Page 50 of Throne of Ice and Blood
I slap his hand away. With a huff, I spin on my heel and stalk out of his bedroom, my cheeks still ablaze.
His satisfied laughter follows me out.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The silver dress glitters in the white faelight as I spin in a slow circle in front of the mirror to check my appearance. This is the dress that I wore to the fake winner’s ceremony when Draven first snapped the collar shut around my neck and shattered everything I thought I knew about the world. And it would be so much easier to hate this particular piece of clothing if it wasn’t so damn beautiful.
The dark silver bodice is covered in tiny white gems, making them look like sparkling stars. Patterns made with gleaming silver threads decorate the sheer fabric of the sleeves that end below my elbows, and the flowing pale silver skirt ripples around my legs when I move.
It’s the most beautiful garment I have ever worn in my entire life. Part of me knows that I’m supposed to hate it because of what it symbolizes. But the other part of me is desperately yearning for a future where I can buy clothes like this for myself and wear them whenever I want instead of always having to wear the same shirt and pants that I have worn for the past decade.
Straightening my spine, I give myself a nod in the mirror. I’m going to make that future happen. Some day. But first, I need to get through tonight.
After brushing my hands down the smooth skirts of the dress, I leave my bedroom behind and walk out into the living room.
Draven is already there. He is once again wearing his black dragon scale armor, and as usual, his hair has been swept back from his face as if he has just carelessly run a hand through it. His massive black wings are also visible behind his broad shoulders.
Coming to a halt on the floor, I just watch him for a few seconds as he opens a small black box that he has put on the desk before him. Something made of silver glitters inside.
“No cape this time,” I remark, and nod towards his armor.
He straightens and starts turning towards me. “No, no cape?—”
His words are abruptly cut off mid-sentence when his breath hitches the moment his gaze lands on me.
Sparkling warmth floods my entire body at the look in his eyes. He is staring at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
Then he snaps out of his stupor and gives his head a hard shake as if to compose himself. While blinking a few times, he clears his throat.
“No,” he repeats, still not sounding quite as composed as before. “No cape this time.”
My gaze drifts over the armor that covers his muscular body, and that sparkling warmth suddenly drains from my soul to instead be replaced by a sobering realization.
During the commencement ball for the Atonement Trials, Draven was wearing fancy formal clothes and a cape. A cape that would get tangled up in his wings if he tried to fly. He explained that it was a statement. A way of showing others that he is so powerful that he wouldn’t even need his wings to win if someone tried to attack him.
But now, he’s not wearing a cape. He’s not even wearing fancy formal clothes. Instead, he is wearing armor. Which means that he considers this banquet so dangerous that he can’t afford to waste any of his advantages.
My heart patters in my chest as I take in his appearance again. He hasn’t strapped his sword to his spine, but there is a more discreet dagger in his thigh holster.
What in Mabona’s name are we about to walk into? I thought this was just supposed to be a fancy dinner.
“Come here,” Draven says.
Blinking, I yank myself out of my worried musings to find Draven twitching two fingers at me. For a moment, I consider ignoring his presumptuous command. But in the end, I decide to choose my battles instead of being stubborn for no reason, so I walk over to him where he’s still standing by the desk.
Silver and white gems glitter in the faelights as he lifts a breathtaking necklace from that small black box before him.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “I hate to break it to you, but that necklace doesn’t match your armor at all.”
A surprised laugh rips from his throat. He blinks and flicks a glance down at his own chest, looking startled by the sound that came out of it. Then he gives his head a couple of quick shakes while letting out another breath of amusement.
Locking eyes with me, he tries his best to suppress a smile and instead scowl at me. He fails miserably. “It’s for you, smartass.”
“Oh.”
“Turn around.”
My heart is suddenly pounding in my chest as I turn so that I’m standing with my back to him instead. Every nerve in my body is now on high alert.
