Page 30 of Threaded

Ciana rolled her eyes. “Look, Mariah, if you don’t want to wear it, just say so. But if youdowant to wear it, then please by all that the Goddess has blessed, would you stop complaining and just appreciate this outfit for a moment … because, well,shit.”

Mariah couldn’t help but smile as she refocused her attention on her reflection. She should’ve known better than to fear Ryenne would pick one of those thick, heavy ballgowns Onitan women seemed to prefer—especially given the look on the queen’s face when she’d told Mariah she had something for her to wear. And, Mariah thought, she had yet to see Ryenne wear one of those massive ballgowns herself.

Even still, what she now wore was thelastthing she would’ve expected. And, truthfully, Ciana was right.

Thiscouldbring men to their knees.

The dress was made of black lace and almost entirely sheer. The neckline cut a deepvdown her chest, plunging to her sternum, highlighting the curve of her cleavage. The straps were about three inches thick and made of more black lace, and the back dipped even lower than the neckline, revealing the expanse of tanned skin between her shoulder blades. The bodice clung tightly to her body, and was mostly sheer, except for black paneling over her breasts to offer the slightest modicum of decency. It cinched tightly just below her waist before spilling into the skirts, which were really just panels of more sheer black lace, split up all the way on the sides to her hips. Sewn into the bodice of the dress were black shorts of the softest material, the only opaque portion on the entire bottom half of the gown. The black lace pooled at her feet, swishing against the ground softly, her tan legs on full display. On her feet were black heels, simple but wicked, much like the dress itself. Her hair had been softly curled, spilling over her shoulders and down her back, a simple sweep of kohl across her eyes and her lips painted blood red.

A slow smile spread across her face, her features igniting. The dress—if it could even be called that—wasincredible. She felt a little like a dark goddess, and she swore she felt that tangled silver mass within her sing at the thought.

She gave into it, just a little bit. Let those silver threads mix with the gold as they slid into her veins, the power offering her a strange, foreign comfort against the nerves for what was to come.

A loud knock suddenly sounded outside the bathroom, coming from her chamber doors. Ciana whirled away from Mariah, grabbing her own red skirts in her hands and hustling away with a grumbled, “I knew we were running late.”

Mariah continued to stare at her reflection, using that moment to compose herself and the coiling power now snaking through her in pure anticipation. Movement in the mirror pulled her attention away, and she met the reflection of Ryenne’s ocean-blue stare. A smile graced the queen’s lips.

“You look just as I thought you would: magnificent.”

Mariah simply inclined her head respectfully before her question pushed past her lips.

“How do you even own something like this?”

Ryenne’s face twitched, her expression amused. “I was a young queen once too, Mariah. I remember what it was to select and bond with my Armature. These are duties that are expected of us, but by no means should you believe them to be a chore.”

Mariah twisted her mouth in wry amusement. She still had so many questions about the bond—how it was done, what was involved—but Ryenne staunchly refused to tell her more, repeating that Mariah needed to learn from her Armature herself. Part of building the trust between them, and all that.

“Is it expected that I … that I bond with one of them tonight?”

Ryenne’s amusement dimmed just slightly. “I forget, sometimes, how new this all is for you. How you were not raised with the knowledge that this could be your life, as I was. You just take to it so well.” She paused, inhaling. “No, that is not expected of you. Not tonight. The idea of the bond is … daunting. You may take your time, get to know them first. Tonight, I want you to focus only on the now. On selecting these men who will become closer to you than anyone else on this earth.”

Right then, as if on cue, there was a knock on the bathroom door. In the mirror, Mariah saw Kalen lean his head in and then step inside. His eyes, as always, went first to his queen before settling on Mariah. A rakish grin, one that suited his face all too well, spread across his face.

“Those poor boys have no idea what they’re getting themselves into.”

Mariah smiled at Kalen and the compliment. “But … they don’t really have a choice, right? All this has been planned out by the Consort God since my birth.”

“Just because it wasn’t explicitly their choice doesn’t mean they will not choose you, Mariah. There is something in us that calls to our queen, something deep in our souls. Maybe it’s caused by our Mark; maybe it’s just Priam’s touch in general; maybe it’s who we are at our very essence, the reason we were Marked in the first place. But trust this, Mariah: even without the intervention of the gods, I would’ve fallen upon my sword for Ryenne the very moment I laid eyes on her, whether she selected me or not. She is mine, and I am hers. Forever.”

His gaze had drifted back to his queen, a look of such love and devotion etched upon his face. That look pulled at something deep within Mariah’s soul, something that had her recoiling from the exchange.

Love is weakness.

That voice whispered into her mind with the same quiet power it had all her life. She silently prayed to whatever god would listen—whether Qhohena or Priam or someone, somethingelse—that her Armature would understand.

They could be her armor, but they could never have her heart.

Ryenne and Kalen’s attention slowly shifted back to Mariah. Ryenne took a deep breath. “Well. Are you ready, Mariah?”

Mariah lifted her chin and shifted her shoulders, feeling the long waves of her dark hair brush across the exposed skin of her back. “Yes. Let’s go pick an Armature.”

* * *

Ksee met them all outside Mariah’s rooms, her pale robes substituted for those of brilliant white trimmed in gold, her gray-blonde hair pulled into a high, tight bun atop her head. Her cold, tarnished stare perused Mariah with blatant disapproval, the flames that resided in her veins dancing in her eyes. She flicked that fiery gaze to Ryenne.

“The Marked are already hers by decree of the gods. There is no need for seduction such as this.”

Mariah spoke before Ryenne could answer.

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