Part One
Chapter One
There was nothing more terrifying than the execution of long-awaited plans.
Everything had been set in place years ago; Clíodhna had spent her entire life working toward this. The palace was fluttering with excitement as everyone awaited the arrival of Prince Domhnall, yet Clía was hiding in her rooms. She should be elated, not worrying, as the icy chill of dread filled her lungs.
By tomorrow night, she would be betrothed—the engagement her parents, herkingdom, were relying on. Her future was only a day away, and everything needed to be perfect.
That included the gown she wore.
Sárait, one of the palace tailors, had come to deliver the dress, but as Clía’s eyes swept over the material, her heart dropped in her chest.
All she saw waswrong. It was too tight, too stiff. The more she looked at her reflection in the mirror, the more the fabric seemed to scratch at her skin, until she couldn’t bear to have it on a second longer.
“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted Maura with this design,” Sárait said with disgust as she helped Clía out of the gown. “What about one of your other dresses?” Draping the abandoned gown over the back of a chair, Sárait walked to the closet. Clía slida soft robe over her chemise and joined her. “There’s the yellow silk dress you wore to the Aotaine feast. You looked gorgeous in that one.”
Clía shook her head. “The sleeves are too short.”
Sárait pulled out an ice-blue silk gown with swirls of glittering jewels surrounded by loops of intricate embroidery. “How about this one? The sleeves are the perfect length.”
“It’s too...much.”
The tailor moved to the linen dress next to it.
“That one’s not enough.” Clía sighed before Sárait could speak.
It was useless. Each dress had some flaw, some detail that stood out mockingly to her. It wasn’t until they had been through every closet, every drawer, that it dawned on her. She eyed the gown draped over the chair, its fabric shining in the light from the window. Maybe she had the dress she needed after all.
Clía grabbed her shears. “We’ll need more fabric—about two yards matching the skirt and bodice. And a bolt of pale pink silk. And whalebone.”
An eager excitement bubbled in Sárait’s eyes. “I’ll see what I can find.”
Clía nodded her thanks then plucked up the discarded gown and began ripping through the seams of the skirt.
As the newest palace tailor, Sárait and Clía hadn’t known each other long, but there was a mutual respect between them. The first time Clía had seen the girl, Sárait had been wearing a lavender dress that glowed against her golden beige skin, with floral embroidery on the sleeves, detailed and precise enough to have been done by a master. When Clía complimented it, Sáraitsimply smiled and said, “You have a good eye for talent. I did it myself.”
Every so often, Sárait would visit Clía’s rooms on some errand or another from the head tailor and would stay a little longer than necessary. Sometimes they would talk, but mostly they sewed.
When Sárait returned, they fell into an easy rhythm, with only the sound of shears slicing through fabric breaking the silence. For years, fashion had been the one thing Clía understood. The one thing she could control. Each stitch of the needle helped slow Clía’s heart and calm her mind. Focused on the task in front of her, she could forget the expectations bearing down on her, all the problems the future could bring, and the ways tomorrow could go wrong.
It didn’t take long before they had let out the dress ever so slightly, added a silk lining to help the drape of the skirt, and reattached the bodice after replacing the steel boning with the more flexible whalebone.
Clía put the gown back on.
The soft pink fabric glowed in the late morning light, the golden sunbeams dancing through the sheer trumpet sleeves that hung just off her shoulders. The bodice molded perfectly to her torso, hugging every curve, before the skirt fell in a gentle cascade of frothy silk. Full and luxurious but not too dramatic. She wouldn’t demand attention, but it would be given all the same.
“It’s perfect,” Clía whispered, in a voice too low to be heard by Sárait. Her mouth softened into the slightest hint of a smile. “Everything will be perfect.”
***
“IS THE DRESS READY?”HER MOTHER ASKED, SIMULTANEOUSLYdirecting a page carrying a large floral centerpiece.
Clía stood with her mother in the throne room as people filtered in and out, decorating and cleaning and planning all for tomorrow.
“Sárait dropped it off this morning,” she replied. The queen didn’t need to know the state in which it had arrived.
“Good. I’ve made sure the flowers in the eastern courtyard are in full bloom. When Prince Domhnall arrives, he will be greeted by a small gathering—only the highest-ranking nobles and a few musicians. After a suitable amount of time, the two of you will split from the party, and you will lead him there. It’ll make the perfect backdrop.”
