Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(72)

“You’ll wear a woolen pom-pom necklace in blues and purples. I’m working on the headdress tonight. I’m sorry it’s not ready for you to try on, but it’ll be in the same colors as the poms.”

“It’s fine.” I study the dress again, and I’m unable to stop the corners of my lips turning downward.

“Condesa, don’t you like it?” one of the women asks, hesitant and careful.

“What’s not to like?” I ask lightly. “It’s beautiful.”

The seamstress’s shoulders sag with relief. “That’s wonderful, because His Majesty—”

The door snaps open and Atoc storms inside with his many attendants. My mouth goes dry. I try to step down from the mirror, but he stops me by holding up his hand.

“Quédate.” He loops around, slow like a condor hunting its prey. Goose bumps crawl across my skin. Atoc scowls as he studies the dress—every ruffle, every stitch. The impulse to run makes my feet twitch. I want to examine him in turn, see how he likes being regarded as a prized horse.

The women huddle off into the corner. For their sake, I force a smile.

“Isn’t it lovely?” I ask.

He doesn’t bother responding, but circles once more. He stops in front of me. “Lower the neckline,” he says curtly.

I jerk my head down—the neckline is right under my chin. Exactly where I want it. “Absolutely not.”

This time I get a foot down but Atoc grips my waist and hoists me back on the step. He glances at me with frank interest, heat in his gaze. “The sooner you learn who you answer to, the better your life will be. Stop fighting me.”

“You may have everyone else bending to do your will, but I’m not some creature you can control.”

His face turns to iron, hardening and immobile like the impenetrable wall of the Illustrian fortress. “Leave us.”

The seamstresses scurry away without a look in my direction. I want to call out, but I keep silent. This day was long coming. I knew that, at some point, he’d get me alone and his first move would be to put me thoroughly in my place.

My skin turns to ice, but I pull my shoulders back. I’m not going to let him scare me. I summon the fire I felt when I first arrived, before I’d lost Sofía and Ana. “I am the last royal in all of Inkasisa—”

A fist slams my belly. The hit is strong and fierce and for seconds I’m left in stunned silence. I topple off the stairs and end up on the floor, the stone scraping against the skin of my elbow. The lizard moves, its tiny claws scratching against the folds of my skirt, wanting to get out. I push my hand inside my pocket, forcing it still.

Atoc stares at me in fury. “I’ve told you, don’t interrupt me.”

I get to my feet, my knees buckling. We stare at each other for a long moment, my rage simmering, barely contained. I use it to lock away my terror until all that’s left is my desire for justice.

“No one’s ever told you,” he said. “About my first wife.”

An acid taste swells my tongue. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to know about his marriage to someone who was years younger than me. Long dead and all but forgotten.

“We were married for three years. She never gave me children. Do you know what I need in order to create a legacy, Condesa?”

I make my voice sound cold—colder than the snow gathering on top of our mountain. “Why ask the question if you know the answer?”

He leans forward. His hot breath brushes my cheek. There are deep lines at the corners of his eyes, carved into his skin from years of looking at the world in distrust. “I need children,” he says as if I hadn’t spoken. “That’s one of the things you’re good for, isn’t that right, Condesa?”

I know what my other uses are. Through marriage, he’ll have control over my people and a steady water supply—thank Luna it’ll never come to that. Not with my standing in his way as his fake bride. The scrape on my elbow is sticky with blood, stinging and raw. The lizard hisses, its long pink tongue sticking out of my pocket.

“Do you know how she died?” he asks.

“In childbirth.”

“Is that true?” His tone is like a blade dragged against my skin. “Is that what you really think?”

“What—what are you saying?”

Atoc’s stare holds. He reaches for the end of my braid and strokes the hair escaping the ribbon. “I’m saying she disappointed me. Be very careful, Condesa. I don’t ever forget slights, and yours have been numerous. Embarrassing me in front of court. Insolent in front of my servants. I’m telling you: Watch yourself. Don’t you want to live?”

I say nothing. He curls my braid around his hand, once, twice. He handles my hair like rope and he tugs, hard. I resist, and my knees buckle a second time. I’m struggling to remain upright. The part of my stomach where his fist slammed into me is sore.

“I’m not someone you can make a fool of,” he continues. “I have sacrificed too much, have lost too much. I will have what I want, and I’ll do anything to ensure my legacy.” His dark eyes narrow. “We have that in common, I think.”

Madre de Luna. For a second I can’t breathe. He was right—here I was, a standin for the last royal in Inkasisa, willing to do whatever it took to guarantee an Illustrian victory. I’d risk marriage to my enemy, a future of my own—my life to make that happen.