Page 36 of To Touch A Silent Fury
“And your timid delivery was all the more captivating for it,”he said. “You’re a natural.”
I shook my head. “Let us hope he wins, and I do not have to push him away again.”
“Quite,” Thread Ersimmon mused.
I returned my gaze to the arena, watching bout after bout until my eyes were sore.
By the end of the day, I had rejected two more favours.
The first from a handsome man from the Tastelands, who took the refusal in his stride, immediately offering his token to one of his countrymen instead.
The second from another man from the Scentlands, who took it the worst of the three. Ersimmon had whispered his name to me as he rode around the arena, and strangely, it was one I had heard before.
Duc de Fleur.
Thin, but not lithe, with a low brow and square jaw. Seth didn’t need to repeat his words from the other day. The grim look on both our faces showed we remembered the conversation well enough. His history of cruelty. The rumours about his past wives, now buried in the same plot outside of Ville-Fleur.
When I refused his favour, he stiffened, his practised smirk twisting into something fouler. Thinking quickly, I offered my hand for him to kiss. He took it, and from the merest touch of his hand, I felt his anger at my rejection.
As he leaned in, I read each emotion as swiftly as I could. He was beyond indignant, there was more to it. I hadn’t only wounded his pride, I could feel he didn’t believe Ideservedto wound him. There was hatred there, one attached to my sex. I had felt it before, and no doubtwould again.
His kiss sickened me, and I wiped the back of my hand against my dress for the tenth time as we finally left the arena behind us for that day.
My tired eyes drifted closed as the same woman from the morning pulled at my hair yet again, freeing the pins before twisting my hair into yet another elaborate knot.
All I had done all day was observe the twenty-odd short bouts, and yet, I felt completely exhausted. My back hurt from holding myself straight, my jaw hurt from holding it locked, and I wanted nothing more than to eat a hearty meal and get some sleep.
But it was only just falling into the evening, and the new dress lying on my bed proved how far away I was from rest. The underlayer was the fairest shade of shell pink I’d ever seen, like the inside of a young oyster. Atop it, the sheer gossamer layer was the palest gold. It would look white at first glance, the usual shade for brides, and there was no way that was accidental.
I was barely present in my body as she pulled me into the dress. It was far lower cut on my body, the corseted cups of the bust barely covering me as they pushed my breasts up. The hem was several inches shy of the floor, showing off the dainty golden slippers the Thread had chosen. She dusted my face with a shimmering powder, before coating my tanned collarbones with the same.
Then she took a step back, assessing me as a painter would their canvas. “You’re done.”
“Thank you for your help.”
She just huffed and swiped the coin pouch from the bed, pointing at me as she reached the door. “Tell your master to get better with his directions. All he told me for tonight wasethereal. He had to tell me three different words before I got that he wanted youto look sweet and airy.”
I held back a smile as she left. Then I pulled on the long white gloves to protect me from the torment of others’ minds, at least up to my elbows. But there was flesh on show, and it made me uncomfortable to know that an accidental brush of my upper arm could allow me into someone’s mind. I would have to be careful.
A knock came at the door, and I told him to come in, expecting the Thread.
I turned to the entrance as it opened, playing with the pearl drop necklace.
But it wasn’t the Thread.
Another man entered the room, one I’d known for years but had never seen like this. This wasn’t my usual Seth, with an easy smile and his constant drab robes. This was Prince Septillis of Droundhaven.
He was still far from brightly dressed, with his black trousers and overcoat covering a dark grey shirt, but it was all finely tailored. It brought out his jaw, and the extra darkness made his paleness more alluring, just as it had on Langnathin. I had always thought Seth quite handsome, despite our shared Moontouched colouring. But with clothes that actually fit him, he had moved from his overworked scholar look to a man of means.
I raised my eyes from my appraisal of his clothing to his eyes and found him near slack-jawed. He stared, his eyes poring over me from head to toe, catching on every detail, every gem set into the bust down to my golden slippers.
He met my eyes, and the intensity in his expression made my breath catch. “You look…”
“I know,” I said, looking down at my skirt to deflect from the weight of his gaze. “It’s a lot.”
“That’s an understatement.”
I twisted my fingers together, my cheeks heating. “Don’t make me panic more than I alreadyam, please.”
