Page 19 of Silver & Smoke
Wren was paraded out by a seamstress, where the ladies, now thoroughly drunk, applauded and made suggestive comments as she was led towards the full-length mirror.
She nearly choked as she stared at her reflection. The dress was a beautiful creation, far simpler than the other designs that had nearly swallowed her in layers of tulle and lace. The silhouette suited her figure, hugging her curves and cinching her waist. But the pure white of the gown seemed to mock the darkness within...
Suddenly, her eyes stung with tears and panic burned up her throat as she struggled to get air into her lungs. She gripped therack of dresses beside her, her knuckles turning bone-white as she braced herself. The longer she stared, the more the reflection before her became a stranger – a pristine lie.
The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls inching closer as her heartbeat quickened and a droplet of sweat traced down her spine. The bodice tightened like a vice. Had it been this constricting during the fitting? She tugged at the neckline, but the movement only seemed to make the fabric cling more desperately to her skin.
‘Get out,’ she whispered, her voice almost inaudible amid the chatter.
Her reflection blurred as her vision tunnelled, the edges darkening like parchment catching fire.
She yelled the words this time. ‘Get out!’
The women around her started, their gasps echoing across the gallery.
Thea swept in, ushering them out with gentle words. ‘The princess has been overcome with emotion. She needs a moment to gather herself.’
But when only her sister remained, Wren motioned to the door. ‘You too, Thee...’
She didn’t register the click of the door closing; she could only stare at the woman in the mirror. Her reflection was surreal, fragmenting like shattered glass, each piece revealing something she didn’t recognize – or like. So many different versions of herself blinked back, none of them the right one.
She looked at the hem of the bridal gown, following the subtle lace pattern up the hourglass shape of her hips and the curves of her breasts to the sorrow shining in her eyes—
And then she froze as her gaze met a sea-blue stare in the reflection.
Torj Elderbrock stood behind her.
CHAPTER 10
Torj
‘A soul bond can be likened to an instinct of the most primal nature’
– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History
‘TORJ,’WREN WHISPERED, turning to him from where she stood before the mirror.
With his name on her lips, he could only stare.
She was breathtaking in bridal white, the floor-length gown hugging her curves, the neckline plunging between her breasts. The silk gleamed in the candlelight as she moved towards him, her eyes red-rimmed.
Torj was in a trance. He had never allowed himself to envision Wren like this, as a bride. Some deep, dark part of him had always known that it would be pure torture, never fully believing it would come to pass. Only now, here she was, dressed for her wedding.
But it wasn’t for him.
As her fingertips skated along his skin, he was suddenly young again, happening upon her in the Bloodwoods, her basket of herbs at her feet, a harvesting knife pointed at him. A ragged sound shuddered out of him then – relief, sorrow, longing, all tangled into one.
‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me,’ he murmured, cupping her face and drinking in every freckle, each shifting shade of green in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘Why him?’ he asked, voice cracking. ‘Tell me why it has to behim, after everything I told you.’
‘I’ve been trying to find the time to explain, but we can’t be seen together. You can’t—’
He knew he wasn’t being rational, but the primal urge to wipe Darian’s touches from her skin, to claim her as his own, as he was hers, was overpowering. Every principle he’d lived by warred against the need consuming him. She was promised to another – his sworn enemy, no less. But the bond between them was older than any vow, deeper than any moral code.
‘Torj,’ she whispered, a plea.
