Page 314 of Kingdoms of Night

He can't mean for me to wear this.

It is a dress—of sorts—made of a thin, transparent pink material.

"Lena, if you're not ready in one minute, you're coming naked."

I rush to put the gauzy dress on, and blink as I look down at myself. I might as well be naked. While not entirely revealing, the sheer garment doesn't hide the shape of my legs or the outline of my nipples. I've seen courtesans with less demeaning outfits.

WhenDryan appears at the door, I'm no longer scared. I'm angry.

"Perfect."

"Perfect?" I repeat, my voice a good octave higher than usual. "This doesn't hideanything."

He tilts his head. "Whatever could make you believe I want to hide you?"

My jaw's set. "It's indecent."

"What's indecent is the size of your tits and your ass. You don't hear me complaining."

There's nothing abnormal about my body where I'm from. Margaux's breasts are much larger. I used to consider myself slim, but compared to the impossibly tall and svelte men and women I've seen since yesterday, I do have curves, which only serves to make this joke of a dress more scandalous. "Everyone is going to stare at me."

One cornerof Dryan's wicked mouth hikes up. "Count on it."

CHAPTERSIX

As soon as we enter the burgh,I'm thankful for my ridiculous dress. I would have stood out in my sensible cream taffeta. Women are in various stages of undress, or dressed like men, in close-fitting armor sticking to their skin. The gowns I spot are more elaborate than anything I've seen, velvet upon gold upon diamonds and oddly, pieces of wood, antlers, leaves. My eyes might have seen as many colors in my entire life as they do now. Everything's too bright, too harsh, and too dangerous.

Above the extraordinarythrong on a dais rests a king.

I would have known him for who he is without the crown of sharp crystal on his head. He's pale white and taller than anything, anyone else in the room. Everything he wears is ink black, including his nails and the tips of his fingers. His throne, adorned with three huge sets of antlers, and covered with a wolf pelt, is the only touch of color on the dais, bloodred and gold.

"Taken by the old man, I see."

I glance at Dryan and though I can't explain it, I blush. Looking from one man to the other, I notice a resemblance, though I'd be hard-pressed to pinpoint it. The king's eyes are black, to Dryan's sea blue. The king's face is thin and sharp, to Dryan's almost effeminate elegance.

The mouth, I decide. They have the same wicked, wicked mouth, as well as the same air of reckless indifference.

"Perhaps you regret our bargain now that you see you might have been his rather than mine," Dryan whispers.

I'm horrified. If Dryan's scary, the creature in the distance is so, so much worse.

"No? Wise, pet. My father might have taken you, but he would have dismissed you and given you to his servants after one night, at most."

"Your father?" I find myself repeating.

If anything, the king looks younger than Dryan.

Dryan chuckles. "He's fathered more brats than any of the high folk ever has, the old man. Thirteen children, ten of whom still live. It's unheard of in the history of the nine courts. Not that it matters. We're all bastards, as he refuses to crown a queen."

I can't help my curiosity. "Why?"

"Why don't you ask him?"

I'd rather cut off my hand and eat it, thank you.

"Come, let us greet the royal arsehole. The sooner we do, the sooner we can leave the high court."

I wonder how we can hope to reach the dais, but at Dryan's first step, the crowd parts to clear his way.

---