Page 133 of The Call of Crimson
It was already midday, and past time for me to get dressed. Guests would be arriving soon, and I needed to be ready.
Sighing, I opened the wardrobe to pull out the gown I was to wear. Only, I don’t find it. Well, not all of it.
The gold ball gown hangs shredded and singed, the ends blackened as if they’d been held over a flame and allowed to burn just long enough to char the edges.
There was no way I could wear this now, and somehow, I know exactly who is responsible.
I pull out the ruined dress and toss it on the floor. Behind it hangs another gown with a note pinned to the bodice.
You’re beautiful in whatever you wear, but gold really isn’t your color. Wear this instead. Please.
The please was tacked on the end as if it were an afterthought to make it a request rather than a demand.
The dress it’s pinned to is the first gown that the dressmaker showed me, the one I was too hesitant to fight for.
Aurelius had somehow seen how much I preferred the black and abhorred the gold. He had seen me and encouraged me to voice my feelings.
I feel another bit of ice melt from around my heart at the gesture.
A smile forms at the corner of my lips as I run my hand down the gown.
The fabric is a nude satin overlaid with layers of lace and tulle, the deep V-neckline edged in black lace. Gold leaves adorn the bodice of the dress and trail down the skirt to the floor, giving the appearance of autumn leaves falling against a night sky.
I slip into it easily, the silken material hugging my curves perfectly. Relief floods me, gratitude so fierce it leaves a lump in my throat.
I weave my hair into intricate braids, twisting them together in a low, neat bun with several loose curls framing my face.
My natural, bare face stares at me, mocking me for never learning how to apply makeup. What use was that skill on the battlefield? None whatsoever.
I slip on velvety, soft black flats, grateful that I wasn’t expected to dance in heels. Boots would have been preferable, but they ruined the aesthetic and weren’t as easy to dance in.
A knock rattles my door, startling me out of my thoughts. When I open it, I find Rowina looking disappointedly up at me on the other side.
“I said I didn’t need help,” I say before she can speak.
She pushes her way past me. “I didn’t ask.” Her keen eyes assess me, lingering on the dress. “What happened to the other gown?”
“An unfortunate encounter with your brother.”
“I’ve never known Ayden to destroy a female’s clothing,” she hums, suspicion filling her tone.
I give her a small shrug. “I guess you don’t know everything about your brother.”
“You keep saying my brother.” Her eyes narrow. “But not which one.”
“Why are you here exactly?” I deflect, still unsure where my trust in her stands. “As you can see, I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself for the evening.”
She snorts in disbelief. “I can see that. Was the natural look a fashion choice or a lack of knowledge?”
“A fashion choice,” I say flatly.
“Liar.”
“Rude,” I scoff.
“Sit,” she demands, pointing to the stool before the vanity.
I relent, falling ungracefully into the seat.
