"GRAYSON!"
Mailah's voice pitched somewhere between outrage and disbelief.
Grayson had the good grace to look mildly guilty—though the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed that he was also a little too pleased with himself.
"I wanted it to be special," he said, tone infuriatingly calm. "Custom work takes time, and I thought—"
"You thought?" she cut in, folding her arms. "You thought you'd commission a wedding dress for me without even asking what kind of ceremony I wanted?"
"Well, I did consult the designer," he offered, as though that made it better.
"Oh, wonderful," Mailah said, voice dripping with mock sweetness. "You and some stranger decided what I'll wear on one of the most significant days of my life. How thoughtful."
"She's not a stranger," Grayson said quickly. "She's a dryad couturière from the Third Ring. Her fabrics are enchanted—woven with living silver. They respond to the wearer's emotions."
Mailah blinked. "Wait. Living what?"
