Page 48 of Splintered Shadow
“I don’t think I can wear these,” she said.
“Do not be silly. All females decorate their claws. It is unfortunate that yours are so short,” the stylist said. Her claws—real claws—were covered in a sheath of intricate gold scrollwork.
“I’ll cut myself or someone.” She wiggled her fingers, trying to acclimate to the weight of them.
“Not that set. The tips are dull. To pierce the skin is intimate and—” The stylist flushed, a bluish tinge spreading over her face. “You would require a specialized set for, umm, the prince’s pleasure.”
Laughter spread through the team, clearly knowing something that Sarah didn’t. Still tittering and throwing around looks that saidthings, they packed up to leave. A new assistant coached Sarah on how to address the king, various nobility and titles, and proper dinner etiquette. She practiced using cutlery with the claws. Grasping a wine glass was too difficult. Exasperated after Sarah knocked over the third glass, she was advised to abstain from beverages.
Finally alone, Sarah examined her reflection. With the silver claws on her fingers, she tried and failed to pick up the skirt. Red flashed from hidden panels, which was a nice touch, but the black fabric combined with the heavy makeup washed out her complexion. She looked like a zombie.
With blue circles on her cheeks. A zombie clown.
A knock sounded on a door and Vekele entered. He was dressed in a style; only the color suited him.
“That is… interesting,” Vekele said with caution. He wore a new jacket and waistcoat. The color was his typical black, but the fabric seemed crisp and rich. The lines hugged his form, drawing attention to his broad shoulders and the feather mantle. The feathers had a blue sheen. He also wore powder on his face, though it suited him. Kohl lined his eyes, making his eyes both more intense and broodier.
It was unfair how good he looked.
“I look like a clown.” She poked at the blue circle on her cheek. The blunt end of the silver claw did not break the skin, as the stylist promised. “Or like the peasants are rebelling because I told them to eat cake. You, however, look good.”
He plucked at the buttons on the coat. “It is adequate.”
“Adequate, he says,” she muttered, her tone playful.
Among the cosmetics left behind, Vekele grabbed a container of wipes. Carefully, he removed the heavy makeup. “Stay still. Do not squirm,” he ordered.
“I don’t squirm. Can you even see what you’re doing?” Once the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. She sucked in a breath, waiting for a burst of anger or a scolding. “I’m sorry. I know you’re sensitive… I mean, fuck. I’m sorry.”
“I see you at this angle,” he said, his tone calm, almost bored. “Do not treat me like an egg needing to be coddled. My sensibilities are not so fragile. I am blind in my front eyes.”
“Well, for the record, your eyes look really hot like that. The eyeliner.”
“Hot? Such a strange term for attractive.”
She checked her reflection. Face freshly scrubbed; her skin had a pink glow. It was fine, right? The king expected a spectacle. Going au naturel would cause more of a stir than painting her face white like a doll. “Is this considered fashionable? The hair? The clown makeup?”
Vekele tilted his head, inspecting her. “It is court fashion. Most people do not dress in such a manner.” He took her hand and inspected the ornamental claws. “However, these are worn by many.”
“They mentioned a special set for your pleasure,” she said, her voice falling to a whisper. She knew what that phrase meant and desperately wondered if it meant the same thing on Arcos.
Vekele had no visible reaction.
“Do not concern yourself,” he said, releasing her hand with a gentle pat. “Let us do battle.”
“I thought we were going to dinner.”
“You did not mishear me.”
Vekele
Sarah’s question about marking with her claws ran through his mind.
Her claws. Marking him. Claiming him.
He wanted the sharp, sweet sting of her claws on his skin. It was an old practice for females to mark their mates and often considered cruel, but his family remained unerringly traditional. It would be expected for Vekele to carry Sarah’s mark. Her blunt human fingers were incapable of doing anything more than scratching. She would need a specialized set of ornamental claws, sharp enough to pierce his skin.
Pitch nipped at his ear, snagging his attention.
