“Was that not your handprint Ryon showed me just now?” As though sensing she’d spoken out of turn, she winced. “Forgive me. I am overstepping.”

“Not at all,” I reassured her. “I cut my hand, and Olivianna’s was the closest residence who would help me,” I said, finding it easy for it was mostly the truth.

Staring at my tattered gown, at the bloodstain still present upon the sleeve, the queen chewed her lip. She nodded to Olivianna. “This is how the two of you met, then?”

“It is,” the seamstress confirmed.

The lack of explanation for Scythe’s unforgettable gaze hung between all of us like a smothering smog that was growing too thick to see through. I feared I might need to admit who he was to me, at the very least. Being that Opal didn’t already know, I struggled to bring myself to.

Olivianna mercifully intervened. “The garments you requested are ready.” She stood. “Though I did have some trouble sourcing the sky-blue cotton. My usual supply chains think it will be some months until stock isn’t so thin after the war. I settled on a lovely teal instead.”

Vordane’s new queen rose from the chair and followed Olivianna to a rack at the very back of the shop.

Though I was tempted to take the gowns I could see hanging on the rack closest to the door and leave, I waited and finished my tea. Fleeing would only arouse more suspicion, and as I sipped, I felt foolish for even considering it.

There was nothing to be afraid of. The queen wouldn’t know that I was one myself if she discovered that I was mated to the commander of one of her husband’s legions. But I would talk to Scythe before I made a move as bold as letting our accepted bond be known in such a large way.

I finished the delightful tea while listening to the two female’s faint laughter and chatter, wishing and perhaps hoping too heavily to one day find such companionship.

Scythe was in the kitchen, stirring a pot of what smelled like beef stew. “I met someone special today,” I said by way of greeting and closed the door with my backside to keep from disturbing the gowns.

As it was, I’d warped to the front yard of the cottage to ensure their volume did not break anything on display in the city streets and so that nothing damaged them. I draped the gowns over the back of an armchair.

“There’s a rack for them in the bedchamber,” he said. “Behind the door.”

I wandered to the room and plucked it out. I set it in the small space available along the wall by the bed, then fetched the gowns.