Page 7

Chapter Seven

Marek

I sit stiffly in the chair near the wall, my boots planted firmly on the polished wooden floor of the modiste’s shop. The room is an assault on the senses, an explosion of pastels and finery, bolts of fabric draped across every available surface. The air is thick with the scent of lavender, and the soft hum of voices creates a cloying atmosphere I can barely tolerate.

Stella, on the other hand, seems utterly at ease. She stands on a small dais, arms outstretched as the modiste measures her waist, her bust, the length of her arms. Assistants flit around her like sparrows, chattering about the cut and drape of each proposed gown.

To my frustration, she fits in here too easily. She responds to their suggestions with a quick wit and an easy smile, earning laughter from the younger women as if she’s known them all her life. Even her foreign accent, sharp and unplaceable, only seems to draw more attention.

I force my gaze to the window, where sunlight filters through frosted glass, softening the harsh edges of my mood. But my eyes betray me, sliding back to her. She’s captivating in her way, but not for the reasons Valen seems to think. There’s something calculated about her ease, something too polished in the way she carries herself.

She jokes with the women as if she’s enjoying herself, but I don’t miss the way her eyes occasionally dart to the mirrors surrounding her. She’s not looking at the fabric or the fit of the gowns—they’re glances of assessment, checking to see if she’s convincing enough.

That practiced confidence grates on me. Or maybe it’s the way Valen so readily accepts her at face value, as though she’s some gift from the gods sent to solve all his problems. He always assumes the best in people, but I know better.

Betrayal isn’t a matter of if—it’s when. I learned that lesson the hard way. Trusting someone so deeply, only to have them rip the ground out from underfoot, changes a man. It wasn’t their fall that shattered me—it was mine.

Since then, I’ve never made the mistake of trusting too easily. Stella, with her quick smiles and borrowed confidence, won’t be the exception. I’ll do my duty, protect Valen, and see this charade through, but I won’t let my guard down. Not for her. Not for anyone.

And yet.

Stella catches my reflection in one of the mirrors and quirks a brow, as if sensing my scrutiny. She gives me a small, knowing smile—one that’s both infuriating and undeniably magnetic. Damn her.

It’s impossible to ignore how the sunlight catches her dark auburn curls, setting them aglow like embers in a dying fire. The way the curve of her neck seems to invite a man’s lips. My eyes travel lower, drawn to the gentle swell of her collarbone, the way it disappears into the modest neckline of her dress.

I clench my fists on my thighs, the leather of my gloves creaking under the pressure, and force myself to look away.

But the memory of last night is relentless. The way her body quivered under my mouth, the way her soft moans broke the stillness of the room and drove me to the edge of control. The taste of her was raw and addictive…dangerous. A fire I couldn’t help but feed, even knowing it might burn me alive.

My pulse quickens despite my best efforts to keep it under control. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, glancing at the modiste’s assistants bustling past with armfuls of lace and ribbons. No one seems to notice my tension, but if Stella so much as glances my way, she’ll see right through me.

I grit my teeth and fix my gaze anywhere else. On anything but her.

And yet my eyes find her again.

Stella laughs at some comment the modiste makes, her head tipping back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. It’s a sound that carries across the room, and it tugs at something deep inside me.

She leans slightly to the side as the modiste gestures to a bolt of fabric, and the sway of her hips is subtle but hypnotic. Stella’s hands move as she explains something, and I can’t help but imagine them touching me with the same energy she brought to every moan, every movement last night.

And her lips. Gods save me, those lips. Full and soft, the kind that could make a man forget every vow he’s ever made. I’ve kissed those lips in my mind a hundred times since last night, felt their imagined press against my own.

I shift again, the ache in my body becoming harder to ignore. I know I should hate this—this pull she has on me, this hunger that’s as unwelcome as it is undeniable. But I don’t.

A part of me craves her.

It’s an uncomfortable truth, one that gnaws at me as I sit there in the pastel hell of this shop. I crave her laughter, her fire, the way she makes every room she steps into feel just a little brighter, a little warmer. And worst of all, I crave the way she makes me feel—like a predator, like she’s daring me to take control, to dominate, to show her who holds the power.

And, damn her, I want to.

The modiste’s assistants dart glances at me as they work, their movements growing less focused as their curiosity overtakes their discretion.

“Captain Drayk,” one finally ventures. She’s a petite woman with honey-blond hair pinned back in an elaborate twist. “How long have you served in the prince’s guard?”

I meet her gaze briefly, keeping my expression neutral. “Long enough.”

Her eyes widen slightly at my clipped tone, but she doesn’t back down. “It must be fascinating, traveling with the prince and protecting him. Do you enjoy your work?”

I glance at Stella, who’s chatting animatedly with another assistant about the drape of the gown she’s wearing. Her easy laughter fills the room, but her eyes dart to the mirror, and I catch the faint sign of awareness as she monitors my interaction.

“My work is not for enjoyment,” I say flatly.

The assistant falters for a moment before recovering, her tone turning teasing. “Do you always talk this much, or is today a rare exception?”

Another assistant nearby giggles, emboldened by her colleague’s attempt at banter.

“Only when necessary,” I reply.

For all their chattering, my focus remains steadfastly on Stella—or, more precisely, on ensuring she doesn’t say or do anything to betray Valen’s trust.

The modiste, however, seems less inclined to let me sit quietly. She addresses me directly, her tone teasing but perceptive. “Captain, your mood doesn’t seem to match the joyous occasion of the prince’s betrothal. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?”

Before I can answer, Stella interjects. “Oh, he’s celebrating in his own way,” she says, flashing a smile that instantly eases the tension in the room. “Captain Drayk simply takes his role as the prince’s protector very seriously. He doesn’t yet trust me, and I can’t blame him. This whole courtship has been a bit of a whirlwind, to say the least.”

Her words catch me off guard, and I glance at her sharply. The warmth in her voice feels genuine, as though she’s truly trying to defend me rather than mock me. It’s disarming, and I find myself watching her more closely, searching for any signs of duplicity. But if they’re there, I can’t find them, which means she’s either sincere or a masterful liar.

Before the modiste can press further, one of the assistants whispers something in her ear. She excuses herself and her assistants, explaining that a client requires their attention out front. Her absence leaves Stella standing on the dais, laced into an elaborate gown of pale purple silk.

I allow myself a moment to take her in. The dress clings to her figure in all the right places, the soft fabric catching the light and making her skin glow. She’s a vision, and for a fleeting second, I understand why Valen is so charmed by her.

Stella tilts her head, catching me watching her. “What?” she asks, a teasing lilt to her voice. “Do I have something on my face?”

I bristle, my jaw tightening. “You look…fine,” I say, aiming for disinterest.

But she smirks, and the glint in her eyes tells me I’ve failed miserably. “Relax, Marek. You don’t always have to look like you’re planning a siege.”

I snort softly, more at her audacity than what she’s said, and shift my focus to the bolts of fabric scattered around the room. But even as I try to dismiss her, everything about her sticks with me.

“Well,” she says, breaking the silence, “unless you’d like me to parade through town like this, I’m going to need some help.”

I narrow my eyes. “I hardly think that’s appropriate.”

Her lips curve into a faint smirk. “More inappropriate than where your mouth was last night?”

Her words land like a punch, knocking the air from my lungs and ratcheting up the tension coiling in my body. My gaze sharpens on her, and she holds it.

Before I can think better of it, my feet carry me forward.

She steps behind the privacy screen, and I follow, stopping just short of invading her space. Stella turns her back to me, exposing the row of tiny buttons that runs the length of her spine. Being this close, close enough to touch, sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through me. My throat tightens, and my fingers move to the first button.

I work carefully, undoing each button gently, my fingers brushing against the smooth fabric of her dress and the warmth of her skin beneath. Each release of the silk feels like a small, torturous victory, the material parting inch by inch.

My hands falter for the briefest moment as her delicate satin corset comes into view, its intricate lacing emphasizing the curve of her waist. My pulse quickens, a steady drumbeat in my ears that drowns out everything but the sound of our shared breaths and the soft rustle of fabric.

Her scent surrounds me, a warm blend of citrus and something floral, delicate yet intoxicating. It clings to the air between us and wraps around me like a wish. My chest tightens, my thoughts scattering, unable to hold on to anything but the nearness of her.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she says, her voice soft but steady. “You don’t trust that I won’t do something to harm Valen.”

I pause, my fingers lingering on the next button. “I don’t trust that you won’t demand more from him than what you claim to want in return for your help.”

“Is there something about me specifically you don’t trust?” She turns her head slightly, her profile illuminated by the sunlight filtering through the curtains. “Or is it just women in general?”

Her question penetrates my defenses like a blade between armor. How is she able to see through me so easily?

Frustration flares, and I quickly finish unbuttoning her dress. The silk falls away, and I step back and hand her the dress she came in.

“Hurry up,” I say gruffly, avoiding her gaze. “I have better things to do today than escort you on errands, sorceress.”

As I retreat to the front of the store, my body pulses with a mix of annoyance and something far more dangerous. Stella has a way of stirring emotions I’ve worked years to suppress, and I’m not sure if that makes her an ally or a threat.

Out front, I settle the bill with the modiste and arrange for the gowns to be picked up later. Delivery to my cottage is out of the question—too many prying eyes. Stella joins me a moment later, her expression carefully neutral, though I can sense a tension she’s hiding. Without a word, I escort her to the carriage and hold the door for her as she climbs in.

Once we’re settled inside, her on the bench across from me, she breaks the silence. “I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier. I can be a little blunt. I shouldn’t have said that you have a problem with women.”

I wasn’t expecting an apology. For the first time since she fell from the heavens, I feel the slightest bit of doubt in my own judgment of her. My instincts tell me to remain guarded, to keep her at arm’s length. But a quieter voice, one I’ve long ignored, suggests that maybe she’s not the threat I’ve made her out to be.

Minutes pass in silence before I decide to speak. “I’ve seen betrayal before,” I begin, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery. “When I was young, I married a woman who’d come to town fleeing an abusive lover. She seemed fragile, desperate, and I fell for her quickly—too quickly. Despite Valen’s warnings, I wed her within a week.” I pause, the memory still bitter. “For three months, everything was perfect. Then she disappeared—along with my life savings. Turns out she and her lover had been running a grift. I was just one of many marks. She broke my trust, my heart, and very nearly my spirit. It was Valen who pulled me back from the edge.”

Stella’s gaze softens. “That’s when your relationship with Valen changed, isn’t it?”

I nod, exhaling slowly. “He showed me what love should look like—honest, steady, real. Looking back, what I felt for her wasn’t love. It was infatuation, a naive obsession. In the end, my heart and savings recovered. My trust, however, did not.”

She clasps her hands tightly in her lap and is quiet for a moment “I get it. I recently had my heart and trust broken too.” Her gaze drops to her hands. “My ex-fiancé had been having an affair with my neighbor for the entire last year we were together. We were weeks away from getting married when I found out. It felt like my whole world shattered. Elara, she was my rock through it all. She means everything to me.”

Her eyes lift to meet mine, and for a fleeting second, I see something true, something real. It’s enough to make my chest tighten, though I can’t quite place why. “Did your relationship with her change as well? The way Valen and mine has grown?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I love Elara like a sister,” she says with a soft smile. “Plus, I’ve sworn off relationships completely. No more romantic entanglements for me.”

Her honesty feels like the first rays of sunlight breaking after a storm, warming a place in my chest I hadn’t realized had grown cold. There’s a kinship there, a shared disillusionment with the promises of love, and it chips away at the wall I’ve had up since the moment she arrived in Towerfall. But with that wall cracking, the unspoken tension between us shifts into far more treacherous territory, one I’ve been fighting to ignore.

“And how do you feel about entanglements of a more…carnal and…temporary nature?” I ask, my voice dipping low, deliberately weighted.

Her breaths quicken, her pupils dilating as she holds my gaze. The air between us thickens, and I watch the way she crosses her legs beneath her skirts, her teeth grazing her bottom lip before she answers. “I would be open to those. Very open.”

The corners of my mouth lift, a slow smile as heat rushes through me. I lean back in my seat, letting the moment hang between us as I savor her response.

Thoughts of how to approach Valen flash through my mind, though I suspect the bastard already anticipated this. He knew what he was doing when he sent me into town alone with Stella. And I can’t say I’m upset with the end result.

I fold my hands in my lap and allow my deviant imagination to surge to life—her beneath me, her body arching, her soft moans filling the air.

It’s only a matter of time.