“Oh shit—I mean—Blessed Kindred, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to use my magic. Are you alright?” A female voice, frantic and subtly familiar.
I blinked through the spots dancing in my vision. A woman stood beside the bed, holding a pile of clothing and looking horrified.
“How did you get in?” I barked.
“Luther let me in. He said you might need some clean clothes.” She looked pointedly down at my naked body, now on full display after my towel had dislodged in my sleep.
Seriously, how did I keep ending up undressed in front of these people?
“We met last night,” she said with a tentative smile. “I’m Eleanor. One of the many distant Corbois cousins.”
That’s right—Eleanor, the cheerful woman whose bright energy had stood out among the severe faces.
I dropped the knife and sank to my knees, clutching the bedsheet to my chest and blushing bright red. “Yes, I remember you. Hello again.”
“Sorry I scared you.”
“Sorry I tried to stab you.”
“No problem,” she said with a shrug. She tossed the clothing she was carrying onto the bed and eyed the sack of blades I’d left beside me, the contents of which were now scattered across the sheets. “Do you always sleep with a pile of knives?”
“Luther brought them by last night. I think he believes one of you is going to try to kill me.”
Eleanor snorted. “That’s ironic.”
“Why?”
“I mean, if anyone was going to try…” She caught herself and blanched. “Not that he would ever… I don’t mean…”
“You mean if anyone had a motive to kill me, it would be Luther?” She nodded sheepishly, and I laughed. “That’s what I tried to tell him.”
She rolled her eyes and shoved some knives to the side before plopping down beside me. “Good luck trying to tell him anything.”
I liked this woman already.
“If Luther armed me to the teeth and then snuck you in while I was sleeping, he either doesn’t think much of my self-defense skills, or you must have done something to make him mad.”
She grinned. “Oh, I’m sure it’s the latter. I do my best to provoke him on a daily basis.”
I really liked her.
“But,” she continued, “he did tell me not to wake you. I’m just not very good at following his orders. I thought you might like someone to accompany you to breakfast, since you’re all alone here.”
All alone here.
The words throbbed like an open wound. I was indeed alone—not just in this palace, but in this world of Descended. My family, Henri, Maura, everyone I loved… although they were only a few miles away, they might as well have been in another realm.
“Yes,” I forced out. “That would be nice.”
She began to rifle through the garments she’d brought, and I realized with a start that they were all dresses. Not just any dresses, but elegant, floor-length gowns.
I hadn’t worn a dress since I was a child. Once Teller was old enough to play with me, I’d grown jealous of how the breeches he wore made him faster at climbing trees and running through the forest. One night, I threw a tantrum and hurled all my dresses into the fireplace, demanding that my parents outfit me no differently than my brother.
As I grew older and more aware of the attention of boys, I began to regret my decision. I was jealous of the way the pretty girls at school would dress to enhance their feminine curves, but my stubborn pride kept me from admitting my desire to be like them. Over time, that developed into an embarrassing fear of all things girlish.
The stunning dresses that lay before me now felt like weapons I’d never been trained to use, a power I wasn’t yet worthy to wield. My cheeks burned at the idea of explaining that to someone like Eleanor, who wore her womanhood with effortless grace.
She shot me an apologetic look. “Luther said you’d prefer pants, but dresses were all I had on short notice. I can try to find you some for tomorrow.”
I forced a stiff smile. “These are lovely. Thank you.”
I ran my fingers over them, my touch trailing over the delicate lace, the glittering gems, and the colorful embroidery. Anxiety rose like a lump in my throat.
I’m a Bellator, I reminded myself. And I will not be intimidated by a dress.
Something Eleanor said sparked a memory. “You took care of me after the armory fire, didn’t you?”
Her brows leapt. “You remember that?”
“Bits and pieces. I remember Luther asking you to help me.”
Her face bloomed bright scarlet. “I hope you don’t mind that I bathed you. You were in rough shape, and he wanted me to check your wounds.”
I frowned. I’d woken up that morning with no signs of injuries—not even a bruise. Somewhere in my head, the nagging of my conscience grew louder.
Eleanor sighed. “I would have put you in something nicer, had I known you would end up in front of the whole family. Luther was in a panic, so I did the best I could.” She leaned back on her hands and gave me a curious look. “I’ve never seen him that worked up before.”
My frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
“I never thought the great Luther Corbois would be the type to fuss, but he hardly left your side. He kept checking your pulse every few minutes to make sure you were still alive. When I finally convinced him to go bathe, he made me swear not to take my eyes off you.”
“He didn’t… he—he wouldn’t… I’m sure he didn’t fuss,” I protested as warmth crept up my chest. “He must have felt guilty for letting me go into the building.”
“Perhaps.” She pursed her lips, a suspicious gleam in her eyes.
Suddenly I felt awkward, unsure what to do with my face or my hands. I plucked the plainest dress in Eleanor’s collection—a dark blue velvet sheath with a straight neckline that dipped below my shoulders and a trickle of silver embroidered stars cascading upward from the wrists. Modest enough, other than a high slit that allowed a single thigh to peek through.
I hurriedly dressed, then Eleanor brushed out my hair and secured it with a silver hairpin she pulled from her own curly brown tresses.
I dared a peek in a nearby mirror and nearly jumped. It felt like looking at a stranger. With the benefit of sleep, the darkness had vanished from beneath my silvery eyes, my skin glowing with warmth and color. The Crown cast a faint light over my face, highlighting the apples of my cheeks and the slightly upturned nose I’d always hated for making me look far sweeter than I really was.
My ice-white hair, having spent the better part of twenty years braided and out of the way, was joyfully unbound in gentle waves across my shoulders, while my curves, hidden for so long under tunics and baggy trousers, were boldly pronounced beneath the clingy fabric.
I felt somehow more exposed than when Eleanor had walked in on me wearing nothing at all. It felt like putting some part of me on display that I normally kept locked up and hidden away, even from myself.
But strangely enough… I didn’t hate it. There was an undeniable strength in the woman looking back at me. Perhaps she couldn’t wrestle nimbly in the dirt or scurry up a tree, but she looked like she could best a man in a thousand other ways. Much more interesting ways.