The v-shaped neckline plunged lower than anything she'd ever worn, designed to display rather than conceal. Her fingers found the embroidery cascading down from the bodice which, at first glance, appeared to be decorative swirls. Upon looking closer she recognized the pattern. Thorned vines, subtle but unmistakable. Even the clothes here would mark her as his.
She stepped into it because what choice did she have? The fabric clung and flowed in ways that made her feel exposed despite being fully covered. The off-shoulder sleeves left her throat and shoulders bare, displaying the bruises from his grip.
It felt as though the dress was trying to make her into something she wasn't, someone who belonged in this world of dangerous beauty. Instead, she felt like a child playingdress-up in clothes that would never truly fit, no matter how perfectly they'd been tailored to her body. The flowing skirts that should have made her feel elegant only made her aware of how differently she'd have to move, how careful she'd need to be.
Briar found a comb on the vanity and had just started working through her damp hair when the door opened again.
When she turned, Eliam stood in the doorway studying her with those inhuman eyes. He didn't speak immediately, just took in the transformation, the way the dress clung to her frame, and how her hair fell around her shoulders.
After a moment he stepped into the room uninvited, moving with that particular grace that made her hyperaware of her own mortality. Today he'd abandoned his usual austere style for something that screamed dangerous nobility, a shirt of midnight green silk that shifted to near-black in the shadows, opened at the throat in a way that drew her eye to the hollow of his collarbone. Over it, he wore a coat of darker velvet, the hems embroidered with thorned vines in thread that caught light like beetle shells.
"Better," he said after his assessment, circling her slowly. "You clean up well."
"Thanks, I think." She turned to track his movement,
He moved closer before reaching out to touch her hair, lifting a strand to examine it. “Lovely,” he murmured as he twisted the lock between his fingers.
"Hold still," he commanded, moving to her vanity. He paused, considering, before selecting a delicate hair pin of dark metal shaped like thorned branches with tiny gems caught in the design.
He returned to stand behind her, gathering a section of her hair with practiced movements. She could feel the warmth of him at her back as he twisted and secured the damp strands, sliding the pin into place with surprising gentleness. The silver rings adorning his fingers caught the light as he adjusted the placement, making sure it held.
"There." His hands rested on her shoulders for a moment, and in the mirror she could see how the jewels in the pin glittered, marking her as his in yet another small way. "The servants will think you're my new pet. The courtiers will assume you're a temporary amusement." His thumbs pressed slightly into the curve where her neck met her shoulders. "What do you think you are?"
"Your prisoner."
"Prisoners go into dungeons." He stepped back, fingers trailing away from her shoulders. "You're in guest quarters."
"Guests can leave."
"Can they?" He turned toward the door, and she caught the full impact of him, of the wild king playing at civilization, dressed in silks and velvets that did nothing to hide the predator beneath. "Come."
Briar reluctantly followed because, what else could she do?
The halls looked different in this pale light. Less ominous, more alien. She caught glimpses of other residents through doorways. In one room a female with moth wings, the tips badly charred, was arranging flowers that screamed silently and seemed to follow Briar as she hurried passed. In another, a man with broken antlers wrote feverishly in a book that bled ink from between its pages.
All of them avoided looking at her directly. But she felt their attention anyway.
"Where are we going?" she asked when the silence stretched too long.
"The conservatory first. Then the library. Then, if you manage not to embarrass yourself, court."
"Court?"
"Where formal business is conducted. Petitions heard. Judgments rendered." He glanced back. "Punishments delivered."
Her steps faltered. "Am I being punished?"
"That depends entirely on you."
They entered a vast glass space filled with plants she had no names for. Trees that grew downward from the ceiling. Flowers that tracked their movement with too-intelligent eyes. Vines reached toward Eliam as he passed, desperate for acknowledgement.
"Lesson one," he said, stopping beside a fountain that bubbled something too dark to be water. "Everything here is alive. Everything here is watching. Everything here reports to me."
"Paranoid much?"
He moved faster than thought, backing her against a pillar wrapped in thorned roses. "Careful, little thief. That sharp tongue might amuse me now, but novelty wears thin."
This close, she could smell him, pine and dark earth and something wild. Something that made the warmth in her chest flutter again, stronger than before.
