Red Ruse

Chapter Thirty

Mare

The gown is gorgeous.

Cinched at the waist, the stiff corset gives way to ruffles, an explosion of taffeta that reaches the floor. The shoulders lay bare, support surrendered to silken straps draped across the arms. Elara picked it out. Said it was the delicate persona I needed if I insisted on playing the Red Savior.

I hate it.

The corset will restrict my breathing, ruffles weighing down any attempt at escape. There is no pocket through which to slide a knife, no veil to hide my anger behind. I will be exactly as she wants me: defenseless, shivering, and transparent to all.

"Smile." Elara's voice is a blade. "He went through so much trouble for you. The least you can do is be happy for him."

I grip the hem as if it were a dagger. "He's not here."

Wrong thing to say. She grabs my chin, dragging my lips upward to the point of pain. "But I am, girl. Anything you say to me gets back to him."

"I could say the same for you."

She laughs. Her fingers close around the bracelet. "Samos work, I presume?" My skin prickles. "It's a heavy ratio. I'm surprised you're able to walk."

"I've always been full of surprises."

Elara stands, and I almost crumple to the floor. "You are. It's strange." She studies me, a frog under the microscope. "You know what the most frustrating part of it all was?"

"I don't care."

A cluck of her tongue. "She didn't seem to want it. All that power, stolen from me, and for what? For her to mope her days away, simmering in weakness as I spun her nightmare after nightmare. There was no fire in her. Not like you."

I scowl. "She was probably stronger than you think."

Sniff. "How would you know?" Elara circles me, a vulture waiting for its meal. "You weren't in her mind. You weren't the one who disappointed her family by not striking first. You didn't have to endure their sneers, their laughter, their shame, all for a girl who didn't even want it."

"Are we talking about her, or you?"

She strikes me.

I stumble backwards, gripping the vanity for balance. My face burns, breath fanning the flames as I try to steady myself. I've taken a hit before. This one shouldn't surprise me.

Elara studies her fingers, sneering. "You cracked my nail polish."

I know better than to respond. The bracelet is my shield, the only reason her eyes are not etched inside my skull. Instead, they linger on it, hungry. "Take that off."

"No."

She strikes me again, harder, but I will not bend. I will not break. I'm not a piece of clay for her to pinch and prod. I refuse to have my edges sanded off.

"You'll take it off eventually." Elara draws back, fists clenched. "Do it now, and I'll make it painless."

I shake my head, prepared for a strike that never comes. She paces, a writhing mass of fury. "Why resist? You'll be happy. I won't leave you to Coriane's fate."

"You don't want to see him cry."

She hisses. "I will make you perfect for him. I will make you treasure every moment you spend together, every stolen kiss, every speech he requires you perform. I will leave you in a blissful haze until your years burn out." Pause. "Or you can suffer them in silence. Your choice."

The bracelet weighs heavy on my wrist. "I choose me."

Elara storms out of my room, servants trembling in her wake. They scramble to apply makeup over the marks, a doll whose cracks are beginning to show. I will not tell Maven. I refuse to relive the humiliation.

Yet I can barely hold my tongue as he enters, pausing as if to absorb me. His hand feathers along my skirt before resting at my waist. "You look like a queen."

I close my eyes. "Coriane, maybe."

His other hand caresses my cheek, thumb brushing past the makeup to the bruise beneath. His breath hitches. "Who did this?" He falters. "And why?"

My teeth tear into my lip. "I banged into the dresser."

"Mare–"

"What do you expect me to say. Maven? 'Your mother hit me and you're not gonna do anything about it'?" I lower my head." "She's done much worse, you know.

His gaze drops to my wrist, drawing it closer as if to kiss my hand. "Perhaps." The bracelet brushes against his lips, and he recoils. "This dose . . . You'll whither within a week."

"As a queen." I snort. "Maybe I'll start a trend: Abusive-in-Law Chic."

"She's not–" A defense too weak to finish, to hold his head against the truth pulling it to the ground. His voice falls to a hush. "And if she was. What difference would it make?"

The sentence cuts us both.

"I still love her. She's still my mother. And where would we go? Who would take us, after all we've done?" His throat bobs. "I'd rather be in pain than alone."

"That's not your choice to make."

"No." He cups my cheek, comes the closest he ever has to kneeling before me. "It never is."

My lips are not enough to bring him to his knees. To bid him run beside me towards a new red dawn. I've never been enough, not for him, not for Cal, not for the weight of a people in chains. "What will it take?" My fingers dig into his shoulders. "For you to choose me?"

How slight, the difference between a laugh and a sob. "I don't know."

Maybe he did know, but wished he didn't. Wished he could drown his regrets in my lips, bury his sorrow as deep as his hands in my hair. Just as I call mine strategic, not desperate, not a lover's farewell I dare not voice aloud.

Shade warned me.

I didn't listen.

"Your gown," he mutters. "We'll ruin it."

Then ruin it! I almost scream. Ruin it like you've ruined everyone else in your life.

But I can't afford to be stupid anymore. So I let him smooth the wrinkles of my skirt, adjust his tie without drawing it to a noose. Tonight, I run.

Today, I endure.