By the time the afternoon sun dipped behind the dark spires of the Calyrix Castle, Maris felt as though her head might split open.
Aldwyn had droned on with the unstoppable rhythm of a river in flood, names and bloodlines, wars and betrayals until she thought she might choke on the weight of so much ancient grief.
She staggered from the scholar’s tower, dizzy, barely hearing Aldwyn’s curt, “Tomorrow, we will begin on the lineage of the Kingdom of Calanthe’s High Houses.”
When Maris approached her chamber door the wraith twins were waiting, silent as grave markers. One carried a folded gown draped over pale arms, shimmering like moonlit water.
Maris blinked.
“What is that?”
Neither answered. They merely pushed the heavy oak door open and ushered her in, guiding her toward the bathing chamber.
Steam hung in the air from a fresh copper tub, fragrant with crushed rosemary and sweet bay. Maris nearly collapsed as she stepped in, letting the heated water draw the ache from her bones.
When they finally lifted her out, drying her carefully with dark cloths, they held out the gown.
It was breathtaking, a flowing sheath of the sheerest midnight silk, clinging to every curve. Its high throat was fastened with a jeweled clasp, but the back plunged in a deep V nearly to the swell of her hips, exposing the soft dip at the base of her spine. Threads of gold shimmered like starfall when she moved, and tiny black pearls traced along the hem where the fabric brushed her ankles.
She smoothed trembling hands down her sides, catching her reflection in a tall mirror.
The Wraiths, unblinking, brushed her hair until it gleamed like a spill of ink, then stepped back to survey her.
Maris swallowed hard, memory punching through her chest…
“At least now,”Kael had told her, his voice cruelly calm, “you might serve a purpose.”
A purpose.
Her throat tightened. In her father’s crumbling farmhouse, she’d never been anything but an afterthought within her kingdom. A lonely scrap of grief trying to survive in a world that had long since stopped caring. Now she stood clothed in something spun from moonlight, about to dine with monsters who saw more worth in her than her own kind ever had — even if it was only to break her. A purpose, she reminded herself again, though it made her heart twist. The Wraiths gestured for her to follow, and she stepped carefully from the room, slippered feet whispering on the cold stone floor.
The hall beyond was quiet but heavy, like the hush before a hunt.
And she could feel it, Kael’s presence pulling at her even through walls and shadows.
I am not yours, she promised the darkness, but the tiny flame deep inside her traitorous heart wondered what it might feel like if she were.
The great hall felt alive tonight. Hundreds of candles burned in iron cages shaped like coiled vines, painting the polished floors in gold and shadow. The nightbound nobles were gathered in their silks and velvets, masks of silver and obsidian hiding the worst of their fanged smiles.
A long banquet table groaned beneath platters of black-glazed meats, shining fruits that looked half-poisoned, and towers of candied herbs perfumed with honey. Dark wine flowed in crystal goblets like spilled rubies.
Maris was seated near Kael, barely breathing in her sheer gown. The place beside him felt too close, as if every brush of air might connect them.
He had been speaking with her quietly, voice pitched so no one else could hear. His questions came measured, but something behind them felt razor-sharp.
“What does that mind of yours think of this place, Maris?”
She glanced at him, startled.
“It’s a cage,” she whispered. Disdain, blatant in her expression.
His eyes, molten-silver, full of secrets, seemed to burn with strange light, he nodded.
“A gilded cage is still a cage,” he agreed softly.
As she reached for her wine, her fingers brushed the rim of his glass at exactly the same moment.
Their hands collided, skin to skin.
