Page 61 of The Rook

She had no words when she saw the dress laid out on her bed, waiting for her. Tempest stared at the garment, then at Nyx, then back at the dress again.

“This is—wow, Nyx. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” she replied, an amused glint in her eye as she handed Tempest something she very much recognized—an elaborate, bone-white wolf mask. “This was all my brother’s doing. Do you need any help getting dressed or would you prefer to be left alone?”

“Alone,” Tempest said, a few seconds too late, so absorbed in the idea that Pyre had picked such an unearthly beautiful dress for her to hear the question properly. Nyx squeezed her shoulder and exited, the door closing quietly behind her.

It was stunning.

The dress she’d been given to wear to her Hound coronationceremony had been elaborate, but it did not hold a candle to the work of art gracing her bed.

It was sleeveless, with a tight bodice and a flowing, feathery, voluminous skirt that split down the front and would trail behind her for several feet. It was made of layers and layers of impossibly light, translucent blue and silver material. The bodice itself was constructed of dozens of interlocking snowflakes and was cut low in the back. Beside it was a pair of silken hose and a formal pair of snow-white boots.

Feminine and fierce.

It was too beautiful.

She ran her fingers along the fabric. To wear such a dress required more than putting it on. Tempest strolled to the vanity and sat. She cleansed her skin, the perfumed water causing her skin to tingle. She applied salve beneath her eyes that made her seem dewy and alert. Carefully, she used some silver from a pot to line her eyes and flutter through her eyelashes. It wasn’t anything like the court fashions, but it was her.

Once finished, she unwove her braid and brushed her long hair, the waves tumbling along her shoulders. Tonight, her hair was her crown jewel of beauty. She’d not hide who she was. She pulled pieces up here and there, and finally decided to implement a series of small and thickly woven braids at the crown of her head, leaving the bulk of it to flow free and wavy down her back, and a few pieces to frame her face.

She glanced at the balcony. Someone had been in her room earlier to add new fuel to the lanterns, but they had also strung garlands of tiny snowdrops and bluebells across the balcony. Wandering over, Tempest plucked a few of the flowers and returned to the mirror, threading them into the braids. That would have to do.

Standing, she moved back to the end of the bed and eyed the dress. How in the blazes was she supposed to get it on?

You should have accepted Nyx’s help.

Quickly, she shucked her clothing and slipped on the painted hose. Winter’s bite, they were soft and comfortable. If only it were acceptable for her to wear them all the time. Her uncles had vetoed the garment years ago, claiming them to be indecent on a woman. Eyeing the mirror, she understood why. They clung to her every curve.

Next, she stepped into the gown, which was easy enough, but lacing the back was a bloody nightmare. It was only with some clever finger work—and constant glances in the mirror—that she managed to secure the dress in place.

When she caught her reflection, she hardly recognized herself. A creature of snow, ice, and liquid silver stared back at her.

“That is… really me,” she breathed, touching the glass with her fingertips. The kitsune had done well. While the gown was the loveliest thing she’d ever beheld, it was also practical. The split at the front of the skirt made movement easy and gave glimpses of her painted hose. The boots felt like butter and hugged her calves and knees. There’d be no pinched toes or twisted ankles tonight from impractical shoes. A huge smile graced her face as she discovered hidden pockets with slits. The perfect way to keep her daggers on her.

Pyre had thought of everything, that sly bastard.

That was when she noticed the pair of elbow-length, delicately embroidered lace gloves that were also set on the bed for her, as well as a plain white box that sat next to the mask. While the gloves were pretty, they were not practical. If asituation went south, she did not want anything to restrict her movement.

She moved to the bed, her dress rustling softly. With care, she opened the box and blinked. It was a silver choker adorned with opals, diamonds, and sapphires. She blinked again. How did he come by something so fine? It rivaled anything she’d seen worn in court, even the jewels the king had gifted Temp. Her fingers shook as she pulled it from the box and clasped it around her neck, the cool metal embracing her skin.

Next came her weapons. A garrote hidden in a bracelet Dima had gifted her when she’d won her first match against him. Poisoned hairpins from Aleks that he’d given Tempest when she’d managed to discern the top ten most deadly poisons in Heimserya. And finally, the daggers Maxim brought back for her when he’d returned from a trip to the Fire Isles. She strapped them to her thighs and hid one in each boot.

Feeling a bit more like herself, she reached for the final item.

“And now it’s just the mask,” she whispered, picking up the beautiful wolf mask and inspecting it. The mask was made of porcelain or something similar. It was fragile and liable to shatter, but that only made it more precious. With gentle fingers, she tied the silver ribbon of the mask around her head and hid it beneath her braids, so that it looked as if the mask was sitting on her face unaided.

She faced the mirror and studied her reflection. A warrior princess stared back at her. She spun on the spot, testing how much movement she had in the skirt, and was surprised further by how easy it was to move in the dress. The bodice was tight, but not rib-crushing like the dress she had worn at Destin’s request. This was the kind of dress she could easily fight in,regardless of the several feet of feathery material trailing behind her.

Her gaze trailed to the necklace. It looked… like a collar. Tempest huffed. The Jester couldn’t be trusted to be generous in everything.

Time to go.

She pulled open the door and half-expected Pyre to jump out at her, but no one was there. Tempest ran her hands down the skirt and then lifted her chin. Now was not the time to be self-conscious.

The corridors leading to the masquerade ball teemed with people. She ignored their stares as she worked through the crowd and entered the ballroom. While the masks hid everyone’s identity, her hair gave her away. Masks swam before her gaze—swans, snakes, lions, dragons, cats and…

A kitsune.

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