Page 60 of Scarred

“Good,” he spits. “Keep it that way.”

He places out his arm, and I slip my hand through the crook, trying to ignore the way Tristan’s stare is burning a hole through my back.

CHAPTER24

Sara B.

Marisol flits around me, making sure my gown flares in the appropriate spots and cinches where it’s supposed to. This is the last fitting before I wear it tomorrow night to the ball. And it’s stunning. Black lace overlay on cream silk with ruffled fabric that pulls in the waist, and a slight train trailing behind. The quartered sleeves are accented by black gloves that rest just over my elbow, and I’ve never felt more beautiful.

It’s what I would choose for myself, if I had ever scrounged together the funds for such an ostentatious dress. But until recently, that hasn’t been my life. I have plenty of gorgeous gowns, but they’re all hand-me-downs from my mother, from a time when we had the type of money to thrive. The ones I came here with have all been provided handily by my cousin, so we don’t alert people that despite being the daughter of a duke, I’m actually quite broke. King Michael wouldn’t take kindly to finding out the only regality left is in name.

Even more, he’d refuse to believe it’s his fault.

“Milady, you look gorgeous,” Ophelia swoons, her hands resting over her chest as she takes me in.

“Thank you, Ophelia.” I smile at her.

Her innocence is something I long for. She’s only three years younger than me; a fresh-faced eighteen, but it feels as though we’re worlds apart.

I suppose that’s what happens when you experience the harsh cruelties that this world and the people within it offer. And as I stare at Ophelia, her soft features looking up at me in awe, I send up a quick prayer, hoping she’s able to hold on to that innocence for as long as possible. Once it leaves, you can never call it back. It just dangles as a memory you long to reach, but one that’s always out of grasp.

“Do you have family here, Ophelia?” I ask.

She smiles, nodding. “I do. Mama, Papa, and an older brother.”

I grin at the love that seeps through her tone. “And what do they do?”

“Papa works with your cousin on the Privy Council. And mama spends her time keeping the house.”

“Everyone lives here in the castle?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, no, milady, my parents live in Saxum, but not here in the castle. And my brother is in France.”

Sheina sashays into the room with a tray of tea and stops short as she looks at me.

“Sheina, stop it.” I laugh. “You’re staring at me like you’ve never seen a nice dress before.”

She shakes her head, the ornate metal tea tray clanking as she places it on a side table. “You just…” Her eyes gloss from the hem of the lace up to the risqué neckline. “You look fit to be a queen.”

Nerves tighten beneath my skin.

I’m very anxious about tomorrow night—and all the nights that will follow—though I’d never admit it. To play in the realm of men, you have to stuff emotions down until you can barely find them, and there’s a lot riding on my future here. Specifically, at the engagement ball itself. Everyone who’s anyone will be there, including the entire royal family and the Queen Mother.

I blow out a deep breath, trying to collect my racing thoughts and stem the slight tremble in my hands.

There’s a knock, and Timothy pokes his head in, his brows rising to his hairline, doing a double take when he sees me in my gown. All three ladies turn to face him as he opens the door, stepping to the side to allow for my uncle to move into the room.

The ladies twist back toward me, and after they do, Timothy shakes his head, winking as he rests a hand over his heart. Warmth trickles through my chest at his display, and a smile breaks across my face. He may not speak it out loud, but whether he wants to admit it, we’re becoming friends.

“Sara, sweetheart. You look beautiful,” Uncle Raf croons, his fingers tight around his cane as he makes his way across the room.

My gaze leaves the door where Timothy just was and I focus on Raf, a comfortable blanket of familiarity coasting over me as I take in his blue eyes and dark hair with thick streaks of white; more prominent than they were a few years back.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

He stops when he’s in front of me, his gaze moving over the faces of my ladies. “How much longer will you be? I came here to have tea and catch up.”

I glance down at Marisol. “Boss?”