“Your ring?”
“He knows,” Amerei said. “And I intend to make him remember it.”
She sifted through silks and moon-pale linens until she drew free a gown violet as Amethyst stone at dusk.
“This one.”
The neckline cut clean—a ruthless dip, tasteful until it wasn’t. The seams at the bust fine as a whisper.
“Oh, she bites,” Jasmine grinned, wicked. “He won’t know whether to kneel or pray.”
They worked fast—Jasmine’s pulls lacing Amerei tight, lifting her breasts. Organza fell sheer over skirts, catching light like mist. A violet sash crossed beneath her bust and tied at the ribs.
“My cloak,” Amerei said, her hand brushing the inner seam.
Jasmine stilled at the glint of Viktor’s knife.
“How did you smuggle that past the guards?”
Amerei slid the sheath into the gusset.
“Something my husband taught me.”
Jasmine’s mouth tipped.
“I love that man already.”
Amerei lifted her wedding band from its chain and let it rest against her chest.
“To the garden,” she said, taking Jasmine’s hand.
Jasmine hooked Evander’s sleeve as they passed.
“You’re with us, Lieutenant.”
He pivoted dutifully—then caught the neckline.
He choked, eyes snapping to the ceiling.
“Fetch your dignity, boy,” Jasmine growled, jerking him forward.
The gardens of Amethyst waited—linen poured like cream, silver set to perfect angles, turquoise glass catching fire in the sun. A low table gleamed beneath the Eillish fig, its shade as soft as silk.
Xavien rose, taking Amerei in the way heat consumes wax—slow, savoring—his gaze lingering at the cut of her bodice before rising to her eyes.
“I had so hoped you would wear that gown tonight.”
His breath left him like midsummer heat rolling off stone.
“You did not disappoint.”
Jasmine’s fingers gripped the chair-back. Evander’s jaw clenched, silent.
A servant offered goblets.
“Wine for your friends,” Xavien said, inclining his head. “Ale for my queen.”
He placed the goblet before her—perfectly centered. One, two, three taps of his finger, then he withdrew.
