"It's going to take forever to create," one of the assistants whispered.
"Two days," Arachne said firmly. "I'll need to work through both nights, but it will be ready." She turned to Briar. "This dress will be my masterpiece. You'll walk into that ballroom like a dark queen, like danger given form. Is that what you want?"
Briar thought of Malus, of the destruction coming. Of Eliam, who would see her in this dress and understand she'd chosen to be magnificent in her captivity. Of herself, walking to her doom dressed as both predator and prey.
"Yes," she said. "That's exactly what I want."
"Then we begin immediately." Arachne's hands were already moving, assistants scrambling to bring materials. "When his lordship sees you in this, he won't know whether to worship you or wage war for you."
Perhaps both, Briar thought, pressing her hand to the warmth in her chest. And perhaps neither would matter once Malus revealed the truth.
But she stood still as they measured and pinned, watching her armor take shape, preparing for a battle she couldn't warn anyone was coming.
The rest of that day passed in a blur of fittings and adjustments, Arachne's many hands working tirelessly while Briar stood like a mannequin, lost in dark thoughts. She barely slept that night, the weight of Malus's threat pressing down like a physical thing. By the time dawn painted the sky a weak gray, she'd given up on rest entirely.
She dressed quickly in the semi-dark, deciding that if sleep would not grant her relief, perhaps Eliam’s library would.
The space was quiet when she entered, dust motes dancing through pale morning light that seemed too cheerful for Briar's mounting desperation. Once again she found herself racing against the clock for answers to fae magic she would likely never find, working through stack after stack of texts, testing theories until her fingers were stained with ink and coated in old parchment dust.
She had only two days until the ball and Malus made good on his promise.
Another useless book joined the rejection pile;Fae Contracts and Their Consequenceshad seemed promising until she realized it only covered willingly entered bargains. Nothing about magic forced through violation, through the mockery of a kiss.
She pulled the next tome toward her, this one bound in something that might have been scales.Compulsions of the Old Courts. Her heart leaped as she flipped through pages of archaic text, searching for anything about breaking unwilling bonds.
"The compelled shall find their tongues bound by the compeller's will," she read, tracing the words with trembling fingers. "Such magic roots deep, twining through thought and voice alike. To break such bonds requires—"
The next page was missing, torn out with deliberate precision.
She slammed the book closed, earning a reproachful hiss from somewhere in the stacks. Even the library disapproved of her temper.
"Come on," she whispered, pulling another text forward. "There has to be something."
This one discussed blood magic, the prices paid for power. She found a passage about compulsions: "Sealed with body's touch, breath, blood, or flesh, such bindings hold fast as iron chains. The compelled may find relief only through equivalent exchange: blood for blood, breath for breath, or—"
The text dissolved before her eyes, words bleeding into illegible smears.
"No!" She grabbed another book, wildly flipping pages. But every time she found something relevant, something that might help, the words would fade or the pages would stick together or the text would be in a language that hurt to look at directly.
The warmth pulsed sympathetically, reaching for something it couldn't grasp. She pressed her hand against it, trying to calm the sensation, but it only fluttered harder.
She'd tried everything she could think of that morning. Salt circles, the salt had turned black the moment she'd stepped inside, iron touched to her tongue, it had burned like acid, the mark on her arm screaming in protest. She'd tried writing Malus'sname, but the ink disappeared before it dried. Tried miming the truth, but her hands locked mid-gesture.
The compulsion was thorough. Absolute. And getting stronger, This morning she'd barely been able to think of the word "dungeons" without her throat tightening in warning.
"Enjoying some light reading?"
She nearly jumped out of her skin. Thaine lounged against the bookshelf beside her table, having appeared with his usual silent grace. His eyes tracked over the scattered books with interest.
"Research," she managed, trying to casually close the book about blood magic.
"Compulsions and bindings. Fascinating subjects." He picked up one of her discarded volumes, flipping through it idly. "Planning to break some contracts?"
"Just... curious. About fae magic."
"Mmm." He set the book down, but his gaze remained sharp. "You've been quite curious lately. Midnight walks, early morning research. One might think you'd gotten yourself into some sort of... predicament."
Her heart hammered, but she forced her expression to be neutral. "The ball is in two days. I'm trying to understand the world I'm about to be formally presented to."
