all my scars without mummifying me, and the color—a pale bluish-gray shade I never would’ve chosen for myself—flatters my eyes and skin and contrasts well with my hair.
“Just how you wanted it, yes?” Dagny’s muted green eyes are dazzling with excitement as she steps back.
“It’s incredible.” I shift my leg, watching the material part on my thigh.
“It might be my greatest piece yet. No one has seen anything like it, you can be sure of that.”
No one here has seen anything like it.
“You will be the talk of the court, Your Highness.”
“I’m already the talk of the court.” I smooth a finger over the seam at the waist.
“Oh, don’t worry. That will flatten out when I stitch it properly.” Dagny waves my hand away. “Well?” She turns to Corrin, who has been oddly quiet. “Don’t you think Her Highness looks radiant?”
“If attention is what she wishes, she will certainly succeed. You’ll be showing off your undergarments.”
She’s referring to the high slit, no doubt. “I won’t wear them.” It wouldn’t be the first time I avoided seams by leaving my panties at home.
Corrin’s mouth gapes and she mutters something I—happily—don’t catch.
“Oh, one more here.” Dagny reaches for another pin, tucked into a small tin that sits on a side table. “Yes. That’s better.” She nods with satisfaction. “I’ll have this finished up in time for the royal repast.”
“Can’t wait,” I mutter. A new dress for a torture celebration.
“I suppose those Ybarisan monsters will get what’s deserved.” Dagny flinches. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness.”
“No, it’s okay. They are monsters.” May as well play the part convincingly. Though I don’t know if being chained up and fed from is what anyone deserves.
“I hear those brutes killed one of Lady and Lord Rengard’s tributaries. Slit her throat from ear to ear.” She tsks. “Just terrible.”
“Those men killed a mortal?” Nobody mentioned that.
“You be careful removing that gown. It’s full of pins. You’re liable to bleed all over that light material and ruin it before you get to strut around without your underthings,” Corrin answers curtly, steering the conversation away from talk of murder and gossip.
“Oh yes.” Dagny’s head bobs. “We wouldn’t want Her Highness poking herself needlessly.”
I shimmy out of the gown and into a sleeveless peach dress from my closet, returning as Dagny is gathering the last of her things.
She scowls at the scars on my shoulder, as if they somehow harmed her personally.
Ignoring her pity, I slide on the capelet she brought with her—a creamy gossamer material trimmed with gold embroidery and scalloped to look strangely like wings, though not at all silly. It ties with gold ribbon in the front and covers the scars on my shoulder impeccably. “Thank you for this.”
“If Her Highness finds it pleasing, I will surely make a dozen more, in every color imaginable.”
“Please, Dagny.” It would make something as simple as getting dressed in the morning far less difficult. “If I ever have to wear another dress like the one I wore yesterday, I might die.”
Corrin rolls her eyes.
“Oh goodness, Your Highness, don’t say such things.” Dagny curtsies and then bows, and then curtsies again, as if she can’t decide which is more appropriate. “Before I forget, I brought ya some things to draw with.” She nods toward the graphite pencil and sheets of paper sitting on the table and then lowers her voice conspiratorially. “I was thinking, if Her Highness has any ideas for more gowns she may wish me to sew, I would be delighted.”
I steal a wary glance at Corrin, expecting her to bluster about my jam-packed schedule not allowing for frivolous things such as art, but she doesn’t seem at all concerned by Dagny’s kindness.
“I might have a few. Thank you, Dagny. That was thoughtful of you.”
Her eyes twinkle. “’Specially one for next Hudem. Something the king might fancy. We should get started on that soon. Those gowns always require much labor. All the stitchwork and the detail.”
She means a wedding dress for my marriage to Zander. I feel a flicker of guilt that this woman might slog over something I’ll never wear. “I guess a replica of my last one would be in poor taste?”
She titters, though her nervous gaze flips to Corrin. “It would be too revealing, surely, Your Highness.”
“Right.” I sigh. The scars.
“There’s a ship comin’ in from Seacadore any day now, in time for the fair. It promises bolts of the finest fabrics we’ve ever seen. I’ve demanded the port master inform me the moment it arrives, so