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I shook my head, as if I could shake myself loose of these feelings, and took a steadying breath to cool my overheated face. Right. I was angry at him. I should be angry with him.

But my anger was fading with every single day that passed while my logical mind reminded me that he hadn’t actually lied, that it was ignorant for me to not realize he would be forced to marry a Descendant of Zion, and that I was actually the one keeping much bigger secrets between us.

I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my skin to stop myself from overthinking as I stared down at the floor in front of us. The floor was safe. When I looked at the tiled floor, all I could see of him was his boots. Boots were safe to look at.

Even if those boots were attached to thick muscular legs, wrapped tight in leather that hugged every part of his body, even his -

“Yes, I’m relaxed here,” Clay admitted, pulling me out of a very dangerous thought spiral. “I’m not the heir apparent here. Obviously my every move still matters, and has implications for our people, but at least I don’t feel like my every move is being watched and reported back to my father.”

I thought over his words, feeling my own shoulders loosen as they settled. Yes, I suppose not having to deal with the Dragon was one very nice benefit of this trip.

“Now pay attention,” he instructed, dropping his hand from my back and pointing instead towards Saharn.

“The Monarchs have reserved this hall for their guests,” she said. “We’ve prepared this room for you, Lady Moore.”

She handed me a small bronze key on a silver string, then gave a matching one to Nessira. “Your ladies will stay here.” She gestured to the door beside mine. “There is an adjoining door inside. Prince Vail, we’re preparing accommodations in the royal wing more suited to your station.”

My jaw tightened, irritation bubbling under my skin. They were so desperate to claim my offspring but treated me as so much lower on the ladder of authority that I couldn’t even stay in the same wing as the Descendants of Zion.

Clay glanced down the hallway. “Surely there’s another room in this hall?”

Saharn blinked, startled. “Prince Vail, I assure you the royal wing is far more suitable. The rooms are—”

“This trip is for Councilwoman Moore,” Clay interrupted, his tone firm and words purposeful.

Not Lady Moore - Councilwoman Moore. It might not earn the same respect in this country, but it meant something in mine.

“She is second only to the Dragon of Athenia. I’m confident that whatever room you deemed appropriate for her will suit me as well. ”

I stared at the floor, biting back a grin as warmth spread through my chest. Saharn sputtered, then bowed her head and stepped back.

“Will you-” Her voice was timid as she glanced rapidly between the two of us. “Will you need a chaperone for the evening? ”

Clay’s laugh was congenial, but I detected a level of amusement lying underneath it. “Do Tenebrisian customs typically require chaperones?”

They didn’t. Tenebris only concerned itself with the heirs of House Zion. The presence of chaperones was an Athenian custom since our nation depended on the heirs of all High Houses.

Saharn’s nervous eyes bounced between Clay and I rapidly, as if she didn’t know how to respond. Nessira only rolled her eyes dramatically and took her key from the girl’s hand.

“I think that will be all, Saharn,” Nessira announced. “Surely I can serve as a chaperone this evening.”

“Surely,” Clay agreed, mischief coloring his gaze.

Nessira met his eyes without fear while Saharn retreated down the hallway.

When it was finally just the four of us, she turned to me, a question on her face.

Sighing heavily, I nodded, inclining my head in a silent instruction for her and Samsa to head inside.

She was hesitant to leave at first, her eyes filled with silent warnings, but eventually they went into their suite, leaving Clay and I alone in the hallway.

I turned my icy glare on him.

“Come now, there’s no need for hostility,” he teased.

“Why do I feel like you’re hiding something from me?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

His gaze darkened, all playfulness suddenly fading away. “Funny, I’ve thought that same thing about you for months now.”

“ I ris would love this,” I thought to myself as I gazed at my reflection in the mirror, picturing how her eyes would sparkle upon seeing the gown I had received.

Tenebrisian fashion was worlds apart from Athenian styles.

Nessira grumbled for nearly an hour about wasting her time packing gowns, only to find an entire closet of silks and jewels already awaiting me here. One look at the difference in style made it clear I’d stick out like a sore thumb if I wore anything we had brought with us from Athenia.

And so, the transformation began.

Nessira and Samsa drew a bath for me, scrubbing my skin and hair until the calming notes of jasmine and lilac replaced the lingering scent of salt and sea.

Powders and creams filled the bathing chamber—some left my skin sparkling, others brought color to my cheeks, and still more smoothed the flesh of my legs.

When they deemed me sufficiently pampered, they selected a gown for the evening.

The dress, pale pink and layered in shimmering chiffon, flowed to the floor, its fabric split into two daring slits over my thighs.

Two narrow strips of fabric met at my navel and clasped over my shoulders in a plunging v-neckline, leaving my back, sides, and much of my chest exposed.

They wove my long blonde hair into intricate braids reminiscent of Saharn’s, incorporating sparkling jewels into the strands. More jewels adorned my ears, neck, and wrists, catching the light with every slight movement.

I looked at myself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back—a dazzling, vibrant stranger who felt both delicate and powerful.

It was all a bit fun, actually. It was as if I was playing dress up and existing in a version of life where every decision I made, every gown I wore, and every word I spoke didn’t have to be carefully planned ahead of time.

I could simply choose a gown that I liked because the color was delicate and the cut of the fabric made me feel confident without having to worry if the Dragon would think it was the best representation of my House.

So far, my time in Tenebris had been terribly contradicting.

All at once, this visit was the culmination of everything that was forced upon me by being a Council member - politics, diplomacy, marriage, alliances - and yet it was the first time in so long that I actually felt able to breathe.

The first time that I truly felt like myself and not just the puppet of my kingdom.

“The dresses here are certainly a bit more… revealing than at home,” Samsa murmured, smoothing the sheer blue fabric of her own gown. It was nearly translucent, with a faint underlining that offered just enough modesty.

Nessira, by contrast, wore her amethyst skirt and cropped blouse with ease, a golden sash draped elegantly over her shoulder.

“The Tenebrisian people are much freer than Athenians,” she said, catching my glance. “You’ll find many things are different here.”

“Have you traveled here before?” I asked, fastening my dagger to my thigh.

The slits in the skirt were so high that wandering eyes might spot the weapon, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave it behind.

Nessira’s gaze flicked to the dagger perceptively, but she said nothing.

Once again, I was grateful for her understanding.

“My mother’s family is from Tenebris,” she explained. “She met my father while he was here on business. They built their lives in Athenia, but we visited often when I was a child.”

That explained her ease in this foreign palace, the way she seemed entirely comfortable in her revealing gown while Samsa awkwardly shuffled to cover exposed skin

I glanced at my reflection again, both awed and unsettled by what I saw.

I somehow looked both delicate and powerful, beautiful and strong.

And yet, all I could focus on was the false Descendant’s Mark Nessira had painted onto my chest—a reminder that my would-be husband would one day discover the truth.

“We should go, my Lady,” Samsa whispered, her voice hesitant, as though reluctant to pull me from my thoughts.

Sighing heavily, I turned to face them, my stomach twisting as I met their serious gazes. Even though Samsa was new to me, there was no need for pretense between us. We all understood how much I wanted to avoid this meeting.

Meeting Veric, putting a face to the name of the man I was to marry, would make the arrangement unbearably real.

“You don’t have to do this,” Nessira said softly, ignoring the alarmed glance Samsa shot her.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to throw myself out the nearest window and run as far as my legs would take me.

“This is my duty,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. “This is what I was born to do.”

Nessira’s mouth twisted into a frown. “I don’t think you believe that.”

The truth was that I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore.

None of it mattered, though. My king had declared I would marry Veric Starsen, and so I would. Now, I only had to meet the man.