Stolen Songbird(19)

My wedding dress.

“Why isn’t it white?” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. In the Hollow, we had a tradition where every girl’s dress included something from a wedding dress of a family member or friend. Sometimes it was just a bit of lace or some fancy buttons, but often gowns were entirely created out of dresses from weddings past. Gran said that the tradition brought love and good fortune into the union. I had always seen myself in the dress in which she had married my grandfather, with its handmade lace overlay. Not this unworn, unloved… thing.

Sweat broke out on my hands and I grew cold beneath the thick robes. A haze of black crept over my vision of the dress. My knees trembled and my body swayed. “I think I’m going to be sick.” A basin appeared in front of me, and I proceeded to retch up everything I’d just consumed. I couldn’t do this; couldn’t go through with what they were asking of me. If I stayed, my virtue would be the price, and that was something I could never win back. No one would care whether it was against my wishes or not – my reputation, such as it was, would be ruined. I had to escape now.

Avoiding the concerned gazes of the girls, I held up my hand. “I need some time alone.” My eyes latched on the adjoining bedchamber. “I’ll lie down for a few moments.” Walking into the other room, I shut the door firmly behind me and then dashed on silent feet to the one leading to the hallway. The lock was bolted.

With one of my hairpins, I set to work on the lock, grateful, not for the first time, to my brother for teaching me how. When the catch was sprung, I turned the knob, and with a backward glance at the empty room, stepped into the hall. I immediately collided with something solid.

“Fancy meeting you here, Cécile.”

My heart sunk. “It’s you.”

“The one, the only, as they like to say,” Tristan said affably, brushing off his coat where I’d bumped into him.

“Which ‘they’ would that be?” I asked.

“Oh, you know. Them.” He waved a hand in the air, dismissing the question. Then he frowned. “Have you recently vomited? How vile. It wasn’t because you indulged in too much wine, was it? I can certainly tolerate drunkenness in myself, but not in a woman. It’s quite unladylike.”

Raising my chin, I tightened the cord holding my robe in place. “I’ll have you know that I’ve never been drunk.”

He smirked. “You needn’t act like that is such a grand accomplishment. I’ve heard the continent is full of a similar sort – teetotalers, they call them. I understand they can reduce even the liveliest party to a dull affair in no time at all.”

“Don’t act like you know the first thing about the continent,” I snapped. “It isn’t as though you’ve ever visited.”

He flinched, silent for a moment. “Have you?”

“No,” I admitted. “But I very likely would have if you hadn’t kidnapped me.”

“I didn’t kidnap you,” Tristan said, his voice filled with irritation. “Your friend Luc did.”

“He wouldn’t have done so, if not for you. And he isn’t my friend.”

“That might be the case, but I don’t doubt that he’d have substituted an equivalently dastardly deed in its place.” He pointed a finger at me. “Mark my words, the boy was of a vile sort.”

“Then you are two of a kind,” I snapped.

“Ha ha,” Tristan snorted. “How dreadfully clever. And speaking of clever, is this to be your bid for escape?” He contemplated my clothing. “In a dressing gown and bare feet? Now tell me, if I go put on nightclothes and slippers, might I join you, or is this a solo adventure?”

My eyes stung. “You think this is all exceedingly funny, don’t you? I’m nothing but a joke to you.”

His brow creased in a frown. “If you’re a joke, it isn’t an especially humorous one.”

I threw up my hands in frustration. “You are the most intolerable individual I’ve ever met.”

He bowed. “Why, thank you, Cécile. Always a pleasure to have one’s accomplishments recognized.”

“You are the last person in the world I’d choose to marry,” I hissed.

“I don’t entirely relish the idea myself,” Tristan said, “but sometimes we must do the unthinkable.”

“Why must I?”

Tristan tipped his head slightly, expression considering. “Because you have no choice,” he finally said. “Just as I have no choice. There is no way for you to escape Trollus, Cécile, and if you were caught in the attempt…” His eyes closed, black lashes resting against his cheeks. “My father’s anger is a formidable thing, and I do not wish to see you harmed for aggravating him.”