He studied her, and she saw the moment he decided to believe her. His hand left her thigh to cup her face.
"Tonight then." His thumb traced her lower lip. "Wear something that comes off easily."
"Yes." The word barely made it past her throat.
He stood, pulling her up with him, kissing her once more—possessive and promising. When he released her, she had to catch herself on the bench.
"Don't disappoint me," he said softly. "I'd hate to have to visit Eliam before our dinner. Stress affects the appetite."
The threat was clear. She nodded, unable to speak.
He left her there, autumn wind picking up in his wake. Briar sank onto the bench, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She could still taste him, still feel the wrongness of his touch.
But he'd believed her. She'd seen it in his eyes, felt it in the way his hands had grown confident. Tonight. Just a few more hours of this performance, and then they could run.
The warmth pulsed, agitated from his touch, from her allowing it. She pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm it.
"I know," she whispered. "I know. But it's almost over."
The garden continued its beautiful death around her, leaves falling like a curtain between what was and what would be.
Síocháin arrived as the sun began its descent, carrying a covered gown and a basket that clinked softly with hidden glass. She locked the door behind her, something she'd never done before.
"Did you bring it?" Briar asked immediately, her voice tight.
Síocháin set down her burdens, pulling the small vial from her basket. The liquid inside was clear as water, innocent looking. "Bloodshade. Tasteless, odorless. Once you drink it, you have perhaps five minutes before it loses potency in your blood."
Briar took it with shaking fingers. Such a small thing to carry such weight.
"I've prepared a wine for you," Síocháin continued, laying out the dress. "It will be in the dining room, the bottle marked with a small nick on the label. It will help you relax, make this easier to bear. Drink as much as you need." She paused. "But not so much you lose your wits. You'll need to time the bloodshade carefully."
The dress unfurled across the bed—deep russet silk that clung rather than structured, held by thin straps that could be slipped off with minimal effort. The neckline plunged low, the back lower still. It was a dress designed to be removed.
"He wanted something that comes off easily," Briar said flatly, touching the fabric.
"And this will. But it also hides things." Síocháin showed her a tiny pocket sewn into the inner seam at the hip, low enough that wandering hands would find skin before they found secrets. "The vial goes here. Don't forget which side."
Briar started undressing, her movements mechanical. "I can do this. It's just one evening. Just him and me. I can make him believe me long enough to—"
"You convinced him in the garden," Síocháin agreed, helping her into the gown. The silk slid over her skin like cool water. "He'll be expecting you willing. Eager, even. Give him that, and he won't think to question."
The dress required no corset—it skimmed her body, relying on the cut rather than structure. Briar felt exposed in a different way than the elaborate gowns. This left nothing to imagination while pretending at simplicity.
"Sit," Síocháin directed, beginning on her hair. "You're shaking."
"I'm terrified." The admission came out raw. "But at least it's private. Just one person to convince. I can focus on him, read his reactions, adjust if something seems wrong."
Síocháin's fingers paused for just a moment before continuing their work. "Yes. Just focus on him."
"What if the bloodshade doesn't work? What if he notices the vial?"
"He won't notice the vial if you keep him distracted." Síocháin pinned another section of hair, weaving it into something elaborate that left her neck bare. "And the bloodshade will work. I've seen it fell fae far older than Malus."
"Before, I wasn't actively participating," Briar said to her reflection. The woman in the mirror looked pale beneath the cosmetics Síocháin applied. "Before, I could blame him entirely. This time I have to make him think I want it."
"This time you're choosing to save Lord Eliam. To save yourself." Síocháin's voice was firm. "That's not participation. That's war."
She stepped back, surveying her work. The kohl made Briar's eyes look larger, darker. The red on her lips matched the undertone of the silk where light caught it. She looked like someone who had made a choice and intended to see it through.
