Page 66 of All the Chaos of Constellations
Novalise shook her head. “It’s not what I wanted.”
Trysta smiled, gazing at the dress as though it was everythingshecould’ve hoped for. “I made a few modifications after your last fitting.”
“A few?” It was an entirely new design.
“Be a good girl and go try it on.” Trysta gestured toward the door of her bathing suite.
Without warning, Novalise was flooded with memories of the night before. Sprawled on Asher’s sofa with his mouth fused to her core while she was helpless to do anything but let him send her into oblivion. Asher thrusting into her over and over as she rode him, teetering on the brink of sheer ecstasy.
His words echoed in her mind.
Because you’re a good girl, aren’t you, my lady? You’re a good girl who always does exactly as she’s told.
Warmth spread across her chest, and she fanned herself, suddenly too hot to breathe.
“Nova?” Her mother’s voice drew her from her sensual thoughts.
She tore her gaze away from the gown and met Trysta’s questioning gaze. “Hm?”
“Go try it on.”
Novalise ducked her head. “Yes, Mother.”
She shuffled into the bathing suite, loathing every second she undressed. The gown her mother had chosen for her was wretched. Morose gray and painfully repulsive, it draped over her like an oppressive cloud of disappointment. The sleeves were sheer but long, and there were a thousand onyx buttons up the front, the last one stopping at the base of her throat. A high collar sprouted around her neckline like a pruning peacock, making it nearly impossible to move her head, while dense layers of puffy tulle suffocated her.
Just like every other aspect of her life.
Again, she couldn’t quite breathe.
Gathering up handfuls of the irritating fabric, Novalise stalked out of the bathing suite.
Trysta’s expression morphed from one of tiresome patience to absolute rapture. She plastered one hand to her heart, gasping obnoxiously. “You look like a dream.”
Novalise spied her reflection in the ornate floor to ceiling mirror. “I look like I’m a week away from coming out of mourning.”
“Nonsense.” Trysta bustled around her, fluffing the absurdly long train, dismissing her complaint. “I’m meeting with Lady Everland of House Terensel later today to discuss the final arrangements for the flowers. The dahlias aresucha lovely choice. I had the very same ones at my wedding. But I think if she can provide them in a dark burgundy, possibly even black, then white lilies would be the perfect complement.”
Bitter frustration clawed its way up Novalise’s throat. “Are you planning my wedding or my funeral?”
Trysta’s nostrils flared and the look that flashed across her face was nothing short of scorn. “What has gotten into you?”
“I’m sorry, Mother. I just…”
Say something, a tiny voice inside herself pleaded.
She needed to speak up. To use her voice, to make herself heard. She was allowed to make her own decisions, to choose for herself. This washerwedding. She was allowed to have an opinion, to disagree, to argue, and to be combative. Otherwise, she would lose herself, becoming nothing more than the idyllic darling of Aeramere. Always agreeable. Always obedient. Always lacking in conviction.
Her courage failed her.
“I’m just nervous.” The lie spilled from her, leaving a foul taste in her mouth.
But Trysta’s expression softened. “It’s understandable. Marriage is a milestone in life, and not one to be taken lightly. But your future husband is…somewhat kind, has exceptionally powerful magic, and is heir to the throne. I have no doubt he will take excellent care of you.”
Warning fired through Novalise, causing her throat to close.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” But she heard the exact words her mother had spoken, and she knew they held significant meaning.
Your future husband is…not your future husband will be…
