Chapter 5
Aeryn stood before the bed in their chambers, staring down at the three outfits laid across the furs—the first of the clothing Malkor had made for her.
She was expected to wear one to the marriage feast. Each was unmistakably orcish: crafted from linen, leather, or hide, dyed in earth tones, stitched with careful precision.
All three were far more revealing than anything she’d ever worn.
The first was a dress that would bare her arms entirely, its neckline cut low enough to expose her collarbone and the upper swell of her breasts.
The second appeared to be a two-piece arrangement: a band of leather that would wrap around her chest and a skirt that hung low on the hips, leaving her midriff exposed.
The third was perhaps the most modest, if she could call it that.
The dress was constructed of finely woven linen, layered thin enough to remain semi-transparent.
The bodice was formed by intersecting bands that wrapped and crossed, leaving measured openings at the sides.
Below the waist, long panels of linen fell freely, split and drifting, favoring motion over concealment.
She glanced over her shoulder, where Khaeric sat in a chair near the hearth, one ankle crossed over his knee, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. His eyes tracked her as she lifted the semi-transparent dress, then set it down.
“Do I have to wear one of these?”
“Aye. Unless ye prefer to go about in yer shift,” Khaeric joked.
Aeryn’s expression stayed blank. “You wouldn’t make me go out in my shift.”
He chuckled, low and warm, and rose from his chair to stand beside her. “Aye,” he agreed. “I wouldnae make ye do that.”
“Then I have a choice in this matter?”
“Aye.” His fingers brushed the edge of the semi-transparent dress. “Within reason. These are what the clan expects to see—proof ye’re adaptin’ to our ways. But which one ye wear? That’s yers to decide.”
Aeryn frowned, her gaze drifting to the carved stone wall beyond the bed. “What if I don’t want to wear any of them?”
His brow lifted. “Ye dinnae like them?”
“They’re...” Aeryn searched for words that wouldn’t insult the craftsmanship. “They’re very different from what I’m accustomed to.”
“What’s wrong wi’ them?” The question held no accusation, only genuine puzzlement.
“They show too much.” The admission felt childish even as she spoke it. She’d stood naked before him in the bathing pool, had let his hands roam her body in that alcove. Yet somehow, wearing these garments in public felt more exposing than either of those moments.
Khaeric’s head tilted, studying her face. “Too much of what?”
“Skin.” She gestured at the outfits. “At court, a lady’s body is meant to be... concealed. Covered. These...” Her hand swept over the garments again. “These leave everything bare.”
“No’ everything.” His voice held amusement.
“Too much.” Pressure built behind her eyes. To him, these garments were perfectly ordinary. Appropriate, even. She turned and opened one of her trunks, pulling out a gown of pale blue silk, its high neckline edged with silver embroidery, its sleeves long and modest. “This is what I’m used to.”
Khaeric’s expression shifted from amusement to concern. “Aeryn—”
“This is proper,” she insisted, gripping the silk tighter. “This is how a lady dresses. Covered. Modest. Not—” She gestured sharply at the orcish garments on the bed. “Not exposed for everyone to see.”
Khaeric’s gaze moved from the blue silk in her hands to her face, then back again. He said nothing for a long moment. “That willnae work here, lass.”
“Why not?” The question burst out before she could stop it. “Why can’t I dress the way I’m comfortable? You said I had a choice—”
“That,” he said, his voice careful, “would make ye faint within the hour.”
Aeryn blinked. “What?”
“All those layers? Ye’d be swelterin’ before ye made it to the feast hall.” He gestured at the gown.
She looked down at the silk—long sleeves, high neckline, the multiple petticoats she’d normally layer beneath. The heat. She hadn’t thought of it.
Her vision blurred.
“Aeryn.” Khaeric’s voice gentled.
She threw the gown down, hands shaking, and curled them into fists against her thighs. “I’m not going.” The words came out flat, final.
“What?”
“I’m not going to the festival.” She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I can’t wear those.” She gestured at the garments on the bed. “And I can’t wear this.” Her foot nudged the silk pooled at her feet. “So I’m not going.”
Khaeric rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s no’ an option.”
“You just said I had a choice—”
“Aye, about what to wear.” His hand dropped from his neck. “No’ about whether ye attend. The feast is in yer honor. In our honor. The clans have gathered to witness our union, to celebrate the alliance.”
Aeryn’s lower lip quivered. “I can’t.” The words came out strangled. “I can’t do it.”
Khaeric stepped closer, his hand lifting toward her face, but she flinched. His hand stopped midair. For a heartbeat, he held perfectly still, his fingers suspended between them. Then, slowly, he lowered his arm.
“We must go to the feast, Aeryn.” His voice came low, stripped of command. “The clans expect it. They’ve come from across the highlands to witness this union, to see that the alliance holds true.”
Tears spilled over, burning down her cheeks.
“But...” His amber eyes searched her face. “After ye choose one of these, we’ll find somethin’ to help cover ye more. A cloak, perhaps. Or a shawl. Somethin’ that’ll let ye feel less... exposed.”
She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, the wetness cool against her skin. “You’d let me wear a shawl?” Her voice came out small, uncertain.
“Aye.” No hesitation. “If it helps ye feel more at ease.”
The tightness in her chest eased—fractionally.
She looked back at the outfits on the bed.
The semi-transparent one still seemed the most modest, if only because the intersecting bands would provide some structure, some illusion of coverage.
The low-cut dress would expose her breasts too obviously.
The two-piece arrangement left her entire midriff bare.
She couldn’t imagine standing before hundreds of orcs with her stomach on display.
Her fingers moved to the layered linen dress. “This one.”
Khaeric nodded. “A good choice.” He moved toward the hearth, his back to her.
The semi-transparent dress lay before her, its crossed bands impossibly delicate in her hands.
She lifted it, studying how the fabric was meant to drape.
The bodice seemed straightforward—bands wrapping around her torso, intersecting over her breasts and back.
Below that, the long panels would fall freely.
She removed her shift and stepped into it, drawing it up around her torso.
Her fingers fumbled with the bands, trying to understand how they were supposed to cross and secure.
The fabric slipped. She caught it, cheeks burning even with his back to her.
“I don’t—” Her voice thinned. “I don’t know how to put this on. ”
Khaeric glanced over his shoulder, then turned fully when he saw her struggling with the bands. “May I?”
She nodded, her throat too tight for words.
He crossed to her, his hands taking the bands from her fumbling fingers. He worked methodically, wrapping one band across her chest, then another beneath, creating the intersecting pattern that formed the bodice.
When he stepped back, the dress was secured. The bands crossed over her breasts and wrapped around her torso, leaving measured gaps at her sides where pale skin showed through. Below her waist, the long panels of linen fell in loose layers, shifting with every breath she took.
Aeryn’s arms came up at once, hands pressing against her ribs, trying to cover the exposed skin at her sides. The movement pulled the fabric tighter, making her more aware of how little it concealed. Her shoulders curved inward, her body folding as if she could make herself smaller, less visible.
Khaeric turned away without a word and crossed to the large wooden chest near the wall. The hinges creaked as he lifted the lid. She watched as he rummaged.
He pulled out a heavy wool cloak, shook his head, and tossed it aside.
Another piece emerged—a fur-lined wrap. He studied it, mouth pressing into a line, then dropped it back.
The search continued, each item examined and found wanting.
His shoulders tensed as he dug deeper. Finally, he straightened, empty-handed. Then he turned toward the doorway.
“Wait here.”
When Khaeric returned, he had a long piece of deep green fabric, woven with an intricate pattern along its edges draped over his arm.
He held it up; the material unfurled, falling nearly to the floor. Relief moved through her. Something to cover herself. Something to— Her eyes caught on the pattern again. The geometric designs ran in parallel lines, perfectly spaced, decorative borders that framed—
“That’s the table runner from the outer chamber.”
“Aye, I ken it’s the table runner from the outer chamber.”
Aeryn stared at him, her mouth opening. “You can’t just... take the table runner.”
“I can.” His expression remained utterly serious. “And I did.”
“That’s—” She searched for words. “That’s theft.”
“Theft?” His brow lifted. “From my own chambers?”
“From our chambers,” she corrected. “And you’re asking a Princess of the Unified Crown to wear a table runner as a shawl.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Aye. That’s exactly what I’m doin’.”
She pressed her lips together, fighting the absurd urge to laugh. “This is your solution?”
“Aye.” He stepped closer, the green fabric draped across his forearm. “Strategic repurposin’.”
“Strategic—” A small sound escaped, something between a laugh and a protest. “Strategic repurposing of the table runner?”