“And?”
Her gaze moved to the box.
Not the cuffs.
The box.
“The Council is sending her mother’s dress.”
For a moment, the room made no sound.
Then the basin clicked softly in the corner, though no water moved.
I wanted to cover it, but that would be even more suspicious.
“Selene Verita’s dress,” I said.
“From her formal.”
The words entered the room like something cold placed against skin.
Astra had the brooch.
Now the dress.
Quill wanted more than her paired. He wanted her arranged. He wanted the room to see Selene’s daughter dressed in Selene’s history bonded to another Ashford and call the trap inheritance.
“Does she know?” I asked.
“Not unless someone reaches her before delivery.”
Cosima had come because she had seen the danger before the rest of us had been meant to see it.
“You shouldn’t have brought this to me,” I said. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then why did you?”
She stared at my father’s note.
“Because you are deciding whether or not to obey him.”
“You know the answer?”
“No. That is why I came.”
I stared down at the cuffs.
They were beautiful.
That was part of the cruelty. A thing could be beautiful and still be designed for something terrible.
“If I wear them,” I said, “my father will take it as consent to the Council’s plans.”
“Of course he will.”
“If I don’t wear them, he will take it as insult and a rebellion.”
