And I already have fault lines.
Usually that kind of thought found her unconsciously lifting one hand to trace the scars on her face, but today she was too tense to move a muscle. She just sat there, feeling like a statue. Like a lump.
She was in the same audience chamber as before, only this time, she didn’t have any trouble keeping that annoying echo at bay. That was how still she was.
She’d chosen her most flattering gown in the hope that it would give her confidence, but the fashion magazines she’d once hidden under her mattress had lied to her. All she felt was nerves.
A tall, crystal-edged mirror dominated one wall of every Council chamber. It was there to encourage constant self-inspection and self-reflection, not vanity. There was an old saying that the Councilors had to be able to look themselves in the eye without shame, and anyone who avoided the mirror’s cold gaze couldn’t be trusted. A lot of unicorn sayings were cheery like that.
Right now, to her surprise, the mirror was telling her that she had nothing to be ashamed of.
It was a good answer. It shouldn’t have left her feeling so cold and empty.
The woman in the mirror stared back at her. Her dark curls made a cloud around her face. Her dress was well-chosen, a shimmery gold silk that complemented her eyes. It was unusually flashy where most unicorn clothes were elegant but plain, but this was one of the few occasions where a little flash was allowed, just to acknowledge the significance of the occasion. She was meeting the man she’d spend the rest of her life with.
A stranger. Atribute. It made the rest of her life feel long and gray, like a hallway without any doors.
This is what I want, she reminded herself.This is what I’ve been working towards for a year now.
The door behind her swung open, and then for a moment all she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears.
His voice broke through it. “Iris?”
It was a rich, clear baritone. So that was what Keith Ridley sounded like. That was the voice she’d hear every day for the rest of her life.
Courage, her unicorn whispered.It’s a nice voice.
Iris steeled herself and rose, turning around. “Yes. I’m Iris Lightfoot.”
She couldn’t quite bring herself to look him straight in the eye, but she could already see that he was everything his picture had promised. Devastatingly good-looking, with a light golden tan and dark blond hair almost the shade of bronze. He had a sleek, well-muscled runner’s physique—and running would suit him, she thought. She didn’t know why she already felt like she had a sense of him, but she did.
He was dressed well. Men’s fashion wasn’t half as interesting as women’s, in Iris’s opinion, but she could still tell that his clothes, like hers, had been carefully chosen to flatter him and convey luxury and good taste. The fabrics looked unbelievably rich and inviting to the touch: a gray lightweight wool suit, perfect for summer, and a cobalt silk tie over a creamy shirt. Silver stud cufflinks shone at his wrists.
Gorgeous, respectable. Not only was he one of the chosen ones, he was in a profession that required diligence, intelligence, and bravery.
There was no doubt about it: Keith was a catch. Lady Marianne and the rest of the Silver Council had really shown their support of Iris’s transformation by pairing the two of them together.
As intimidated as that made her, she couldn’t let them down. She forced herself to meet his gaze.
In person, his clear, oceanic gray-blue eyes were even more striking than they’d been in the picture.
Iris was being pulled into them. She was drowning in them.
It was him. He was the one.
Somehow, even though it seemed almost impossible, the Silver Council had chosen hertrue mateas her match. This was her destiny. This was the love of her life.
And he was a tribute, which meant he was perfect.
Perfect as a marble statue on a tomb.
If he was her mate, then the woman she used to be really was dead. There was no way Keith would have been perfect for the old Iris.
She wanted to be happy about it—herunicornwas overjoyed about it, and she could feel it capering around inside her, tossing its mane and practically tap dancing up a storm—but she couldn’t.
It didn’t matter that she couldn’t smile. She didn’t want to.
This is a mistake. This has to be a mistake. I’m not this person. I can’t be.
