Page 84 of The Flame and the Forsaken

Mariel waited for a giant wave to crash onto the shore before screaming into the sea.

Chapter18

Honor

Mariel would have rather gouged her own eyes out than made herself “presentable” or attended the feckin’ party. Fetes had never been her thing, but trying to pretend she was fine was just beyond her ability. Because of Erran’s and Yesenia’s duties to little Esmerelda, Mariel would have to watch them pretend they were over each other while everyone else studied her, hoping for a reaction.

In the hours since she’d discovered Erran sneaking around, she’d been plotting an escape from the marriage altogether, a union that was no longer practical or necessary, but there was one rather large problem she hadn’t solved. Erran knew her secret, as did two of his closest friends, and she doubted he’d be as compelled to protect it if she was no longer his property.

Korah and Gwyn were unexpectedly delightful women, and Mariel liked them both, despite her temperament. Korah, the late Khoulter’s sister, was a no-nonsense widow who seemed possessed of little warmth, but had a natural maternal air, something Mariel had noted in her almost-neurotic assiduity over the details of the elaborate gown the women had picked out for her.

Gwyn was just as matter-of-fact, but she fussed at Korah for pushing Mariel to wear something way beyond her comfort.

“This style is in season, Gwyn,” Korah snipped. She tugged the short sleeves of Mariel’s emerald gown down over her shoulders. “Perhaps you’re worried because a shoulder-less gown would cause a woman to freeze to death where you’re from, hm?”

“Or I simply believe a woman should wear what makes her feel lovely, and not succumb to the pressures of others.” Gwyn had her vibrant red hair tied behind her. The one thing Mariel knew about her was she was the daughter of Lord Dereham of the Northerlands.

“It’s fine,” Mariel said, assuring them both with a grin that made her feel so damned foolish. This wasn’t her—the formfitting gown, which revealed too much of her bosom, the painted cheeks and curled hair... The woman in the mirror was a stranger.

A beautiful one, she’d admit. Through some strange magic, they’d transformed her. But it wasn’t real. Wasn’t her.

It will make it easier to put on a brave face if it’s some other woman who has to walk into the banquet and face her humiliation with a smile.

“See?” Korah lifted her brows in reprisal.

Gwyn gripped Mariel’s shoulders and leaned in to whisper, “Don’t let her intimidate you. You can wear whatever you want, however you want.”

“Nay, I like this.”A mask. A facade. A means to an end.“Besides, you’re both wearing off-shoulder gowns.”

Gwyn wore marigold, which made her hair even more fiery, and Korah a deep orange, less bold than matronly. They were both handsome women, for different reasons, and their gowns were suited for their complexions and personalities. Mariel supposed green did the same for her, as her dress was a near-perfect match to her eyes, but she knew nothing about fashion.

“Do you always hold banquets for the birth of a wee one?” Mariel asked.

“Nay,” Korah answered quickly, like she was racing Gwyn to be the one to speak first. “Only our lassies, who have their honorary parents pledged to them at the banquet. The little lads are welcomed with a ceremonial hunt and their first blooding.”

“Ransom had that?”

“Not yet.” Korah flashed a disapproving look at Gwyn. “His mother has deemed him too young for the same tradition his father and grandfather and all before them took part in before they’d reached their sixth month. I ken he’ll be betrothed before she relents.”

“Korah,” Gwyn said, sighing. “It’s true I feel he’s too young. I told Khallum we could do it at one year. That’s my compromise. It’s more than fair.”

“Not everything requires compromise, dear,” Korah muttered and put away the rouge and other oddities they’d used to turn Mariel into a changeling.

“Oh, you mean I could have just said no?” Gwyn sniped back, grinning at Mariel in the mirror. She adjusted some of Mariel’s stray hairs, tucking them into the many pins she’d used to keep her updo in place. “You were beautiful before we dressed you up, Mariel. Beauty comes in many forms.”

Mariel laughed. “You don’t have to say that. I know I’m not much for...” She dabbed her hands on the gown. Her hair. “I like it that way, even if it isn’t terribly exciting.”

“You have a confidence about you that I’ve never had. Confidence is alluring. When you arrived yesterday, I watched every man on our staff look not at Yesenia or me or your mother-in-law, butyou.”

“My stepson among them,” Korah groused. “Watch out for him, Mariel.”

“I didn’t peg you for a liar, Gwyn,” Mariel said, narrowing her eyes. Other than the lingering looks from Korah’s stepson, the only scrutiny she remembered was the embarrassment of being the third wheel in her own marriage. “I didn’t feel the least bit confident yesterday.”

“Isnae lying,” Korah said from across the room. “You may not be traditionally beautiful, Mariel, but ye are beautiful just the same. And I ken, gown or no, you’ll be fending off dances all night tonight. Your husband will have his hands full.”

Mariel snorted. “I don’t dance.”

“Aye, but ye will, just the same,” Korah replied. “Now, come. We’re nearly late already.”

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