Evelyne’s stomach clenched. The water, a moment ago soothing, now felt scalding.
Isildeth didn’t notice, busy with adjusting the sleeves of the gown.
Vesena said nothing. She slid the scarf free and tucked it into her apron pocket without a comment. Just a glance, a single nod, and she resumed her task.
Evelyne exhaled hard. She had felt… calmer since yesterday. Not in the sense that she was suddenly unbothered by the small matter of someone trying to murder her, or that her name had been scrawled onto a cursed death ledger. And certainly not calmer about the way the kingdom whispered that this wedding was doomed from the start, that the cursed bride would end it as she always did.
She feared that too, more than she could admit.
But she had to also admit that she had looked forward to seeing him again. To his ridiculous jokes. His grin. That infuriating, familiar look he gave her when she was trying not to smile and failing miserably.
She never laughed like that.Never.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth before she could stop it. She caught her lip between her teeth, trying to press it back down.
Alright, that’s enough, she told herself firmly.
After she stepped from the bath Isildeth warmed Evelyne’s favorite lavender oil between her palms, smoothing it over her body before handing her off to Vesena, who wrapped her in a warm towel. The undergarments were fastened, silk stockings rolled up her legs, and the robe folded over her body.
Isildeth combed through Evelyne’s damp hair, Vesena applied makeup with concentration. A chambermaid entered silently with a tray of warm bread, honeyed fruit, and tea, but Evelyne barely acknowledged the scent.
When the last touch was applied, both women stepped back to admire their work. Evelyne met her gaze in the mirror. The reflection staring back at her was both familiar and foreign—like a painting of herself done by someone who had only seen her from a distance. Her hair, still damp at the roots, had been coaxed into a soft, elegant twist, with a single curl left loose to graze the nape of her neck. The pearl hairpin glinted beneath the lamplight. Her skin looked luminous, her cheeks touched with rose, her lips painted with the faintest shade of wine.
The diamonds at her ears sparkled like frost onthat day.
She looked regal. Every inch a bride.
I’ve done this before.
Her heart fluttered against her ribs like a moth caught behind stained glass. A thread of chill had begun to coil down her arms, pooling in the hollow of her spine.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
She could still feel the fabric of the old gown, soaked heavy in crimson. That chapel wasn’t here, but it might as well have been. The air felt the same. Her gaze darted, unbidden, to the window.
“Milady?” Isildeth’s voice, gentle now.
Evelyne blinked. Forced herself back into her body.
“Hm?”
Control. Calm. Focus.
The maid watched her through narrowed lids. Vesena did the same. Evelyne gave a small shake of her head and faced the mirror once more. Her reflection stared back—keen, unflinching.
“You did wonderfully. As always. Thank you.”
Isildeth dipped her head. “You’re welcome.”
She turned toward the wooden stand and lifted the wedding gown from its perch. The dress shimmered in the candlelight, silk and lace catching the glow.
“Let’s get you into the dress now,” she murmured.
Evelyne hesitated for a moment. Her fingers skimmed the carved armrests of the chair. Then, with a breath she hoped didn’t sound too much like a sigh, she rose.
Vesena stepped behind Evelyne and began tightening the stays of the corset. Inch by inch the fabric drew closer to bone. Evelyne closed her eyes as the pressure settled in. Familiar and grounding.
Once done, Isildeth moved closer with a gown.
