drawing attention to the breadth of his shoulders and the taut musculature of his chest.

His trousers were tight and fitted, made from butter-soft leather of purest white. His feet were bare, as was the Vraxian custom, but his clawed toes were adorned with rings. There were silver bands on his serpetri and silver beads woven into his snowy warrior braids. And on his head he wore a simple silver crown to denote his status as Zhaal.

He looks magnificent. If Kara was the type of woman to swoon, she’d definitely be getting a bit giddy right now.

“Look at us. We’re like fire and ice.”

“There is one thing you are missing.”

“Is there?”

She frowned. “Is it perfume? I don’t normally put it on because you don’t like me wearing it. I mean, you didn’t like me wearing it before… um, before the blast. But if you’d like me to…?”

“No. Not perfume. This.”

He picked a box up from the dressing table and opened it. Her heart rate quickened when she saw what was inside. A silver crown, almost a twin to his but smaller and more delicate.

“It’s beautiful,”

she breathed. “Is this for me?”

“It was forged on the day of our wedding. I have no recollection, of course, but Rhyn reminded me a Zhaalini requires a crown.”

“You designed it?”

“Apparently so. It is most aggravating not being able to remember.”

She placed the crown on her head, pleased it was so light that she barely noticed it was there.

There was a knock at the door.

“Time to meet the public,”

said Vahn. “Are you ready?”

“Actually, a bit nervous. This is my first engagement as Zhaalini.”

“And mine as an amnesiac.”

He held up his hands. “What could go wrong?”

She laughed and he was absurdly pleased he’d put her at ease. He let her go through the door first and caught her scent as she passed.

Definitely better than perfume.