Page 99 of The Ninth Element

As I slip the dress over my head, the soft silk cascades down my body. It is a sensation so foreign and luxurious that it almost makes me shiver. The dress fits me perfectly, hugging my slight curves in a flattering and unfamiliar way. I have never worn anything so smooth and delicate, and the feeling of the fabric against my skin is almost intoxicating. Before self-consciousness can strike me, I step out from behind the partition, excited to see myself in the mirror. But the maid stops me before I can take a step.

“You look like a proper lady. Now, let’s have you seated, and I’ll do your hair.”

She guides me to a nearby chair, and her gentle hands untie the band holding my hair, freeing a cascade of my black locks to tumble down my back.

“Your hair has a beautiful, untamed wave,” the maid exclaims, her fingers weaving through my strands. “A few touches, and you’ll be ready to meet your lord husband.”

Husband! The word rings in my ear as I suppress a chuckle. Zanyar Zareen, my pretend husband. The very thought would have been a fever dream back in Firelands. What has my life become?

The maid’s fingers dance through my hair, braiding and pinning the raven strands. She then moves to my face, moistening my skin with a strange oil from a bottle. She applies a touch of rouge to color my cheeks and a hint of red lip balm to stain my lips. Finally, she wields a black powder, lining my eyes with a dramatic sweep.

When she is finally finished, the maid leads me to a standing mirror. For a moment, I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me.

The woman in the mirror is elegant, refined, almost regal. Her hair, no longer a simple, practical style, is a masterpiece: a cascade of dark waves tumbling down her back, interwoven with a delicate braid that crowns her head. A few small gold ornaments—stars and crescent moons—are nestled within the waves, shimmering like captured fireflies against the inky blackness of her hair.

Her skin glows with a soft radiance. And her eyes… her eyes sparkle, framed by a dramatic sweep of black liner that makes their dark depths appear vibrant, almost mysterious. A subtle flush of color graces her cheeks and lips, a shade that’s both naturally enhancing and undeniably alluring.

And then, the gown. A vibrant, unapologetic red, a color that seems to glow against my dark hair and luminous skin. It’s a perfect match as if the color had been created for me. The fabric itself is a marvel, draping effortlessly from my shoulders, clinging to the curves of my body, and accentuating my figure in a way that’s both subtly sensual and breathtakingly elegant. Every movement creates a mesmerizing play of light and shadow, a shimmer and sparkle that makes me feel… powerful. Confident…

Is that woman me? I had never seen myself like this before, and I never imagined that I could look so… beautiful. A surge of excitement courses through my veins. Perhaps this disguise is more than just a means to an end. Perhaps it’s a chance to look at myself with new eyes, even if it’s only temporary.

“You look majestic, my lady,” the maid says with genuine admiration in her voice.

“Thanks to your efforts.” I turn to her. “And I’m no lady.” I smile at her.

The approval from the maid does little to calm the storm of nerves swirling inside me as I step out of the room. The thought of facing Zanyar in this guise makes me want to run away to the next province, but I push it down.

It’s just a disguise, nothing more. Why shouldn’t I look my best for once? It’s likely one of the last times I’ll see Zanyar before our paths diverge after these trials. What do I care if he thinks I’m false? For once, I feel beautiful, and that is enough.

I spot Zanyar waiting at the top of the stairs, looking as handsome as ever in a tailored black and gold silk doublet that fits snugly over his broad shoulders and fitted breeches that highlight his strong legs. Polished leather boots complete the look. His clothing exudes wealth and authority, yet he carries it with a nonchalant ease that only a High Lord’s son can manage.

When our eyes meet, it’s more than a glance; it’s a collision. His gaze doesn’t just lock onto mine; it sears, holding for a beat that stretches into more, charged and heavy, before he deliberately, intoxicatingly sweeps his eyes over my form. My breath trapped in my throat, I’m not just wondering what he’s thinking, but feeling the potent weight of his unspoken assessment.

“Is this too lavish for a lordling’s wife?” I blurt out the question.

Zanyar’s eyes sweep over me again, another deliberate, slow appraisal that sends a jolt, not entirely unpleasant, through me. For an instant, something darkens in the depths of those golden-green eyes—admiration? Shock? Something else, something I can’t quite decipher—but it’s gone so quickly, I wonder if I imagined it.

He shakes his head with a slight, almost imperceptible movement, and his gaze drops to the floor as if he can’t quite meet my eyes. I watch him as he visibly swallows; a slight bob of his throat is the only outward sign of any internal emotion. Then, with a deliberate grace, he extends his arm toward me as a silent offering.

“Shall we?” His voice is a low, steady rumble.

My fingers hesitate for a fraction of a second before I slip my hand into the crook of his arm. Beneath the fine fabric of his sleeve, his muscles are warm and solid. A grounding force that sends another wave of unexpected, liquid heat coiling through me as we descend the stairs.

Chapter Thirty-Five

This grand ballroom is true to its name, it’s grand!

Gleaming marble floors, chandeliers that look like they are made of thousands of diamonds, and a ceiling so high I almost get a crick in my neck just looking at it. Servants weave through the crowd like graceful swans, carrying trays piled high with food and enough wine to sink a ship.

The room hums with chatter, peculiar accents, and polite laughter. Ladies drift by in dresses that could double as wedding marquees, their hair decorated with enough jewels and feathers to make a peacock jealous. Meanwhile, I stand there in a gown that, only a short while ago, seemed extravagant to me but now appears woefully inadequate.

I nudge Zanyar, who is busy scanning the room like a hawk, and whisper, “Did we accidentally stumble into a royal gathering? Because I’m quite sure my peasant attire is not going to sell it here.”

Zanyar smiles, cruelly reminding me of his handsome features when he graces the world with that alluring grin. He just places his hand over mine, which is nervously gripping his arm, and skillfully navigates me through the crowd. “Just try not to spill wine on anyone important or challenge anyone to a duel. Otherwise, you’ll be all right.”

“Would be difficult. You know. With my natural tendency to randomly ask strangers for a duel. And easy for you to say,” I grumble. “You were born to mingle with the nobility. I, on the other hand, look like I’m aboutto ask if they have any spare potatoes in the kitchen.”

He chuckles in a low rumble. “Don’t worry, Arien. You look lovely. Besides, we’re not here to impress anyone. You’re only here to steal information from a very powerful host and spy on Martysh. You know. Nothing major.”

---