Page 167 of Owned

It had found out what the Council wanted from me.

But far from warning me against it, the Bloodstone Grimoire seemed to want the same thing…

“You’ll be a widow before you know it,”it hissed. A languid purr of support.

But then what?

“Whatever you want,”it replied.

My skin prickled, and I straightened my shoulders.

The woman finished her work, stood, and looked me up and down.

“Are we finished?” I asked.

The woman nodded.

Why didn’t anyone speak to me?

I stepped off the platform and the dress rustled softly around me. The weight of the coming wedding pressed harder on my shoulders.

I knew what I had to do, but finding the strength to go through with it—I didn’t know where I would find it.

“You have to find it.”

She helped me to undress, and I kept my eyes averted as the dark lace slipped down my body. When I stepped out of the gown, I didn’t wrap my arms around myself to shield my nakedness from her.

I knew she wasn’t looking at me.

What did I care about what she thought?

“Good girl,”the grimoire praised as I snatched my robe from the back of the vanity chair and pulled it over my shoulders.

A dress-form had been set up in front of the window, and gifts that had come from Lucian were arranged on the window seat. The pile of boxes had stolen away my precious space. I just wanted it all to be over.

Being alone in all of this was the worst part.

I could sense my stepbrothers through the blood bond, but it wasn’t as strong as it had been before I’d been taken.

Something was wrong.

“Or maybe they’re plotting against you—”

No. That couldn’t be the reason. If they betrayed me, they would die— they wouldn’t risk it.

“You don’t know that.”

The poison sweetness of the grimoire’s voice was gone, and in its place was the bitter venom beneath.

I couldn’t trust anyone.

“You’re learning.”

My jaw tightened as the seamstress turned away from the dress form. “Will there be anything else?” I asked.

The woman shook her head and picked up her bag.

As she left the room, I hoped she could sense how much I hated her—how much I hated everything that was happening to me. It wasn’t her fault, of course, but she was a willing participant in my misery.

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