Chapter Thirty-Two
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
Ilaria stood motionless on the dais. Two seamstresses flitted around her like restless birds, plucking with their needles as they worked to tame the ivory silk that spilled over her frame.
Mistress Dubois had already begun preparations when the wedding was announced, and it would undeniably become a beautiful gown.
Already Ilaria could see the potential in the creamy silk that draped across her, embroidered with golden vines that curled like delicate ivy, trailing down the bodice and into the long, flowing train.
Ilaria’s hands rested stiffly against the bodice, fingers twitching as she resisted the urge to tug at the snug material.
In the corner of the room, the queen dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.
“You’re radiant, Ilaria,” she said, still crying.
She’d been doing a lot of that these days.
“Bring it in a touch more at the bodice, would you, Mistress Dubois? And widen the shoulders. The Frienen like their women strong.”
The head seamstress, a stout woman with pinched lips and a halo of gray-streaked hair tucked beneath her cap, plucked a pin from her sleeve. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Ilaria’s lips pressed into a thin line as she felt the silk tighten around her ribs.
“Any tighter and I fear I shall burst from the seams.” Ilaria smoothed her hands over the fabric as though she could will it to loosen.
The queen only smiled as she stepped forward, her slippered feet barely making a sound against the polished floor. “We want the prince to look fondly upon his new bride, do we not? If you’re going to be a little scandalous, a wedding is the perfect time.”
“I thought the Frienen veiled their men,” Ilaria said. “He’ll hardly even see me.”
“They’re only veiled until they’re married. He’ll see you perfectly well at the reception.”
Ilaria pressed her lips together, swallowing her sigh.
It wasn’t difficult to understand the true intent behind the queen’s request. The gown was to be as much of a spectacle as possible, with the intent of drawing the prince’s eyes away from her disfigurement.
The queen wanted him to focus on her body, not the scars that marred her face.
Not that it mattered. She’d gotten lucky with Frienen; they were far more focused on spirituality and a person’s behavior than looks, though Ilaria was under no illusion that she’d ever have a husband who gazed up at her adoringly.
She’d marry, give the man a few heirs, and would be content to live out the remainder of her life paying her deepest respect to his mistresses.
It didn’t matter if the prince was kind, or if he was a miserable cur. She’d do what was necessary to protect Rhovar—nothing less, and nothing more.
“I’d like to see how I look.” The sharpness of her words left no room for argument. “Fetch me a mirror.”
The seamstresses exchanged uneasy glances before letting their attention fall to the floor.
This was another effect of Ilaria’s new face. She’d nearly forgotten it around the knights, who were used to grisly wounds and battle. But around the nobility, most struggled to look at her.
“Ilaria.” The queen’s voice was soft and coaxing, as if she were speaking to a skittish animal. “There’s no need for that. You look beautiful.”
“If I’m beautiful, then there should be no problem allowing me to see so myself.
” She stared them down one after the next, waiting for any to be brave enough to meet her eyes.
Their avoidance twisted like a blade, and she clenched her hands tightly at her sides, fighting to keep her frustration from spilling over.
There was an awkward shuffle of feet, the soft rustle of fabric filling the tense silence as everyone awaited the queen’s verdict.
It had, after all, been her decision to remove every reflective surface from Ilaria’s chambers after the accident.
It’d been mere days, and not even the faintest glimmer of polished silver remained.
“Very well,” the queen said at last, her tone carefully composed. “Mistress Dubois, would you be so kind as to fetch my daughter something suitable?”
“At once, Your Majesty.” The head seamstress curtsied before hurrying from the room. She returned only moments later holding a small handheld mirror, its handle woven with intricate filigree.
Ilaria’s throat tensed as she accepted it, her fingers brushing over the cold metal. Anxiety coiled in her chest, but she didn’t allow it to show as she lifted the mirror to inspect herself.
The gown was even lovelier than she’d imagined, and yet her skin crawled to see it on her.
Something about the cream silk made her skin sallow, and her gaze was drawn upward to her scars.
They were stark red against her skin, twisting in uneven lines from her cheekbone to her jaw.
The tightness in her chest grew unbearable as she stared at herself, wishing she could tear off the ridiculous gown.
Who was this woman staring back at her? Ilaria didn’t recognize the face in the reflection, smoothing tentative fingers across the wounds to confirm they were real.
“No scar will ever make you less beautiful.” The queen gripped her daughter by the shoulders, holding tight. “They’re a sign of your bravery, and of your kind heart. You went to Varen even as he was turning. You tried to help him, and your kindness should be applauded.”
Ilaria wished desperately that she would stop talking.
It wasn’t bravery that had earned her these scars. It was justice. Ilaria only wished that they had cut even deeper.
She lowered the mirror, grip slackening around the delicate handle. “The dress is lovely,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “We’re done for the day.”
Her mother’s hands lingered for a moment before she sighed and turned to address the others. “Very well. We’ll resume tomorrow. Good work, everyone.”
They helped Ilaria out of her gown, and she dressed hastily, eager to escape the stifling air of wedding planning. Unfortunately, there was no ridding herself of it. The castle was alive with preparations, servants buzzing like a hive shaken awake.
“They’re relieved to have something to focus on since the attack,” Solange said when Ilaria joined her outside, scowling. The knight had been posted near the door. “A wedding is a good distraction.”
Ilaria supposed that was true, but it didn’t mean she had to like just how hectic the castle felt these days.
Down the halls, two footmen carried bolts of dyed linen in the royal colors, their arms stacked high with the gold and crimson fabric that would soon be hung as banners along the corridors.
In the courtyard, gardeners were hard at work trimming hedges into elaborate shapes and tending to the flowers to ensure the grounds were vibrant on the day of the ceremony.
While everyone else prepared for her wedding, Ilaria ached to escape curious eyes and every well-meaning person who wanted to congratulate her on the engagement. Not even the archives were safe these days, when Rhovar was restless and guards lined every hall.
There was no more escaping into the garden. No roaming the castle grounds with Aurelie, or eavesdropping to catch up on the latest gossip. It wasn’t as though Solange would tell her such things.
“Take me to my quarters,” she commanded, sticking close behind the knight.
Solange’s presence may have presented some challenges, yes, but she had to admit that there were a few perks to having her around.
The knight was intimidating and always managed to look busy, which kept others from approaching.
Even those who tried to catch Ilaria’s attention would often turn away at the sight of Solange, which certainly made getting to and from places easier.
Still, her room was the single safe space in all the castle, and Ilaria left Solange outside the door as she ever so quietly bolted it behind her.
Solange didn’t like it to be locked, and Ilaria was certain she’d check it eventually. But she’d deal with that later. For now, the distant hum of the castle echoed faintly through the thick stone as she fell against the wall, exhausted.
Who knew that becoming a bride could be so tedious?
Fortunately, the sun had long set, the calming creep of darkness settling her heart.
Ilaria had always breathed better in the evening, when her soul felt most at ease.
The castle would soon fall silent, its bustling halls emptied of courtiers and servants, and she would finally be alone with her thoughts while the rest of the kingdom slept.
Ilaria crossed the room and opened the window as she always did in the evenings.
A cool breeze drifted in, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth.
It caressed her cheeks, but rather than easing her anxiety, the sight of a dozen knights standing guard outside only reinforced it.
They’d be there all night, protecting her even in the cold.
Ensuring no one came in, and, even more frustrating, that no one got out.
She slammed the window shut as quickly as she’d opened it, drawing the curtains.
To be guarded at every moment. To have her every move watched and scrutinized. To spend every day wondering whether her friends and family would survive.
This wasn’t the life she wanted for herself, nor for Rhovar.
Turning to her desk, she drew a wineskin from where she’d hidden it behind journals full of notes, hoping to bury its distraction.
She could take a sip. She could forget about all of this and escape. She’d never have to get married. Never have to see her family or her kingdom fall.
Her hands trembled as she clutched the leather, untying the wineskin and breathing in its scent.
It would be easy to give in to the temptation. To give herself over to it.
But what had she done to deserve such an easy escape?
There had to be something more waiting for her, if only they could get past this blasted war.
She dumped the wine into the hearth before she could change her mind, then buried the wineskin back in the drawer once more.
There was still time. Rhovar may have been weak, but there was still time to save it.
But first, there was something she needed to take care of. Something that didn’t involve gowns or titles or any of the thousand obligations paraded before her.
This was something meant just for her, that no one else could ever see.
Ilaria turned to the tapestry beside her bed, and to the hidden passage behind it. She thought of Solange, waiting just outside her door. Of the dozens of knights scattered throughout the kingdom, watching for any sign of a threat.
She drew a breath, praying that none would see her tonight. And then, as silent as a prayer, she eased the passage open and slipped inside.