Page 9 of Crown of Light and Ashes
"First, you will bathe," Mistress Varin says, gesturing to one of the younger women, who disappears through a side door I hadn't noticed. The sound of running water follows. "Then tomorrow you will be dressed in the ceremonial gown Lord Kaan has selected for his high bride—a title given only to the most politically significant wives of Shadow Lords, those whose unions seal major alliances," Mistress Varin explains with cold formality. "We need to make sure the fit is right, so once you have bathed, we will try on the dress."
High bride. The term makes my stomach turn. I want to refuse, to fight, to run. Instead, I nod coolly.
"And this gown?" I ask. "I assume it's black?"
"It is the ceremonial wedding gown of the late Lady Morvaine, Lord Kaan's grandmother," Mistress Varin says, a note of reverence entering her voice. "It is considered a great honor. The gown has not been worn in three generations."
"How fortunate for me," I say dryly.
The bath is drawn, the water scented with unfamiliar herbs and flowers that leave my skin tingling slightly. I submit to the ministrations of the servants, letting them wash my hair and scrub my body while I retreat into my mind, reciting assassination protocols and escape routes to keep myself calm.
When they finally bring the gown, I can't suppress a reaction. It's beautiful in a dark, disturbing way—black silk and velvet with silver embroidery depicting constellations and shadow symbols. The neckline plunges indecently low, and the back is almost entirely open. It's designed to display the wearer like a trophy.
"I will not wear that," I state flatly.
Mistress Varin's eyes narrow. "You will. Lord Kaan has commanded it."
"I am not yet bound to obey his commands," I counter.
"Perhaps not," she agrees, her voice softening strangely. "But consider this, Lady Nesilhan. Your position here is precarious. Your family's safety depends on this alliance. Is a dress really the battle you wish to choose?"
She's right, of course. This isn't the hill to die on, not when larger objectives are at stake. But surrender, even on something as trivial as clothing, grates against every instinct.
"Fine," I concede finally. "But know that I do so under protest."
"Duly noted," she says dryly.
The dress fits as if it were made for me, which is unsettling in itself. As the servants arrange my hair—partially up with elaborate braids threaded with silver wire, partially down in loose waves—I stare at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing myself.
The woman who stares back at me is beautiful in a dangerous way, golden eyes bright against the darkness of the gown, skin pale and luminous. I look like a Shadow Court consort, a worthy match for the monster who will soon claim me as wife.
The thought should disgust me. Instead, I find a strange resolve settling over me. Let Kaan think he's won. Let him believe I'm just another political pawn, a reluctant bride cowed by his power and reputation.
He'll learn his mistake far too late.
I recite the Assassin's Creed silently as I move toward the door:
Swift as shadow, still as stone, Heart untouched and duty known. Life for life and blood for blood, Justice served when daggers flood.
Tomorrow I will become the bride of a monster. After that, I begin working toward becoming his widow.
Chapter Three
The Monster's Wedding
Kaan
"IF YOU STAB me with that pin one more time, I will have your hands removed and fed to whatever sad creature you call a pet," I inform my tailor calmly, examining my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The man—Derrin, I think his name is—goes pale and mumbles apologies, his fingers now trembling so badly he can barely hold the pins. Pathetic.
"That was a joke," I lie. "Do lighten up. It's my wedding day! Or it will be, in approximately—" I glance at the ornate clock on the wall, "—six more fucking hours of this absolute torture."
The door opens, and Emir enters withoutknocking. One of these days, I really should execute him for his perpetual familiarity, but it's so difficult to find competent help these days.
"Out," he commands the servants, who scatter like mice before a cat.
"You're interrupting my fitting," I observe, carefully removing the heavy cape and draping it over a chair.
