I turned to face her. “Radiates warmth and light when I use my magic. Captures memories.” My heart pounded. “Somehow keeps me calm.”
I yearned for that crystal to be on my skin again.
I turned back to face the mirror and caught a flash of skin through the edges of my bodice. I took a closer look. Despite being snug against my ribs, the bodice did not close completely in the front. Beneath the criss-crossing midnight blue ribbon was a sliver of my skin and the slight swells of my breasts.
Isthatwhy I was not supposed to wear my chemise?
My cheeks heated. I gripped my skirts, only to find that they weren’t complete. With a little tug, the layers of organza parted on each side, revealing slits in the fabric that ran all the way up both of my legs.
Surely Derrick would not have requested such an indecent design.
I turned to Brietta so I would not have to look at my nearly-naked form in the mirror. “Do you think I could alter the dress to look less…scandalous?”
She let out a mirthless laugh. “That dress is closer to our Ashmore uniforms than the normal Darkest Night costume. Derrick wanted you covered up!”
The heat in my cheeks spread to my ears. “Then what isyourcostume?”
“A peacock.” She uncrossed her legs and gestured across her bust. “Shimmering gold fabric will drape across my body and dozens of imported peacock feathers will cover whatever skin is left bare.”
I folded my arms. “And do you plan on participating in the Darkest Night?”
She did not even blink. “Maybe. The Darkest Night is one of those rare times we can make a choice, or many choices, depending on one’s mood.”
The romantic Brietta I once knew really was dead. “So you intend on gobbling up your choices like a feast?”
Brietta spread her hands out on the couch cushions. “So long as I hold the fork and knife instead of being the roasted boar on the table. It might be a tiny taste of freedom, but I want to gulp it all down until I can refill the chalice myself.”
I looked down. How could she want to go to the Darkest Night, scarcely dressed, after…everything that had happened? “But I still do not understand your costume. All the men will see you—”
“I want them to see me.” She stood up from the couch. “All of me, on my terms. Mine. I will banish the image of the girl crying bitter tears into Ilsa’s Presentation dress from their minds forever. I cannot control these men, but I will control how they see me.”
She took a few powerful steps until she stood beside the raised pedestal. We looked at our reflections, my eyes the same level as hers for once.
Brietta eyed my dress, opened her full lips, and recited:
“A dress of white turns into shackles of gold,
She is his to have, but he is hers to mold.”
My eyes slid from Brietta to my reflection. We were to be dazzling illusions of complacency, obeying commands yet playing by our own rules.
Maybe I could follow Brietta’s example and find power within the manipulation.
I took a deep breath, watching the small mounds of my breasts swell against the tight bodice. Instead of the midnight satin of the costume, I imagined Riyan’s hands encircling my waist like he had before.
My cheeks reddened. The organza in my hands crinkled as I slowly lifted my skirt, widening the slits on either side. The silver-beaded toe of my slipper peeked out and the dark organza parted as I revealed my foot, then my ankle, then my bare calf from the split in the night sky.
Gooseflesh bloomed across my skin as I reveled in the memory of Riyan on his knees, kissing the insides of my legs as his hands traveled higher…
I dropped my skirt and swallowed the lump in my throat as the knot within my hips tightened. At least I was confident that the desire I had felt for Riyan wasveryreal.
I chewed on my tongue as I tried to calm my racing heartbeat. Brietta was right, though the event itself was disconcerting, our costumes for the Darkest Night were certainly better than a tear-soaked Presentation dress.
My heart stopped for a moment. Tears. Ilsa’s Presentation dress.
Tears.
I turned to Brietta. “Do you still have your Presentation dress?”
