Two days.I must have slept for the first one.
Jerome continues. “As for the dinner invitation, please don’t worry about clothing. We’ve brought gifts from the Queen.”
He pulls the cover off the second rack, which the final two men had pushed up against the opposite wall.
It’s filled with sparkling gowns, all of them glittering.
I should be glad to see them, but the light catches them and suddenly…
I’m not in this room anymore.
I fight hard against it, but the memory pulls me back, a much older memory than of the last few days. It was ten years ago, but before the Vandawolf crushed my people. Before my parents were killed.
My mother had laid three dresses out on my bed and told me that I would go to one of Malak’s parties. I didn’t want to go. I was just an example of failure for them to mock. If I thought that the attendees would taunt me with words alone, it might have been bearable, but they didn’t.
She made me pick a dress. She sat me on a chair at the back of the throne room, but it was positioned so that anyone looking at the throne would see me.
It was on Malak’s left-hand-side, and now I wonder if it washisidea to sit me in the bright light near his throne.
My mother told me to stay there, but in the end, I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Erik’s touch on my shoulder brings me back to myself. “Asha?”
My focus falls to my hand where the two medallions rest. I haven’t relived those memories for a very long time. But it seems that taking control of the light and the dark has made me vulnerable to all the things I’ve pushed away.
My voice is tight. “I can’t wear those dresses.”
Erik can’t possibly know the memories those sparkling gowns have evoked, but he gives me a nod.
In contrast, the fae men are suddenly tense and pale.
“Blacksmith Silverspun, please forgive me,” Jerome says. “But if you send these gowns back, the Queen will be insulted.”
“She’ll punish you.” I close my eyes briefly, preparing myself to acquiesce. “I suppose if I need to?—”
“Wait.” Erik’s hand closes around my arm. “Will you let me try something?”
I nod, curious. “Yes.”
Leaving my side, he quickly flips through the dresses and then pulls one from the rack. It’s quite possibly the puffiest gown in the bunch, with an excessive number of overly large, material flowers sewn all over the skirt and bodice, even up under the arms, where they would force my limbs to stick outward.
Erik gives me a mysterious smile before he turns his back to me, the dress clutched in his arms.
The room fills with the sounds of threads snapping and material tearing while flowers fly free around him, landing on the floor and the bed.
Moments later, he turns back, now holding a simple, black gown with a few remaining colorful threads still caught in it.
The dress that was hiding beneath all the frippery is beautiful. It’s sleeveless with a round neck, fitted through the bodice, and flowing from the hips. It appears to be made of multiple layers. While the bottommost layer is opaque, the top layer is gauzy with a very faint shimmer.
“Better?” he asks.
“Very.”
I run my hand across the material. The dress looks a little small but has enough stretch that it should cling without restricting my breathing or my movements.
Refocusing on Erik, I ask, “What about you?”
