roses—or new blood—the pleated gauzy silk fanned over my breasts from narrow straps that otherwise left my shoulders bare. A crisscross of silver-edged strips of silk gathered the fabric over my ribs and waist asymmetrically, cupping my hips on one side.
From there, panels of bloodred, sheer black, and crimson silk swirled around my legs, parting to my hips as I walked. Gauzier scarves in the same colors floated from one shoulder, balancing the asymmetry of the gown. The fine silk floated around me like a mist of sunset fire, backed by the surcease of night. Yes, it suited my mood exactly. Perfect for someone arisen from the dead.
Ibolya did my makeup in rose and charcoal, mild and smoky. We discussed my feathery, flowery lashes and brows at some length, and finally elected to emphasize their natural colors in deeper shades of the same. We decided against false lashes, and added only a few small jewels, mostly as a nod to what my people expected to see.
“We just need jewelry and something of a crown,” Ibolya mused. “Let me—”
The door flew open, a shirtless Con glowering in the doorway, barefoot and wearing only his black leather pants, rock hammer in his hands. Vesno charged past him, far more cheerful, blazing a joyful circle around me and then setting to sniffing out every corner.
“Really, Conrí.” I lifted a brow. “Must you?”
His snarling gaze raked me, then traveled over me again. “You’re dressed.”
“Indeed. Preferable when one makes public appearances.”
He blinked at me, and I decided he wasn’t up to being teased yet. “I thought you’d sleep longer,” I said more gently. He clearly still needed it, judging by the shadows under his eyes. The dried blood flaking off his chest and the angry-looking wound at his throat didn’t help. Bruises radiated from it where I’d sucked, drawing his blood as I rode him through that astonishing interlude. Feeling my cheeks heat with an unaccustomed blush, I tore my gaze away.
He snorted, then shook his head. Dragged his fingers through his wildly mussed hair. “I woke up alone.” He sagged a little, looking around at the tub still waiting to be emptied, at Ibolya’s discreetly retreating back as she slipped out of the room.
“I left Vesno to keep you company.”
At the sound of his name, the wolfhound trotted over, nudging his head under Con’s hand and gazing at him with rapt adoration. Con ruffled the dog’s ears. “Yes. Thank you for that. When I saw you were gone, I … I overreacted.”
I held out my good hand to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he came over and threaded his fingers through mine. “I’m fine, Con.”
“It might take me a while to feel confident in that,” he confessed.
For me, too. “I’m feeling like Myself again—and there’s a great deal that needs My attention.”
He grimaced ruefully. “There is. There’s a lot of news I should probably tell you.”
“Yes, I understand you held court the other day.”
Narrowing his gaze, he assessed me. “Are you pissed about that?”
I laughed, squeezed his hand, and let go. Ibolya had set out several pairs of heels for me, and I gestured to them. “Which ones, do you think?”
“Stand up and let me see,” he answered, surprising me when I’d expected a gruff disinterest.
Bemused, I stood, then turned when he circled a finger. “No wig?” he asked.
“You said I didn’t need to?” I sighed at myself for making it a question, but it still felt odd to go without that weight, that layer of armor that provided protection and disguise. Checking myself in the mirror, I ran my good hand over the soft shoots of spring colors. “I told Ibolya not to shave it, but she still can.”
“No, don’t.” Con put his hands on my bare shoulders, standing behind me, easily looking over my head with me barefoot. He made a darkly masculine frame for my colorful and slender form. The flesh-and-blood man to my … exotic orchid self. He pressed a kiss to my scalp. “I meant it when I said you should let it grow.”
“It will be very strange,” I warned him.
“Spectacular and unique,” he corrected with a grin. Then he bent and picked up a pair of shoes. “These.”
They were not the ones I would’ve picked. Unobtrusive, with narrow straps nearly the same shade as my skin, only the stiletto heels themselves were striking, a gleaming deep crimson that looked nearly black.
“They’ll show off your gorgeous legs,” Con explained, kneeling to slip one onto my foot, “and that dress.