Her spine lifted above the water, her pulse quickening until it ached. She was ready—to be brave, to be seen, to be known. Ready to open herself. Ready to belong wholly to him.
Sylvie lifted a towel, the linen open like an embrace. Amerei rose, taking Juliet’s hand as Sylvie wrapped her in its heavy warmth. A smaller towel pressed to her hair, drawing the last beads of water from her temples.
Juliet unhooked a robe of deep purple silk from the wall, slipping it over Amerei’s shoulder.
“Come,” she said, her grin soft and secret. “See what I’ve brought from home.”
Amerei’s lips curved into a smile, luminous. It was no longer the smile of a girl, but of a woman reaching toward the life—and the man—she had chosen.
She followed her grandmother into the next room, legs folding beneath her as she sat on the bed’s edge. Behind her, Sylvie moved like quiet grace, opening the wardrobe, draping fabric like starlight across the chamber.
“One of my ladies is a dressmaker,” Juliet said softly. “She has sewn gowns for every height of elven nobility. I had her make this for you when you turned sixteen.” Her hand lingered on the dress. “It has been waiting for you ever since.”
The fabric caught the glow of the orbs above—silken, luminous, pure as moonlight. White as breath on snow.
Thin straps crowned the shoulders, delicate as starlight. Beads shimmered along each seam, every stitch glimmering like constellations. The bodice curved with quiet boldness, sculpted to the shape of her, dipping low at her hips as if to whisper of the woman she had become.
It was elegant.
It was daring.
It was hers.
Amerei’s breath caught. “It’s—”
“Made for you,” Juliet murmured, bringing the gown closer and laying it gently across the bed, as if unveiling more than fabric—as if unveiling Amerei herself.
Amerei touched the gown delicately, her fingertips lingering on the cool silk.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Juliet’s smile flickered into a wink.
“Neither has he.”
Heat crept into Amerei’s cheeks. She let her hand fall to the bodice, tracing the dip of the seam, and for a heartbeat she imagined Viktor’s hand there instead—steady, reverent, claiming her as if she were both crown and ruin. Her breath stilled.
“It’s beautiful, Líri,” she whispered, brushing her fingers lightly over Juliet’s sleeve, needing the anchor.
Juliet tipped her chin up to look at her, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
“Then let’s make sure the boy weeps.”
Amerei’s lips curved as though she could already see it: his ice-bright eyes lifting, that first sharp breath, the way silence would break on his lips when he saw her.
A knock came at the door.
The vision shattered, spilling into reality.
Sylvie bowed as she returned. “High-Captain Seraphim is here.”
Amerei froze, helpless eyes darting to Juliet—who already wore a frown.
“Líri…” Amerei pleaded, her voice barely steady.
“Let him come. We can—” she sprang to her feet, fishing a scarf from the basket “—put this over his eyes.”
Juliet narrowed her stare.
