The dress is the color of a fresh wound.
Deep, dark red silk that clings to this new body, this doll's body, like a second skin. It's cut low. Too low. It leaves my shoulders bare, showing off the pale, unblemished skin that doesn't feel like mine. The servant girl who brought it had her eyes squeezed shut, like looking at the dress itself was a sin.
Maybe it is.
They did my hair. Piled it up in some intricate style that feels heavy and wrong. They painted my face. Red lips. Dark eyes. They turned me into a weapon. A pretty, sharp thing to be displayed.
i look in the mirror and i don't see me. i see her. Eve. The whore of prophecy. The monster they whisper about in their beds.
Good.
Let them look. Let them see the thing they tried to burn.
The doors to the grand hall swing open. And i walk into the lion's den.
The room is a sea of noise and light. Hundreds of candles burn in golden chandeliers, their light glittering off jewels and silks and the fake smiles of the nobility. The air is thick with the smell of expensive perfume and roasted meat and something else… something rotten under the surface. The scent of ambition. Of lies.
Every head turns. Every conversation stops. The music from the string quartet falters, a single note souring in the sudden silence.
They all stare.
And for a second, i'm back in the alley. Bleeding. Dying. For a second, i'm on the pyre, the heat on my skin, the smoke in my lungs. The fear is a cold, hard knot in my gut. My hands are shaking. i want to run.
But then i feel the feather. A secret, angry heat in my bandaged palm. A reminder. You are not a victim. You are a reckoning.
i lift my chin. i put a slow, lazy smile on my painted lips. And i walk into the room like i own it.
They part for me. A wave of velvet and gold, pulling back from the shore of my red dress. i can hear their whispers. Their gasps. i can feel their eyes on me, a thousand tiny pinpricks of hatred and fear and… desire.
My father, Duke Ravaryn, is standing near the head table. He sees me. The muscle in his jaw tightens. His eyes are full of cold fury. i gave him a spectacle. Not the one he wanted.
A herald announces my name. "Lady Eve Ravaryn. Purified by the sacred flame. Blessed by the heavens."
The lie is so thick i could choke on it. The crowd murmurs their polite, rehearsed approval. A few of them even clap.
i am a miracle. i am a monster. They don't know which. Neither do i.
i'm seated at the head table. Of course i am. Right next to him.
The Crown Prince. Kaelan Valerius.
He's even colder up close. Not the burning, furious heat of Azeriel. This is a different kind of power. The cold of a glacier. The stillness of a frozen lake. He's dressed in the severe black and silver of the royal guard, his uniform crisp and perfect. Not a hair out of place. His face is handsome, i guess. In a harsh, unforgiving way. All sharp lines and cold, grey eyes.
He doesn't look at me. He doesn't even acknowledge me. i am a chair. A piece of furniture. A problem to be ignored.
The system in my head, the dark, feminine shadow, purrs with delight.
…the unmovable heart… she whispers. …let's see how long that lasts…
Dinner is served. A parade of rich, heavy food i have no appetite for. The nobles around us start talking again. Their voices are a low, meaningless buzz. i pick up a wine glass. My hand is shaking. Just a little. i hide it by gripping the glass so tight my knuckles are white.
The prince still hasn't looked at me.
Fine. Let's play.
"Your Highness," i say, my voice a soft, silken thing. "You're very quiet tonight. Are you not enjoying the party my father threw in my honor?"
He finally turns his head. His grey eyes meet mine. There's no warmth in them. No curiosity. Just… ice.
"I am enjoying the silence, Lady Eve," he says, his voice as cold as his eyes. "It is a rare commodity when you are present."
The insult is a slap in the face. A clean, sharp, professional hit. The nobles near us who heard it pretend they didn't. They look down at their plates.
The old me, the assassin, would have admired the efficiency of it. The new me… the new me feels a hot flush of shame on my cheeks.
i take a slow sip of wine. It tastes like ash.
"You're right," i say, my smile not wavering. "Things do tend to get loud around me. Fires. Screaming. The occasional appearance of an archangel. It's hard to get a moment's peace."
His eyes narrow. Just a fraction. A flicker of something. Annoyance? Surprise?
…good, my little sinner… the system whispers. …poke the bear. see if it bleeds…
"You seem to have recovered well from your… ordeal," he says, his voice flat. He's testing me. Looking for a weakness.
"Oh, this?" i say, gesturing to myself with a flick of my wrist. "It was just a trial. A test of faith. And the heavens found me worthy." i smile at him, a wide, innocent, doll-like smile. It's all a lie. We both know it.
"The heavens," he says, his voice laced with a fine, sharp contempt, "have a strange sense of humor."
He turns away from me then. Dismissed. Like a servant. Like nothing.
The rage is a hot, tight coil in my gut. He thinks he can just… dismiss me? After what i've been through? The pyre. The angel. The pain. He sees me as a disgrace. A problem.
He doesn't see me at all.
And a nerve, a raw, frayed nerve inside me, snaps.
The assassin's control, the careful mask, it all falls away. All that's left is the broken girl. The one who is so tired of being used. Of being a tool. Of being a ghost.
"You know," i say, my voice quiet now. No silk. No honey. Just… raw. "You should have stayed dead, Lady Eve. The Empire had already moved on."
His words, from a memory that isn't mine. No, he didn't say that. Someone else did. Or he would have. He's thinking it. i can see it in his eyes.
He turns back to me, his face a mask of cold fury. "What did you say?"
"The Empire had already moved on," i repeat, my voice shaking a little. i can't stop it. "That's what you're all thinking, isn't it? The cursed girl is finally gone. Good riddance. Now we can all get on with our lives."
My heart is hammering. My hands are cold. i shouldn't be doing this. This is reckless. This is stupid. But i can't stop.
"You stand there in your pretty clothes," i say, my voice getting louder, rougher. "And you talk about my ordeal. My trial. You have no idea what it's like. To burn. To have your skin melt away. To die and come back and still be… this."
i'm not acting anymore. This is real. This is the truth.
The prince is staring at me. And for the first time, the ice in his eyes has cracked. He's not looking at a political problem anymore. He's looking at a girl in pain.
"Lady Eve," he says, his voice low, urgent. "Be silent."
"Why?" i spit, my voice breaking. "Am i embarrassing you? Am i ruining the party? Am i not playing the part of the grateful little miracle well enough for you?"
He moves. Faster than i expected. His hand shoots out, grabs my wrist. Not my burned hand. The other one. His grip is like iron.
"I said," he grits out, his face inches from mine, his grey eyes a storm of something i can't read. "Be. Silent."
The moment his skin touches mine, the world goes silent.
The noise of the banquet fades away. The music stops. All i can feel is the heat of his hand on my wrist. The shock of it. The… contact.
The system screams in my head. A chorus of ecstatic, triumphant whispers.
[+200 SIN POINTS ACQUIRED]
BONUS OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: First Touch
SKILL UNLOCKED: [CHARM (Lv. 1)]: Your presence bends attention. Your voice lingers longer. Your touch lingers longer. Use wisely.
CROWN PRINCE KAELAN — CONTEMPT: 50/100 | CURIOSITY: +5
He let go of me like he's been burned. He pulls his hand back, staring at it as if it betrayed him.
i stare at my wrist. A faint red mark is already forming where his fingers were.
i won.
The quest is complete. i got the points. i got the skill.
But the triumph feels… hollow. Sickly.
To get him to touch me… i had to show him a real piece of myself. The broken part. The hurting part.
He saw me. For a second. He saw the real me. And i hate it.
i take a shaky breath. The mask slides back into place. The smile returns to my lips. It's a brittle, fragile thing, but it's there.
i look at the prince. He's still staring at his hand, his face a mask of confusion and disgust.
i laugh. A light, airy sound. A perfect imitation of a noble lady.
"My apologies, Your Highness," i say, my voice all silk and honey again. "I seem to have had a little too much wine."
i pick up my glass, my hand perfectly steady now.
i take a sip.
And i meet his eyes over the rim of the glass.
i'm not seducing him. Not yet.
i'm surviving.
And no one in this room, not even the prince, knows the difference.
But i do.
And that's the price of power.