Page 79 of Embers in the Snow

I think I know what I’m going to wear to Corvan’s banquet.

I don’t want to turn up adorned in lace and silks and jewels like some highborn court lady. I’m not going to paint my face and display myself like a flower amongst the thorns.

I’m going to wear whatIchoose.

And I’m going to see how Corvan Duthriss reacts.

Does the Archduke of Tyron merely want a beautiful jewel sitting beside him? A trophy wife to be seen and not heard, the way Lady Dorava is to my father?

No…I don’t want to believe that.

A vivid memory flashes through my mind.

Of him.

After he drank from me, he was so gentle. Protective. Warm. Unassuming. For a moment, it felt like we were just two ordinary people, and titles and ranks and his strangeconditiondidn’t matter.

My heart beats faster as I select a pair of trousers. They’re deep blue; high-waisted and tapered at the leg. I slip out of my loose pants and pull them on.

They fit like a glove.

I shrug off my knitted tunic and select an elegant white shirt made of fine cotton. It’s clean and crisp and very well fitted, just like the trousers. I do up the shimmering mother-of-pearl buttons before fixing the cuffs. Then I tuck it into my trousers, fastening the gold buttons on either side.

Next is a structured jacket, with long tails and sleek lapels, in the same rich blue as the trousers.

I walk across the room to the dressing table and look at myself in the mirror.

The wound on my lip has healed perfectly, thanks to Corvan’s magical blood. I look confident and assured. The clothing fits me well, the cut accentuating my shape. I’ve been told that my shoulders and arms a little too strong andun-delicate. Lady Dorava often remarked that my small chest needsenhancementto match my narrow waist and wide hips and thighs.

A rather unfortunate figure, that’s difficult to dress,my step-mother used to say.

But the clothes I’m wearing now fit perfectly. Somehow, I look taller, but maybe that’s just because I’m standing a little straighter.

Still, there’s something missing. The outfit is a luxurious backdrop, but it needs an accent.

I rummage through the smaller boxes and bags until something catches my eye—a russet colored silk scarf, intricately embroidered with gold and green threads; twisting vines with delicate leaves.

It reminds me of autumn. It tickles my fancy a whole lot.

I pick it up, running my fingers over the sumptuous fabric. I fold it lengthways several times and tie it around my neck, forming a loose bow.

I look in the mirror again, turning my head this way and that. The gold threads shimmer in the light, accentuating the gold-and-red highlights in my dark hair.

In all of my existence, I don’t ever remember wearing anything I’ve liked so very, very much.

I run my fingers through my hair and twist it up into a bun. A pair of gold enamelled hair pins lie on the dresser. I use them to secure my hair. Each is decorated with a small pink lily flower.

Strands of hair escape, falling around my face, but I don’t mind. It softens my appearance.

The glossy lacquered boxes on the dresser draw my attention. They’re of various sizes; some flat and square, about the size of my palm. Others are small, like a matchbox.

I open one.

A pair of teardrop-shaped rubies glitters inside.

I gasp. Each gemstone is as big as my thumbnail. They’re suspended on curved golden hooks, brilliantly cut and faceted to catch the light.

They remind me of Corvan Duthriss’s eyes.