She tosses it on the bed and grabs another one—a pale green confection that shimmers like dragonfly wings. When she holds it up to herself, the skirt fans out in floaty layers of gauze, but the neckline… well, there is no neckline. Just two tiny, crossed ribbons of fabric that would barely keep her nipples under wraps if she breathed too hard.
She gives me a flat look.
“Did the Sorceress design these herself?”
I shrug.
“Wouldn’t surprise me, considering the dress she was wearing when she first met with us. She does seem to like a dramatic reveal.”
“A dramatic reveal?” She rolls her eyes. “This one’s more like a public scandal.”
Another toss. Another dress added to the growing pile of Pretty-but-inappropriate.
She digs deeper, muttering to herself, and then pulls out a third gown—this one a rich sapphire blue with an embroidered bodice and a high neckline.
“Finally! Something that looks halfway decent,” she remarks.
Then she turns it around.
The entire back is missing.
Not just a low back—it’s gone. The dress is held together by a crisscross of golden laces that plunge all the way to the cleft of where her curvy bottom would be.
She sighs.
I can’t help it—I bark a laugh. This magical wardrobe seems to have a vision for my pretty little Princess—one she doesn’t quite share.
“Goddess,” she mutters, rummaging again, “is there anything in here that doesn’t scream ‘Lady of the Night?’”
“Apparently not.” I lean against the edge of the wardrobe, arms crossed. “I think subtlety is banned here at Thornmere Stronghold.”
“Apparently so is underwear,” she grumbles. “I can’t find any kind of shift, or chemise, or even…” She trails off and bends low, checking the bottom drawers.
My gaze drops to the curve of her backside beneath the towel. Then I look in the drawer she’s searching.
Yeah…definitely no panties in there. Which means whatever she wears, she’s going to be bare underneath.
Which means… fuck.
I shift my stance, trying not to get hard again, but it’s no use. My cock has a mind of its own where she’s concerned.
She slams the drawer shut.
“Nothing! No bloomers. No stockings. No petticoat. Not a single pair of underpants! And every one of these dresses needs something under it to make any of them even halfway modest.”
I rub my jaw.
“You could always go in the towel,” I suggest.
She glances over her shoulder, giving me an incredulous look.
“You want me to get murdered by a thousand-year-old sorceress for breaking the dress code?” she enquires.
“I doubt she’d murder you, but I don’t think you can ask for anything else than what she’s already provided,” I say.
“You’re probably right.”
She sighs and stands up again, finally choosing the least indecent option: the red lace dress with the demi-bodice. She starts pulling it on with narrowed eyes, like she’s already planning how to hide her assets. I watch the way the lace hugs her thighs and barely covers her nipples.
