Page 47 of Fate

She was those things already. In clothing made by her own hands by Mama’s hands. She was no lesser just because a tailor was an extravagance unknown to her.

Lucian moved closer to the offerings, touching each in turn before turning to Firen. For her opinion? Or to make hisdeclaration on how his mate should look, how she should act. Never mind, speak, for there surely would be no cause for that at all.

A sickly feeling spread through her. They’d changed her into a measuring garment, and it was that alone that kept her rooted in place rather than escape into the afternoon air until her mood settled and she was herself again.

She’d wanted a dress from her mother’s wardrobe. Had asked if she might borrow one of her prettier pieces, and Mama had looked at Lucian in that stern, knowing way of hers. And before Firen could redirect, retract the request and laugh it off as nothing of important, Mama asked if it was not Lucian’s responsibility to see to her needs. Which it was. Only... it meant coming here, with things she could not afford. Did not want to afford.

“You’ve no preference?” Lucian asked, although it was hardly a question at all.

She did. But not for either of the ones still being held for their inspection. “You know what is expected.” It was as gracious a comment as she could make. She wasn’t arguing, but she did not doubt he could feel her unease flowing steadily through the bond.

“Would it be presumptuous,” he began, turning to the woman, “To have a moment to look with my mate?”

If the request was an odd one, neither tailor said so. They fluttered and nodded, and their smiles were wide as they retreated to the workspace in the back. Doubtless to gossip amongst themselves about the strange couple in their display room, with a too-silent mate and her scowling...

He wasn’t scowling. He was running a hand through his hair as he looked at both garments returned to their places on the racks. “You hate them.”

She sighed, smoothing her hand down the thin muslin with its many stitches that presumably indicated measurements. “I didn’t say that.”

He cast her a look that made it more than clear they did not require words between them to make their displeasure abundantly plain. “Is it the colour?”

There was something in the way he said it—as if it might hurt him in some way if that caused her unease.

“No,” Firen insisted, abandoning her post on the circle so she could make herself better understood. “It is the... styles.”

Lucian glanced down at them again, picking at one with two of his fingers as if he was afraid of damaging it. “What about it? Robes are appropriate.”

Firen laughed a little breathlessly. “I do not mind that. It is this portion, see?” She held out the... it was a dress. Must be, as there were no leggings to suggest it was simply a fitted tunic. That might have made the slits she found to be more tolerable, but as it was...

Perhaps there were even limits to her immodesty.

“It’s this, see? My mother would have a fit if she saw me in a dress like this.” She pulled out the fabric so he could better see what troubled her. Then, to fully illustrate her point, she took his hand and pulled it to the place on her thigh where she imagined it would fall on her. And now that she looked properly, it was at the front rather than the side, which made it even more scandalous when she pulled his hand more inward. “You might be used to seeing your family in such attire, but I’m not.” She swallowed, trying to smile at him as he looked down at their joined hands. “But I’ll wear it, if you want me to.”

He scowled at her. “Of course not.” He started ripping through the other racks, grumbling all the while. About dips and sodden dresses, and slits that belonged on nothing but anightdress and if she thought for a moment that she would be presented before his family in such a manner...

It shouldn’t amuse her. Truly. But this was something she had never imagined teasing her mate about. That he should think her lovely, most certainly. But not the way he might covet her. Might grow offended on her behalf if others got to partake of a little too much of that loveliness, even if he had only just become acquainted with it.

He pulled out another. Not nearly as deep in colour. Not so dissimilar from the dress she’d worn to the fete. Gathered with drawstrings in a becoming fashion—only these cords were of intricate lace to match the hem and neckline. She took it from him, holding it up to her person. Not a slit to be seen. But perhaps she might convince him to dance with her, if only so she might better experience the swish and flow of a skirt so voluminous that the cost alone must be staggering.

She gave Lucian a worried glance, but he did not catch it. He was eyeing her, from foot to collarbone, then down again. There was a robe—if it might be called that. Attached at the shoulders, draping down low in the back for the sake of her wings. “This is very pretty,” she commented softly. She would not grow attached. It was not her purse that would pay for it, and she would accept what he offered.

He leaned down so he could look her fully in the eyes. “And you like it.”

“Well, yes.” She was growing flustered at his scrutiny, the bond a curling, warming entity in her chest that it should matter to him—for her to be pleased. “I thought dresses were only for fetes. Special occasions, maybe.”

Lucian stood back to his full height. “I cannot think of a more important occasion at the moment.”

She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on it. Not when it would only make her nervous. She resented even that, as she was notthe sort to fret about such things before. Sometimes she could betoobold, or so Eris said, hand clutching at her tunic as she tried to urge her back home rather than to make yet another visit to a market stall for a chat.

Especially if they were new. From some foreign place that Firen would never see. She would want to be welcomed if she found herself in a strange land with different folks.

But she was about to be, wasn’t she?

They didn’t go home again.

Not after Lucian had told the tailors to apply the price of her dress to the family account—which was done with a nod, as if it was a common enough practice to use credit rather than coin.

Lucian took her trunk when they left her parents. She hadn’t dared ask if it was presumptuous given... everything. She’d just watched as she picked it up by the leather-tooled handles and flew it up the tower and into his chambers directly.

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