Page 164 of Scourged

Attentions turned to Feran, who sat stoically on the couch. Curiosity brushed away Andrian’s mild annoyance.

Despite the years together, Feran had always been quiet, preferring the company of the horses to people. But Andrian knew he was from a town near the Kreah border. His mother had come from a family of importance in Kreah but had thrown it all away for a handsome Onitan rancher.

Even knowing all that, Andrian could not have predicted Feran to be the one amongst them that was the most outspoken on royal fashion.

Ciana peered around Mariah, eyes narrowed and hands on her hips. “Care to explain, Feran?”

Feran shrugged. “The color is wrong. Red isn’t Mariah’s family color.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Feran,” Mariah drawled, her expression bored. “But I don’thavea family color.”

Somewhere, Quentin chuckled, Matheo and Trefor echoing him.

There was silence for a beat.

“Not yet,” Feran answered. “But you could.”

Mariah froze. Andrian cocked his head, watching her. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and clasping his hands. Slowly, she turned to him, her eyes sparkling with her thoughts.

He met her look with a grin.

“Got any ideas, princess?”

A slow smile spread across her face.

“Yes. I do.” She turned back to Feran. “Actually, let me change what I said. I don’tcurrentlyhave a family color … but I used to. My mother’s family used to.” She twisted on her heel to Ciana, Delaynie behind her. Waiting just beyond was Brie, the young palace seamstress.

Andrian’s chest swelled with pride for his scarred queen. For his Mariah.

“Silver,” she said. “My family’s color is silver.”

Chapter 57

The dress made of moonlight swished around Mariah’s feet, brushing across the glistening marble floors. She toyed with the ends of the sleeves, the lace soft against her wrists.

Warm hands wrapped around her bare shoulders as heat enveloped her back. “Stop fidgeting,” Andrian murmured in her ear. “You look beautiful.”

She leaned into him, almost an instinct. “Oh, I know.” Twisting in his arms, she tipped her head to meet his gaze. “And I’m not fidgeting.”

He smiled, a hint of that smirk peeking through. “Of course you’re not.”

Mariah chuckled and stepped out of his arms, turning to the foyer mirror. She cocked her head at her reflection.

She’d pulled the front pieces of her hair back with two delicate silver clips. Her makeup was simple, only a feathered dusting of shimmer across her eyelids and her cheeks. It brought out the silver glowing behind her eyes, ethereal and vibrant.

But it was the dress that was the true work of art.

Mariah didn’t know where Brie had found it—or made it. But the young seamstress had heard Mariah’s proclamation and,with a quiet smile on her lips, disappeared from Mariah’s suites, entering again nearly thirty minutes later bearing the silver gown in her arms and that same wordless smile.

Mariah knew it was the one the moment she stepped into it.

The sleeves were long, tapered to her wrists, but they were sheer and delicately laced with something that sparkled, covering her body like fallen stars. A fitted bodice, beaded with more bits of starlight and a sweetheart neckline, scooped across her chest and hung off her shoulders. The rest of the dress dripped down her body, flaring slightly around her legs to accommodate a slit to her thigh before it brushed around her feet and pooled behind her in a train of silver moonlight.

It was the dress of her mother’s family. A dress for the last Silver Priestess, the last Ginnelevé daughter. Over the past months, while she’d struggled to hold the shattered pieces of herself together, she’d forgotten those ties. But wearing that dress, clothed in those colors, it all came rushing back.

She was not just Chosen of Qhohena, but a daughter of her mother’s family. Gold and silver, life and death, Qhohena and Zadione.

She swore she could feel the brush of those beings against her mind. Her magic stirred, winding down through her limbs, and in the mirror, her eyes glowed.

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