Kiera's POV
"Absolutely not."
I stare at the dress the servant's holding. It's emerald green, covered in crystals, with a neckline that plunges halfway to my navel and a back cut so low my wings would barely fit through the slits.
"It's what Lady Thornfield selected for you," the servant says nervously. Her name tag reads Marie. "She said it would be... appropriate for your first Council dinner."
"Lady Thornfield can shove her dress off the edge of the city."
Marie's eyes go wide. "Miss Ashwind, please. Lady Thornfield is Lord Davian's ex-fiancée. She's very influential and—"
"And she wants me to look like a fool." I grab a simpler black dress from the pile. "I'll wear this."
Marie looks like she might cry. "But Lady Thornfield specifically—"
"Doesn't get to dress me like a doll." I soften my tone. Marie's young, maybe eighteen. Not her fault she's caught between aristocratic games. "Look, I appreciate your help. But if I'm going to survive tonight, I need to feel like myself. This dress will work fine."
Marie hesitates, then nods. "I'll help you with your hair at least? The Council expects certain... standards."
I almost refuse. But Marie looks so hopeful, and honestly, my hair's a tangled mess from two years of prison and no proper care.
"Fine. But nothing ridiculous."
She smiles and gets to work.
An hour later, I barely recognize myself in the mirror. The black dress fits perfectly—simple but elegant. Marie braided my hair in a style that keeps it off my face while letting my wings move freely. She even found cosmetics that hide the worst of my prison scars.
I look almost aristocratic.
The thought makes my skin crawl.
"You look beautiful, Miss Ashwind," Marie says softly.
"I look like a lie."
"Sometimes lies keep us safe." She meets my eyes in the mirror. "My sister is Windborn. Works in the Hollows maintaining the Skyhearts. She says... she says you gave people hope. When you fought back in prison. When you didn't break."
My throat tightens. "Your sister knows about me?"
"Everyone knows about Kiera Ashwind. The girl who punched a guard and started a riot with a spoon. The girl who survived two years without betraying her people." Marie's voice drops to a whisper. "We're all hoping you'll survive this too."
Before I can respond, a knock sounds at the door.
Davian enters, and stops dead when he sees me.
"What?" I snap. "Wrong dress for the occasion?"
"No. You look..." He clears his throat. "You look perfect."
Something in his tone makes heat rise in my cheeks. I hate that. Hate that a compliment from him affects me at all.
"Let's get this over with," I mutter.
Marie slips away. Davian offers his arm. I ignore it and walk past him into the hallway.
He follows without comment.
We descend the grand staircase together. With each step, I feel the weight of what's coming. The Council. Lord Silvercrest. Lady Thornfield and whoever else wants to see the savage Windborn girl fail.
"Remember," Davian murmurs as we reach the bottom, "they'll try to provoke you. Don't give them the satisfaction."
"I'm not an idiot."
"I know. But you're also not used to this kind of warfare. These people smile while they stab you in the back."
"Good thing I'm used to people trying to stab me from the front."
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "Fair point."
We reach the dining hall. Servants open massive double doors.
The room beyond is full of people. Twenty, maybe thirty aristocrats in expensive clothes, holding wine glasses and watching us enter like we're tonight's entertainment.
Lord Silvercrest stands at the head of the table, arms spread wide. "Ah, there they are! My son and his beautiful fiancée. Welcome, Kiera. Welcome to your new family."
Every eye in the room turns to me.
I force myself to walk forward, chin high, wings folded properly. Don't stumble. Don't show weakness. Don't let them see how badly I want to run.
A woman separates from the crowd. She's stunning—blonde hair, ice-blue eyes, a smile sharp as broken glass. The emerald dress she's wearing matches the one she tried to force on me.
"Kiera Ashwind," she purrs. "What a pleasure to finally meet the woman who stole my fiancé. I'm Lady Cassandra Thornfield."
"I didn't steal anything," I say evenly. "Davian was never yours to begin with."
Her smile freezes. Around us, people murmur.
"How... refreshingly direct." Cassandra's eyes flick to my wings. "I suppose prison teaches one to dispense with manners. Tell me, do those things molt? I'd hate for feathers to end up in my soup."
The room goes silent.
Davian steps forward. "Cassandra—"
I touch his arm, stopping him. "They don't molt. But they do make excellent weapons when someone's being deliberately cruel. Want a demonstration?"
Cassandra's face goes red. More murmurs ripple through the crowd.
Then Lord Silvercrest laughs. "Wonderful! I told you all she had spirit. Come, everyone, let's sit. Dinner is served."
The crowd moves to the table. Davian leans close and whispers, "That was risky."
"She started it."
"And you just made an enemy for life."
"Add her to the list."
We take our seats—Davian on his father's right, me beside Davian. Cassandra sits directly across from us, her smile never wavering even though her eyes promise murder.
Servants bring food. Course after course of dishes I don't recognize. I eat carefully, watching everyone else to figure out which fork to use. Hating that I have to learn their rules to survive.
Lord Silvercrest stands, raising his wine glass. "A toast. To my son Davian and his lovely bride-to-be. May their union bring stability to our troubled times."
Everyone drinks. I barely touch mine.
"Tell us, Kiera," an older man says from down the table. "What do you think of the Skyheart situation? Surely you must have opinions, given your... background."
It's a trap. I can feel it.
"I think," I say carefully, "that blaming Windborn for Skyheart failures when we're the ones maintaining them is convenient scapegoating."
Silence.
Then the man laughs. "Bold! I like her, Silvercrest. She speaks her mind."
"Perhaps too much," Cassandra murmurs.
The dinner continues. Questions come from all sides. Some genuinely curious. Others clearly testing me. Trying to make me slip up.
I survive by staying calm. By thinking before I speak. By remembering what Sera said: Don't lose yourself.
Finally, dessert arrives. I'm starting to think I might actually make it through this nightmare when Lord Silvercrest stands again.
"Before we conclude, I have an announcement." He smiles at the room. "The Council has approved an accelerated wedding date. Given the urgency of the Skyheart crisis, Davian and Kiera will marry in three days."
My fork clatters on my plate.
"Three days?" I stare at Davian. "You said we had time to—"
"I didn't know," he says tightly. "Father, this wasn't discussed—"
"The Council voted this afternoon. The ritual requires a legal bond. We can't afford delays." Lord Silvercrest's smile widens. "Congratulations, my dear. You're about to become a Silvercrest much sooner than expected."
The room erupts in applause.
I can't breathe. Three days. Three days until I'm legally bound to this family. To this man. To this lie.
Davian's hand finds mine under the table, squeezing gently. "Breathe," he murmurs. "Just breathe."
I want to run. Want to spread my wings and fly through the window and never look back.
But Sera's face flashes in my mind. The promise I made. The truth I need to find.
I paste on a smile and nod to the crowd like this is wonderful news instead of a death sentence.
The dinner finally ends. People congratulate us. Cassandra kisses my cheek and whispers, "Three days isn't long to plan a wedding. I do hope you survive the ceremony."
Then they're gone, and I'm alone with Davian in the now-empty dining hall.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I truly didn't know he'd do this."
"Doesn't matter. I signed the contract. This is just speeding up the inevitable."
"Still. Three days is—"
A servant rushes in, face pale. "Lord Davian! Miss Ashwind! You need to come quickly. There's been an incident in the east wing."
We follow him at a run. Up stairs, down corridors, to a room where guards cluster around something on the floor.
They part as we approach.
The young girl I saw on the balcony—the one with wings—lies unconscious on the carpet. Blood seeps from her nose. Her small wings twitch spasmodically.
"What happened?" Davian demands.
"We don't know, sir. We found her like this. She was screaming about the sky falling and someone called the Void Speaker coming for the Skyweavers."
Ice floods my veins.
I kneel beside the girl, touching her forehead gently. The moment my skin contacts hers, energy jolts through me—silver and crimson, wild and ancient.
Her eyes snap open.
She grabs my wrist with inhuman strength and gasps: "You need to run. He knows what you are. He knows your mother tried to warn you. The wedding is a trap—he's going to use the ritual to steal your power and kill you both."
Her eyes roll back. She goes limp.
And behind me, Lord Silvercrest's voice says cheerfully:
"Well. I suppose we're doing this the hard way, then."