Chapter 181
The door creaks open, and a servant enters the room carrying a long, ornate box.
The servant doesn’t say a word, simply setting the box on the table with an air of quiet efficiency. They give a shallow bow before leaving as silently as they arrived, their retreat punctuated by the soft click of the closing door.
“I don’t like this,” I mutter, staring at the box as though it might spring open and bite me. The craftsmanship of the container itself is enough to make me uneasy: lacquered black wood with intricate gold filigree that twists and curls like serpentine vines.
Cora crosses her arms, her gaze steely. “None of us do, but you know what’s at stake. Play along, Phoebe. For now.”
I nod reluctantly, my fingers hovering over the lid for a moment before I lift it. Inside is a gown—a flowing masterpiece of light pink silk, so delicate it seems to shimmer like the surface of the ocean at dawn. It’s adorned with strands of gold chain and beads carved from polished bone, each detail painstakingly precise. The sight of it takes my breath away, but not in a good way. Wearing it feels like stepping into a role I never agreed to play.
“Uncomfortable” doesn’t even begin to cover it, but Cora’s right. Every moment we stall, every ounce of goodwill we feign, buys us more time to figure out a plan. I swallow hard and pick up the gown, the fabric cool and almost alive against my fingertips.
“Well, if we’re doing this,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel, “we might as well do it properly.”
I step behind a screen and slip into the gown. It molds to my form like a second skin, the silk clinging in ways that make me acutely aware of every curve. The gold chains drape elegantly across my shoulders and hips, their faint tinkling sound both beautiful and unnerving. I’m adjusting the delicate straps when Rhea’s soft, choked laugh fills the room. It’s not a sound of joy—more like a bitter ghost of amusement.
“What?” I ask, stepping out from behind the screen. Her expression is a mix of wistfulness and sorrow as she gazes at the dress.
“That dress was mine,” she says softly. “It was made for me by Toa.” Her voice catches slightly, and she presses her lips together before continuing. “It suits you. But don’t let my son’s gifts blind you. Kota has far more charm than patience.”
I can’t help but smile faintly, though her words weigh heavily. “I’m not worried about Kota’s patience,” I reply. “I’m a mated woman, and whatever patience Kota does have, Wake has far less.”
That draws a small, genuine smile from Rhea, though it’s tinged with sadness. She beckons me to sit before her, and I oblige, settling onto a low stool. With practiced hands, she begins to style my hair, pinning it into soft waves that ripple and dance on the current, mirroring the fluid motion of the gown. Her touch is gentle but sure, and for a moment, it feels almost maternal—a fleeting warmth in an otherwise cold situation.
“Why is Raif so adamant about the legs?” I ask, breaking the silence. The question has been nagging at me since we arrived.
Rhea’s hands still briefly, and she lets out a quiet laugh, but she doesn’t answer. Instead, it’s Cora who speaks up from her place by the window.
“It’s common in more places than just Ao,” she says. “The ability to change is rare among most Enkian. Most Clans rarely set foot on land to begin with, so the skill isn’t needed. For those who can change, it’s seen as a mark of strength. The ability to control a partial change—to gain ‘sea legs’—is even rarer. Among certain circles, it’s a sign of good breeding and high importance.”
“So Raif is posturing,” I conclude.
Cora nods. “And testing us,” she adds. “To ensure we’re suitable mates for his sons.”
Rhea sighs softly, her hands resuming their work. “It is his way,” she murmurs. “A trait passed down to his sons as well.”
I recall then that I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Rhea use anything other than her tail.
Perhaps it’s her own personal rebellion against Raif. Or, perhaps, it’s one of many ways Raif keeps her in her place.
Her words make me bristle, but I hold my tongue. When she pins the final seastar ornament into my hair, she steps back and rests her hands lightly on my shoulders. Her gaze meets mine in the reflection of the mirror, her eyes heavy with meaning.
“Please,” she says, her voice low and earnest. “Remember what I said.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I will,” I promise, though my resolve feels like a fragile thread ready to snap. Her words feel heavier now, each one laced with a weight I can’t yet comprehend.
Cora’s voice cuts through the heavy silence. “We don’t have much time. Are you ready?”
I take a deep breath and rise to my feet, the movement making the chains on the dress tinkle softly. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, though the words feel hollow. My mind is a whirl of uncertainty and dread, but I push it down. If we’re going to survive this, I have to play my part—for now.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
