No one looks down on my mate. Not now. Not ever.
Senna seems to notice but doesn't comment. Just keeps pace beside me, her storm-gray eyes taking in everything with that same wide-eyed wonder she had at the Masquerade. Like she's seeing the world for the first time.
Maybe she is. How long has she been trapped in that gods-forsaken village?
I steer her toward a shop with elegant script on the window:Silken Threads. It's one of the nicer boutiques, catering to nobles and wealthy merchants, but I've bought gifts for Lora here before and the proprietor knows better than to turn away business.
A bell chimes as we enter.
The interior is all polished wood and plush carpets, with racks of dresses and tunics and trousers organized by color.A female xaphan with copper wings looks up from behind the counter, her expression shifting from professional courtesy to barely concealed surprise when she sees Senna.
"Lord Varyon." She recovers quickly, dipping into a shallow bow. "How may I assist you today?"
"My mate needs clothing." I keep my voice level, but there's steel underneath. "Everything. Day dresses, evening gowns, tunics, trousers, undergarments, shoes. Whatever she wants."
The proprietor's eyebrows rise fractionally at the wordmate, but she's smart enough not to comment. "Of course. Right this way, my lady."
Senna glances up at me, and I can feel her uncertainty through the bond. Like she's not sure she deserves this. Not sure it's real.
I lean down, brushing my lips against her temple. "Pick whatever you want. I'll take care of you."
She swallows hard, nods, and follows the proprietor toward the racks.
I stay back, watching as the woman pulls out dress after dress for Senna's inspection. She holds up a deep blue gown, then a forest green one, then something in wine-red that would look fucking incredible against her brown skin.
Senna touches the fabric like it might disappear if she's not careful. Gentle. Reverent.
How long has it been since anyone bought her something nice?
The thought makes my jaw clench. That bastard in the village had her foryearsand treated her like property. Like something to own and control and hurt. Never once thought to make her happy. Never once looked at her the way I'm looking at her now—like she's the most important thing in the room.
Fuck him. He's nothing. And if he ever comes near her again, I'll make sure he understands exactly what happens to people who hurt what's mine.
Senna emerges from behind a curtain in the wine-red dress, and my breath catches.
It fits her perfectly—tailored to her slim frame, cinching at the waist before flowing down to brush the floor. The neckline is modest but flattering, and the color makes her skin glow like polished bronze. She looks... gods, she looks like she belongs in a palace. Like royalty.
"What do you think?" She does a small turn, the skirt swirling around her legs.
"Perfect." The word comes out rough. "You're perfect."
A blush creeps across her cheeks, and I feel her pleasure through the bond—warm and sweet and a little shy.
"We'll take it," I tell the proprietor without looking away from Senna. "And the green one. And anything else she wants."
By the time we leave, I've spent nearly fifty nodals and Senna is wearing the wine-red dress with new leather boots and a cream-colored cloak. The rest will be delivered to my townhouse later tonight.
She's quiet as we walk, but not uncomfortable. Just... processing. I can feel it through the bond—this tentative happiness, like she's testing whether it's allowed.
"Hungry?" I ask.
She looks up, startled. "I... yes, actually."
Good. I want to feed her. Want to spoil her. Want to give her everything that bastard never did.
I steer her toward the market quarter, where the smell of roasting meat and fresh bread fills the air. Street vendors call out their wares—spiced tuskram on skewers, fried dough dusted with sugar, candied fruit that gleams like jewels.
Senna's eyes go wide, darting from stall to stall like she can't decide what to look at first.
