Chapter 9: Strangers

I woke with the sun already climbing somewhere beyond the blackout drapes, its light filtered into silver hints that licked at the cold stone walls. My body ached—not from pain, but from memory. The night before still lingered on my skin, in the faint scent of Lucien’s cologne on the sheets, in the warmth that shouldn’t have stayed.

I cursed myself.

This wasn’t who I was.

I wasn’t the kind of woman who let her guard down for a monster just because he kissed like a storm and touched like he knew where I hurt.

Throwing the covers back, I forced the softness from my limbs and pulled myself to sit upright, spine straight, jaw set. From here on out, I needed to be cold. Unmovable. Calculating. I hadn’t come here to fall—I came here to end him.

A soft knock interrupted the spiral of my thoughts.

The door opened before I could answer.

A man stepped in, arms full of folded clothing—formal, by the look of it. Deep crimson and charcoal tones, rich velvet and lace. His gaze swept across the room before landing on me—and something in him stilled.

He was tall, but leaner than Lucien, with tousled ash-brown hair and sharp cheekbones that made his expression seem perpetually unreadable. But it wasn’t his looks that made my heart pause—it was the way his eyes widened when they met mine, like he was seeing a ghost.

He swallowed.

I stared back, trying to place the vague familiarity in the line of his mouth, the slope of his nose. I knew that face. Not well. Not recently. But I knew it.

“Clothing for the day,” he said quickly, voice clipped, careful. “You’re expected in the south solar by midday. Lord Arceneaux will meet you there.”

His words felt rehearsed, like he was reading from a script just to keep from saying something else.

“What’s your name?” I asked, slowly.

He blinked. Just once. Then placed the folded garments on a nearby chaise.

“No one important,” he said, voice quieter now. “Just another servant.”

Something flickered across his expression—pain, recognition, a ghost of a thought he pushed away too quickly.

Then he turned on his heel and exited the room before I could press further.

I rose, walked to the pile of clothes, and stared down at the elegant ensemble waiting for me. A high-necked gown, tight at the waist, embroidered with thorned roses.

A uniform for a queen, or a prisoner.

I’d play my part. For now.

“Oh, darling, you’re already up. Excellent!”

A tall woman swept into the room like a gust of scented wind. Her hair was a shock of icy blonde, curled and piled atop her head like an elaborate crown of spun sugar. Her skin gleamed like porcelain, and her corseted dress—blood-red with glinting onyx trim—could’ve been torn from the pages of a fairy tale, if that fairy tale involved fangs and poison.

“You must be Arabella. The Arabella.” She grinned, flashing the telltale gleam of fangs. “I’m Calista. Court liaison. Corset tyrant. Keeper of secrets. And occasional matchmaker, but don’t tell Gwynne.”

She winked.

I blinked.

"Do you all introduce yourself like that?”

“Oh, you are a laugh!” She clapped her hands, and two silent attendants I hadn’t even noticed materialized behind her with a gleaming array of jewelry and what looked like—gods help me—another corset. “Lucien picked out your accessories himself. Personally. That either means he’s in love with you or he’s planning to feed you to a rival. We’re all very excited to find out which.”

I opened my mouth to argue. She pressed a pale finger to my lips.

“Shh. Let me work.”

And then the flurry began.

Before I could protest, the attendants had my arms in the air, stripping away my robe and pulling the new gown over my shoulders. Calista moved with wicked precision, tugging the laces of the corset tighter and tighter until my ribs threatened to snap.

“This is how you know a vampire likes you,” she chirped as she yanked again. “We only dress up the ones we’re attached to. The rest get silk shrouds and discreet disposal.”

“I hate this,” I muttered, breathless.

“Oh, I know, dear. That’s what makes it work. Now—jewels!”

She turned and plucked from a velvet tray a choker of black diamonds and blood-red rubies. “Lucien’s taste is deliciously dramatic. These belonged to one of his old flames. She was decapitated in a duel, but the necklace survived. Isn’t that romantic?”

She fastened it around my throat before I could step away.

I stared at her in the mirror, chest rising and falling shallowly beneath the suffocating fabric and buried anger. “Do you always dress your rivals for slaughter?”

Calista grinned. “Only the promising ones.” Then she leaned in, her voice dipping to something conspiratorial and fond. “Careful, Arabella. This court doesn’t know what to do with women who don’t fall apart.” She turned on her heel and glided to the door. “Come, darling. The king awaits.”

And I followed, spine straight, breathing shallow, knives still hidden under my skirts.

If Lucien thought he could dress me up like a prize and tame me with rubies and lace…

He had another thing coming.