Chapter 8 Merrit #2
Cold fabric kissed my skin as they slid it over my head, tugging and fastening, adjusting and smoothing until the full weight of the garment settled over me. Heavier than it looked, it was as if I were wearing a night sky stitched with stars.
The high collar rose snug around my throat, concealing the scar I usually hid beneath ribbons and necklaces.
A mercy, though the fabric’s weight made it harder to breathe.
The back plunged low to the small of my back, beads tracing my spine in cool rivulets, a deliberate contrast of beautiful cage and carnal invitation.
It clung where I wanted freedom, the beaded bodice pressing close, but when the attendants spread the skirts wide, slits parted up the sides like shadows.
“See?” Serenya grinned, flicking the fabric aside to bare the opening. “Court fashion with common sense. You’ll be able to run if you have to. Or kick someone, which is almost as important.”
She gave the bodice a sharp tap with her knuckles, beads clattering like tiny stones. “And this? Weapons-grade glamour. Anyone gets too close, you just lean in and let them catch an elbow.”
Then she winked, slipping her fingers into the folds of the skirt. “And before you thank me—yes, I had them sew in a pocket. Don’t look so shocked. A prince’s consort needs somewhere to hide a dagger. Or, I don’t know, a flask.”
The attendants tittered, but my hand slid down instinctively, brushing the hidden seam until I felt the faint outline waiting for me. Relief loosened something in my chest. The vial would not be left behind.
One attendant’s thought sparked bright with admiration—She looks like a queen already.
Another’s curled with envy—Like prey trussed for slaughter.
I forced my spine straight, chin high, though the gown felt equal parts armor and cage. If I had to wear his mark, then I’d wear it like a blade. Let them choke on it.
Serenya straightened, her grin bright enough to dazzle the room as her hands signed the words: “Don’t worry, darling. In this dress, they’ll never know whether you’re meant to be kissed or feared.”
The attendants laughed as if it were a joke, but the weight of it settled under my skin, heavy as the gown itself.
Silk whispered when I shifted, beads dragging cool along my spine.
The mirror propped against the trunk showed a stranger staring back—her freckles blurred, her hair gleaming in intricate knots, her throat hidden behind a collar that belonged to someone braver.
Someone willing to play consort in a Court of wolves.
But it was still me beneath it. Still, the girl from the Divide who kept a bar running on grit and half-truths. A liar in borrowed silk, carrying poison in her pocket.
I drew a slow breath, forcing my shoulders square. If this was the part Kieran needed me to play, then I would play it without mercy.
The door opened again.
And there he was.
For a heartbeat, he simply stood, framed in the doorway, his gaze locking on me. Then his pupils blew wide, the ice of his irises bleeding red, his fangs lengthening in the lamplight.
A ripple ran through the attendants’ thoughts—envy, shock, giddy speculation—as Kieran crossed the room in three long strides. His hands caught me at the waist, and he lifted me clean off the floor, hauling me flush against him, chest to chest.
The beads of my gown pressed hard into the muscle of his shoulders, the high collar digging as my breath hitched between us.
His body was solid, unyielding, his hunger written in the tension of every line.
Heat seared across the small of my back where his hand met bare skin, the touch so startling it felt like fire catching on silk.
For a breath, I thought he might lower his mouth to mine. The world seemed to hold still—steam, silk, even the buzzing in my head faded to silence.
Then, just as suddenly, he stilled. A blink, a breath, the brutal edge of control snapping back into place.
“Leave us,” he said, voice low and edged with command, while I was still held against him.
The attendants scattered like startled birds, skirts and whispers rushing for the door. Even Serenya lingered just long enough to flash a grin, her fingers signing a cheeky “Good luck” before she swept out.
Only when the latch clicked shut did he finally lower me. Slowly, deliberately, as though releasing something he hadn’t meant to steal. His hands lingered at my waist a heartbeat too long, heat searing through the silk.
I didn’t know if the display had been for them… or for me.
Kieran turned away before I could steady my breath. His fingers went to the clasp at his throat, tugging it loose with a practiced flick. The jacket slipped from his shoulders, the heavy fabric folding in his hands before he tossed it carelessly across a chair.
“You’ll need to keep close tonight,” he said, as though we hadn’t just been pressed chest to chest. His voice was calm, even, while the lines of his body tightened in the lamplight.
He pulled at the cuffs of his shirt, buttons sliding open one by one until tan skin and the sweep of black ink came into view. Tattoos curled over his chest and down his arms, an older language etched across muscle built for both violence and control.
I swallowed hard, pulse thudding in my ears. It wasn’t fair, the way he could look like a predator stripping down for the kill and a man simply shedding his layers in the same breath.
His hands—broad, veined, strong—braced against the table for a moment as he finally shrugged free of the shirt. Then he looked up. Pale, icy eyes locked on mine, so stark against the warmth of his skin that the strike of them stole my breath.
A smirk curved his mouth, faint and deliberate, as if he’d caught my stare and meant to keep it. Then he turned back to his task.
“The Hunt is theater,” he murmured. “They’ll be watching us as closely as the quarry. You’ll smile when I do. You’ll let me touch you, and you won’t flinch. And you’ll remember—companions are the quarry. Some nobles protect theirs, others don’t. Either way, weakness is blood in the water.”
His eyes stayed on me as the lamplight carved shadows across his chest, ink shifting with every breath, curling dark over muscle that looked built for war.
I held myself still, refusing to shrink beneath the weight of his stare. But inside, my pulse thundered. Because I wasn’t sure which was worse—being caught in the Hunt… or being caught by him.