"Did he explain that I've worked here for eight years and I've never seen him give anyone anything?" She lets the ring fall back against my skin. "Not a gift, not a token, not a single personal possession. He doesn't... he doesn't do this, Celeste."
I don't know what to say to that. So I don't say anything.
Elena studies my face for a long moment, then seems to make a decision. "Okay. We need to get you ready. Sit down."
"Elena."
"Sit."
I sit.
She disappears into my bathroom and comes back with supplies I didn't know I had. Makeup, brushes, hairpins. Either she brought them, or someone stocked the room without my knowledge. Given how this household operates, probably the latter.
"I'm going to do your hair and makeup," she says, positioning herself behind me. "You're going to sit there and let me. And while I work, you're going to tell me how nervous you actually are, because I know you're not as calm as you're pretending to be."
"I'm not ner?—"
"Celeste." Her hands are gentle in my hair, starting to twist and pin. "I saw you come back from that bait mission covered in blood. Marcellus told me you fought off six vampires without flinching. But right now, your hands are shaking."
I look down. She's right. They are.
"I'm terrified," I admit. The words come out quieter than I intended. "Not of dying. I've made peace with that. But of... failing him. Embarrassing him. Making him regret trusting me."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do." She meets my eyes in the mirror. "And I know him. If he's bringing you into that room, it's because he knows you belong there."
She goes back to my hair, fingers deft and sure. I watch her work in the mirror, the concentration on her face, the care she's taking. It hits me suddenly that this is what having a friend feels like. I'd almost forgotten.
"Elena?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
She smiles. "Thank me by making those bastards choke on their own arrogance."
Despite everything, I laugh.
Twenty minutes later, I barely recognize myself.
My hair is swept into a low, sleek twist at the nape of my neck, elegant but secure, nothing that could be grabbed in a fight. My eyes are dark and smoky, dramatic in a way I've never bothered with. My lips are painted deep burgundy, almost black in certain light.
I look dangerous. I look like I belong at Maximus's side.
"One more thing." Elena holds up a small bottle of nail polish. "Hold out your hands."
I do. She looks at them, the short nails, the scarred knuckles, the calluses from years of fighting, and puts the bottle away.
"Never mind. Leave them. It's better."
"Better?"
"It tells them who you really are." She squeezes my fingers. "Not a lady. A warrior."
The dress fits like it was made for me. Probably because it was.
