HE REJECTED ME, SO I TOOK HIS CROWN
Moving with practiced discretion, he slipped his hand into the folds of my silk robe, pressing a fresh, chilled glass vial into my palm.
“Drink it before the ink dries,” Silas murmured, his breath barely brushing my ear. “Ensure you survive the day.”
“Thank you,” I breathed, quickly concealing the icy vial in my sleeve.
The head tailor stepped into my line of sight, proudly holding up the ceremonial gown.
It was a stunning, structured masterpiece of midnight-black silk, woven with real silver thread that mimicked the phases of the moon along the heavy hemline.
The bodice was reinforced with delicate, flexible chainmail plating.
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