"I didn't ask if you were hungry. I said to finish your meal."
She picked up the fork, the correct one this time, and forced herself to eat. Each bite was mechanical. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. All while he watched, satisfied.
Dessert appeared without fanfare. Something beautiful and delicate, spun from sugar and starlight. It dissolved on her tongue, sweetness mixed with sorrow.
"Tomorrow," he said as she forced down the last bite, "you'll dine with the court. Public meals have different rules. Try not to embarrass yourself."
"Can't wait."
"Your enthusiasm is noted." He stood, gesturing for her to do the same. "Come. I'll walk you back."
"I can find my own way."
"No." His words were simple in their finality. "You can't."
He offered his arm, a mockery of courtesy. She took it because the alternative was being dragged. The silk whispered with every step, and she felt the satisfaction radiating from him.
At her door, he turned to leave only to pause.
"The dress," he said, not bothering to look at her. "You'll wear it again."
"When?"
"Whenever I desire to see you in it." His hand reached out, his fingers trailing down her arm, stopping just above where the mark ended. "Red really does suit you. The color of spilled blood… of broken hearts."
Then he was gone, leaving her standing in the doorway in a dress that felt like shame.
She made it three steps into her room before the sobs came properly. Deep, wrenching things that shook her whole body. She tore at the dress, needing it off, needing to be free of its clinging reminder of what she'd become.
But the fabric wouldn't tear. It would release her only when he allowed it.
She collapsed on the bed in the hateful red silk and cried until her throat was raw. Cried for Allegra who was forgetting her, for her mother who was finally free, and for herself, who would never be free again.
Morning came slow and painful.
Briar woke with swollen eyes and the red dress still clinging to her skin. It had finally released her sometime in the night, but she'd been too exhausted to change. Now it felt stiff and accusing against her body.
The mark had indeed crept past her elbow, wrapping around her upper arm in delicate patterns. She traced the new thorns through the fabric, wondering if they'd be at her throat by week's end.
Her breakfast sat on its usual table, steam rising from whatever passed for food today.
She forced herself to eat eventually, though the porridge tasted of dirt and her stomach churned with each swallow. Tonight. The fae dinner was tonight, and last night's humiliation with Eliam still burned fresh.
The books waited where she'd left them on the desk, three volumes on fae etiquette that made less sense the more she read. She tried to focus on the dense text about proper greetings between ranks.
When addressing a Duke of the Autumn Court, one must bow to precisely thirty degrees while maintaining eye contact for no more than three seconds but no less than two...
The words blurred together. How was she supposed to remember if thirty degrees was for Autumn or Spring? And what would happen if she bowed thirty-one degrees by accident? How was she supposed to know what thirty-degrees looked like?
By midday, concentration was impossible. Every sound made her jump, thinking it was someone coming to collect her. The upcoming dinner felt like walking toward an execution.
She abandoned the books entirely when a servant arrived with her evening attire. The woman draped it across the bed without a word, fleeing before Briar could ask questions.
The gown wasmidnight blue velvet dark as deep water, with a boned bodice that would leave her collarbones and shoulders bare. Delicate gold embroidery traced patterns across the sheer upper portion with vines that would frame her throat like a decorative cage. The sleeves bloomed from her shoulders before tapering to fitted cuffs adorned with more gold work. The skirt fell in layers, the outer blue gradually darkening to nearly black at the hem, while glimpses of the white undergown showed through, patterned with butterflies and flowers in muted golds and blacks.
It was beautiful and designed to display her as a prized possession.
She bathed early, unable to sit still any longer. The too-aware water seemed to sense her anxiety, running alternately too hot and too cold as if reflecting her mood. By the time she emerged, her hands were shaking.
