Page 68 of Crimson Kingdom
In any event, we spent the next few days thrust into the wonderful world of wedding planning.
Evander dutifully weighed in on everything from pastry choices to flowers, only stepping back when Madame Freya shooed him away from her designs. Even then, he only went as far as the adjacent armchair where he couldn’t see.
I would need two dresses, one for Lochlann, and one in Clan Bear colors for Socair.
We started with the white dress. My mother and Aunt Isla flitted over, offering their opinions on the merits of each design until I chose one. Then came the black one, which I realized I was woefully underinformed to make a decision on.
“What kind of black dress?” I asked Evander.
“The wedding kind,” he answered ever so helpfully.
I leveled a look at him. “Is there anything else I should know? Will I be flouting some unspoken Socairan law if I choose not to have a train? Are sleeves optional, or will I incur the wrath of the kingdom if I go with something off the shoulder?”
My mother and Isla snickered behind me, but Evander only gave me the bare twist of his lips that showed he was amused.
His voice, of course, came out as casual as ever. “Any black dress will do, Lemmikki.”
I let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Is it a small wedding?” I prodded. “Large? Formal?”
He gave a twin sigh to mine. “Formal, as are most events in Socair. And I wouldn’t say small, since all of the dukes and their families attend.”
I blinked, all traces of humor vanishing. “All of them?”
He shrugged, but there was tension in the movement. “Socairans and their traditions.”
So, Theo would be there. That wouldn’t be awkward at all.
Not to mention the disgusting Sir Mikhail.
Fabulous.
Another thought occurred to me on the heels of that one, even less pleasant, one that should have dawned on me a long, long time ago.
Ava would be there. Obviously.
The woman whose soulless smile still haunted my nightmares, the one who had left literal scars...physical ones, on my life.
And Evander’s. And Aunt Isla’s. So many people.
I hadn’t forgotten my vow to watch her die one day.
Looking at the proposals for the black dresses with their high, demure necklines and trailing sleeves, I felt my features harden.
“Any black dress?” I clarified, my voice colder than it had been before.
Evander tilted his head, assessing me. “Anything you want.”
Borrowing Madame Freya’s charcoal stick, I sketched some modifications to the drawing and handed it back to her. She pursed her lips before opening her mouth to argue, but I shook my head.
“That’s the gown I want,” I said definitively.
The dressmaker looked at my mother.
Mamá surveyed my features for a long moment before nodding proudly. “I think it will be perfect.”
After a long day of inane decision-making, it was finally time for family dinner.