Page 114 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

“Miss?” one of the seamstresses asks.

“Yes?” I reply, raising my brows. “Did you say something?”

“I asked if you like it, Miss?” The seamstress smooths my skirt. “Is there anything you’d like to have changed?”

Forcing myself to look in the mirror, I can’t help but stare at my reflection. Now, I understand why Tiffy keeps looking at me the way she does—with that concerned look. My auburn hair hangs limp around my face. Dark circles gather under my eyes, and they’re puffy from the lack of sleep. My golden-brown irises look dull, as if they’ve lost their shine. Lightly, I touch my fingers to my cheeks. My skin seems washed-out, as if I’ve neglected to care for myself.

How could I have let this happen?

The question is twofold. It pertains to my physical appearance, yes, but also the circumstances that led me here.

How could I have let this happen?

Why wasn’t I willing to do what it took to show Viridian that I do care for him? That I can love him? That being apart from him feels as though my heart has been ripped from my chest?

“Miss?” Tiffy steps forward, her mouth tight with worry.

I snap out of my stupor and focus my attention on the dress. It’s a beautiful ivory color, decorated with romantic lace detailing. It has long, lace sleeves that come down past my wrists, about half-way down my hands, and a flowing skirt with a sizable train. The sweeping neckline is also intricately detailed, with the same luminescent silver metal that’s been spun into the small, flowery detailing at the skirt’s hemline.

“It’s…” My voice trails off. The never-ending numbness eating at me takes away my ability to form an opinion. “It’s beautiful.”

And it is beautiful. Truly.

The seamstresses exchange glances. Though, I can’t tell what kind.

“Well,” Tiffy interjects, sparing me, “if Miss Thurdred thinks of anything she’d like altered, we will inform you immediately.”

That seems to appease the seamstresses.

“Wonderful,” the lead seamstress says. With that, she and Tiffy help me out of my wedding dress, and back into my day gown.

Tiffy escorts me back to my chamber and lingers in the threshold.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Miss?” she asks, pressing her hands to her abdomen.

I shake my head. “I’m all right.”

Tiffy’s expression seems to fall, sinking further into pity that I don’t want to see. She swallows. “Very well, then. Do let me know if there’s anything I can do.” She reaches out and places her hand on my arm. “Anything at all.”

I take a breath and meet her eyes, mustering the strength to offer her something akin to a smile. “I will. Thank you, Tiffy.”

She just nods. Stepping back slowly, she gently closes my chamber door.

I move to my bed and let myself fall onto the mattress. Careful not to kick my sketchbook where I left it on the end of my bed earlier, I turn onto my side, and pull the covers over myself.

And even though it’s not yet dark outside, and I haven’t eaten dinner, I close my eyes.

It’s not long before sleep pulls me under.

Chapter Thirty

When the dreaded day comes, I wake before the sun.

I lay there, with my eyes closed, for hours. It’s only when Tiffy and a slew of ladies’ maids—much more than usual—arrive that I finally find the energy to rise.

Though, I wish I did not awaken. I wish I could sleep through this entire day, pretending like it’s any other.

But I can’t.

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