“I’m unlikely to get murdered at the joedurar, Kaiden. This is the king’s special gathering. If anyone embarrasses him in any way during it, he will have their head. I should be safe. I will go there, show my face, turn right around, and come home.”
“We will need a dress,” Clover said.
“I’m sorry?”
“We’ll need a dress in the Demarrs’ colors.” She broke her trance and looked at me. “We’ll need jewelry, footwear, and accessories. In fourteen days.”
“How long does that usually take?”
“For a gown fit for the king’s court? Six weeks. Two months would be better.”
“Can you do it?” Shana asked.
Clover raised her chin. “Absolutely.”
Shana and I looked at her.
“We have fourteen days to brush up on dinner etiquette and dancing. You will be fine.”
“Dancing?” That’s right. The joedurars ended in a combination dance and banquet.
“Yes,” Clover confirmed. “What dances do you know?”
“None.”
Clover blinked. “None at all?”
“None that wouldn’t get me instantly killed.”
Throwing my hands in the air and seductively wiggling my hips would probably get me decapitated.
“I could go and just not dance,” I said.
“That may not be an option,” Clover said. “Some invitations shouldn’t be declined.”
She was right. The entire upper echelon of Rellasian society would be there, not to mention the foreign dignitaries. In those circumstances, dancing went beyond simple social entertainment. If I refused the wrong person, I could make an enemy, and once again the Demarrs would be dragged into it.
Having a family was turning out to be a lot more complicated than anticipated. I could picture Everard leaning against the wall across from me like a tall dark wraith.I warned you.
Yeah, well you can just shut the hell up.
Clover wrenched a smile back on her face. “Don’t worry. We have fourteen days. We can do a lot in fourteen days.”
Shana put her hand over her face.
“Fourteen days,” Clover repeated like a prayer. “Stay right here. I need to get you measured.”
CHAPTER37
REDBERRY7
Raise your arms, my lady,” Clover said. It sounded like an order, and the “my lady” was clearly tacked on.
I obeyed.
The gown I wore flowed over me in delicate folds. It was breathtakingly beautiful, with a luxuriously full skirt, long sleeves, and delicate embroidery. It floated as I walked, fit me well, and was perfect in every way except one: It was a ghastly greenish yellow. It was probably some sort of fancy shade of chartreuse, but the color was less French liqueur and more diarrhea slime.
A shop assistant held up a large mirror so I could see myself. Yep, I was the prettiest digestive-upset princess ever.
