Chapter 29
Wren
Whoever designed this dress clearly never had to put it on alone.
I twist for what feels like the hundredth time, fingers fumbling uselessly at the corset lacing along my spine.
The gown pulls tight under my ribs when I tug, but the laces immediately slacken again as soon as I try to catch the next row.
Every movement has the heavy skirts swishing against my legs in a flurry of fabrics that makes me feel more like I’m fighting a creature than getting dressed.
My shoulders burn from the angle I’ve had them at for what feels like hours and the boning digs into the sides of my ribs. It feels like a losing battle, and I am one failed attempt away from going to this ball in my jeans.
I blow out a frustrated breath and shuffle a few careful steps toward the mirror, keeping one arm clamped across the material against my breasts. In the reflection, the gown stares back at me, reminding me of when I tried on gowns in Sylvin’s court.
I miss my chamber there and the beauty of the Winter lands. I miss Natasha and her kindness.
While I may have felt like an outsider there, I never felt revolted by being in their presence like I do with the majority of the humans here.
My eyes sweep over the emerald green gown, the bodice embroidered with subtle stones that catch the light when I move.
The neckline is lower than anything I’ve worn before, a soft curve that traces the tops of my breasts and plunges down slightly between them.
The skirts fall in layers from my hips, heavy enough that it’s half my battle of getting the damn thing fastened.
It’s nearly impossible to hold it up and do the corset strings.
I stare into my own eyes, noting my flushed cheeks and empty stare.
My pupils are pinpricks, and anxiety twists within my core at the thought of what’s coming tonight.
Two full days in this place and every passing minute makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.
The air tastes like power, perfume, and rot.
The morning after our arrival, they sent summons for fiancées and wives of attending officers to gather for tea.
I had no idea what that meant, exactly, but Eli had come back from talking with one of the attendants with a strange look on his face and relayed the message.
“Apparently it’s a mandatory thing,” he’d explained.
“Wives socialize while the men talk shop. Missing it would raise suspicion.”
We were herded into a bright room with tall windows and glass cabinets full of fragile cups and plateware, forced into chairs around a long table with lace placemats and too many spoons.
The lower-ranking officers’ wives had been bubbly and enthusiastic, chatter spilling out easily about dresses, their children, and recipes.
They had asked me polite questions—how long we’d been together, where I was from, whether I’d been to headquarters before—and I’d answered with carefully vague responses as we planned.
The higher-ranking wives, though, had been quiet. Guarded, even.
There was a stillness to them that didn’t match the bright and lively room.
No easy laughter or juicy gossip. Just small, precise sips of tea and eyes that tracked everything.
One of them, a woman with a perfectly styled low bun and a diamond the size of a rock on her hand, had looked at the younger women’s enthusiasm with open disdain.
“That color washes you out,” she’d remarked to one as an attendant poured more tea. “But I suppose you don’t have a stylist with your rank’s pay.”
The girl had flushed bright red and laughed it off, but the way her shoulders had curled in on themselves had made my stomach twist. Despite the surging desire to defend the offended woman, my fear of misstepping kept my lips sealed.
I answered only when directly spoken to, and even then with the bare minimum I could offer without seeming rude.
Our second morning tea was with different outfits, but the same roles.
This morning I couldn’t bring myself to go.
My nerves were too frayed to be sure I could keep quiet if I had to ignore one more insult lodged at another.
The thought of putting on another polite smile and navigating questions that could expose us in one careless answer, or an unconcealed physical tell, made my heart pound so fast I thought I would faint or throw up.
So I’d stayed in the suite, curled up on the small couch near the window, and let Ryoden deliver the agreed-upon excuse.
“Her stomach isn’t well after the raw fish last night,” he’d said with earnest gravity when the summons came to escort Eli and me down. “The doctor thought rest would be best to ensure she’s fit to attend the ball tonight.”
Apparently the concept of sushi was useful for this white lie.
Ryoden had hesitated before leaving, his gaze flicking between me and the door, torn between duty and the ruse we’d committed to.
“I’ll be in enduring conversations most of the day,” he’d said.
“If anyone calls, Eli knows what to say, so let him answer. I’d rather they think you’re not well enough to answer. ”
I hadn’t seen him since, and the feeling of being separated lodged a heavy discomfort in my chest. Thankfully with Eli to keep me company I hadn’t completely unraveled, but it’s strange how quickly I attached myself to Ryoden as a safety net.
Each night we’d gone together for dinner at the restaurant connected to the lobby, expected to show face and make polite small talk with others afterwards at the bar.
Both times we’d refused alcohol, watching carefully as low-ranking officers began to get loose-lipped and messy in airing out issues with their marriages.
Ryoden’s hand stayed a constant reminder of safety on my back or threaded with my own, all through the night and back up the elevator.
Only when we got back to our room did he end contact, sighing heavily each moment our door closed behind us.
His protective watch over me didn’t end there, though, always refusing to stay anywhere but on the small, hard couch that I knew he struggled to sleep on.
Constantly placing himself between me and danger.
While I appreciate his dedication to my safety, this morning I could really tell that the exhaustion was catching up to him physically and mentally.
Now, with the light outside dimming toward evening, I can’t decide whether staying away from the social gatherings today, and subsequently Ryoden, has made me feel safer or more on edge.
A sharp knock sounds at the suite door and I jolt, jerking the bodice higher on instinct. “Just a second,” I call out.
Awkwardly, I shuffle toward the door, skirts whispering around my legs, one arm glued to my chest. I peek through the small glass circle set into the wood.
A young woman stands in the hallway with a polite smile etched onto her face.
Her dark hair is pulled into a low knot at the nape of her neck, and she wears a simple blouse and skirt, nothing like the extravagant gowns I’ve seen on the wives.
There’s a small rectangle pinned to her shirt with her name in neat letters: Tenae.
I draw in a breath and open the door a crack, angling myself so the bulk of it shields my body. I glance past her to where Eli stands at his post a few feet away, posture relaxed but alert. He meets my eyes and gives a small, reassuring nod that she’s cleared for entry.
“Ms. Hale?” she asks. Her smile widens, a small crinkle at the corners of her eyes appearing.
“I’m Tenae. I work in hospitality and guest services here.
” She lifts the rectangular container in her hand slightly.
“I hope you found the wardrobe I put together for you adequate. Colonel Kane requested I check on you this evening and help you get ready for the ball. He mentioned you arrived without any beauty supplies.”
There’s no judgment in the way she says it, but heat creeps up my neck anyway.
It has been a stark point of contention in our gatherings, my lack of makeup.
The women had shown an array of shock to outright scathing stares when I mentioned I don’t typically wear it.
It worsened at night when their husbands drank, with some of them making comments to Ryoden about how lucky he is to have a woman that looks so good naturally, not caring at all if their partners heard them.
It was appalling and made me want to beg the earth to open up and swallow me whole once more.
I force myself to return a polite smile and nod at Tenae. “The wardrobe is lovely. Come in, please.”
I step back to let her through, adjusting my grip on the bodice as inconspicuously as I can manage. Eli’s gaze flicks between us once more before he returns his attention down the hall, hand resting near his holstered weapon.
Tenae’s eyes skim over the room with the efficient assessment of someone used to stepping into other people’s spaces. I follow her into the bedroom and her gaze comes back to me and softens.
“Why don’t we start with your hair and makeup,” she suggests kindly. “You can change into the robe in the bathroom for now, and we’ll leave the dress for later so it doesn’t crease. These corseted styles can be difficult on your own.”
“That’s one word for it,” I mutter in annoyance, then catch myself and manage a small smile. “The robe, then. Right.”
It takes some wriggling, but I manage to shuffle back into the bathroom and trade the gown for the soft, plush robe hanging on the hook.
The fabric falls to my calves and wraps around me like a borrowed cloud.
I cinch the belt tight and take one steadying breath before stepping out again, ready for whatever she feels the need to do.
Her case is now open on the small vanity, revealing an array of brushes, small bottles, and trays with a large variety of colors on them.