I tamp down the guilt. Zander must not know. Not yet. “The important thing is that it’s dead, right?” Its reeking carcass was loaded onto a wagon so that it may be hauled through Lower Market Street as a prize.
“Yes, I suppose.” Zander pauses, and a slow smile curls his lips. “And it was the future queen of Islor who defeated it. That is something to celebrate.”
The last thing I feel like doing is celebrating. “I had help.”
“Merely a finishing strike. Come.” He curls an arm around my worn, frazzled body. “You need to be at the head of that parade.”
“Stop fidgeting.”
“I haven’t moved an inch. Ow!” I wince at the sharp poke from the pin Corrin slid into my hair.
“That was the last one.” She steps back to admire her creation—a complex weave of braids and coils that pulls half my hair back while leaving the rest tumbling over my shoulder. “Go on, take a look at yourself.”
I ease out of my vanity chair and stand before the full-length mirror, shifting from side to side to appreciate the dress Dagny dropped off late last night, flustered and bleary-eyed, as if she hadn’t slept. The stitchwork is pristine, the fit flawless, the style poised and yet sexy.
If I’d known what I would be wearing it to, I would have asked her to make me a sack.
“I’ve done my best,” Corrin declares. “If the king is not pleased, it will be because you chose a style that is entirely out of fashion.”
“Since when does the king pay attention to women’s clothes?”
Corrin harrumphs.
“Besides, doesn’t the queen set trends?”
“So you are willing to play the queen now?” She smiles smugly.
I enjoy playing his queen, the one he comes to at night, the one he wakes to in the morning, unclothed and welcoming. It has been that way every night since our first together, our evenings fraught with passion, our mornings lazy and sensual repeats, before he slips out to tackle his day of kingly duties and Corrin barges through my door.
I just can never play his queen in the nymphaeum, that relentless voice in my head reminds me.
I need to tell him.
And yet every time it’s on the tip of my tongue, I bite it back, afraid it will ruin what we have.
I stretch my leg out, watching the slit part and the gauzy material cascade around my thigh. Sexy stilettos would suit this dress, but there is nothing of the sort in Princess Romeria’s closet or, dare I say, anywhere. Still, we managed to pair the dress with gray satin-and-leather heels that don’t match the color but complement it nicely. Together with the complex weave on my head, I hardly recognize myself.
I don’t know if it’ll be strong enough armor to face a day of death. “You’ve done well, Corrin.”
A knock sounds on my closed bedroom door.
“That must be the king, here to escort you.”
My nerves stir.
“Remember, chin up, back straight at all times,” she coaches.
But it isn’t Zander waiting for me. It’s Dagny.
“Oh, Your Highness, I just had to come and see you before you were off.” Her grin is wide as she takes me in from head to toe, her hands clasped at her ample bosom. “Isn’t she breathtaking?”
Even with my swirl of trepidation about bearing witness to today’s events, my smile for the effervescent seamstress is genuine. “You are a marvel, Dagny.”
“Oh.” She waves away my compliment. “I’m just fortunate enough to dress the future queen. I brought you another capelet.” She pulls the fold of fabric tucked under her arm and thrusts it into my hand. “I heard it’s supposed to cool off tonight something fierce. Thought you might need it. The silk was a gift from a friend at the market.” Dagny’s eyebrows rise knowingly. “It’s been made ’specially warm.”
I recognize the silky indigo material within my grasp immediately. It’s the one Bexley was intent on when she told me about the seer.
“She can’t wear a capelet with that dress,” Corrin scoffs, shaking her head. “How utterly silly she would look.”
“Oh, fates, you’re right, Corrin. You’re always right. I’m a daft woman,” Dagny blathers, ringing her hands. “Might as well keep it, though. Perhaps you might find use for it.” She winks at me.
No, Dagny isn’t so daft after all. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” My heart thumps. Bexley said she would find a way to pass along information, and she has—through my seamstress. Dagny might not be the most clandestine with her hints, but they easily pass over Corrin’s scrutiny.
“Anything for our future queen.” She curtsies and with one last pointed look at the capelet, she ducks out.
I study the clothing in my hand. It’s thicker than the others. She’s layered it. And the stitchwork is far sloppier than Dagny’s handiwork. Too sloppy. Dagny didn’t make this.
I tuck it under my arm. “Corrin, is there any more of that pressed apple juice you brought me this morning? It was so sweet.”
Her forehead wrinkles in thought. “I’d have to check the kitchen.”
“Would you mind?”
“I need to make my way down there, anyway.” She collects the empty tray from my first meal. “I’ll be back shortly.”
I wait to hear the sitting-room door shut before I dart to my dressing room with the coverlet. Wiggling my finger through a space in the shoddy seam, I tear into it, pulling the material apart.
A small slip of paper is tucked within.
Market Apothecary. Who you seek waits for you there tonight.
My insides twitch with anticipation as I read the scrawl.
Bexley found Gesine and Ianca, and I know where the apothecary is. I can get there on my own if I have to, I’m sure of it.
But maybe it’s time to tell Zander.
My perked ears catch the sound of the exterior door shutting. I shove the torn coverlet and note in a corner, and with a breath to steel my nerves, I march into the sitting room, adrenaline thrumming in my veins.
Zander’s eyes rake over me as I approach, from my hair all the way down to my shoes. My skirt splits open with each step, exposing my leg to my hip. His eyes flash wide at the sight.
I do my own admiring, though. Today, he has chosen an especially exquisite jacket in ink-blue satin, fitted to his body and fastened from neck to waist. It’s adorned by metallic swirls and floral vines. It pairs with my outfit nicely.
“That is the dress Dagny made for you?” he asks evenly. The softer, passionate Zander I found in my bed is tucked away, leaving me to contend with Islor’s cool and composed king again.
But I’ve also come to enjoy this dance between us.
“She did. Corrin was so sure you wouldn’t approve, given you’re a connoisseur of women’s fashion and all.” I can already see that he does approve, though, in the way his eyes flare with heat and his lips part.
He releases a long, slow exhale. “It’s adequate.”
My eyes widen with surprise.
The corners of his mouth twitch. “I didn’t think you the type to fish for compliments.”
I stop in front of him. “Oh, but you’re wrong there. I love compliments. And reactions.”