“All of them?”
Cinder smiled at Iko’s exuberance. She had already gotten more joy out of the way Iko was beaming at the rows and rows and rows of dresses than she ever would have gotten from the dresses themselves.
“Every last one,” said Cinder. “I never want to look at them again.”
She had already spent more time surrounded by Levana than she’d intended. Her perfume, her gowns, her jewelry. She had no interest in her aunt’s wardrobe—but Iko did, so Iko could have them all.
She had never seen Iko so pleased. Not even when Thorne had brought her that escort-droid body he’d found in the desert. Not even when the shipment from Earth had finally arrived with the spare parts to fix her near-destroyed body. Cinder had told her that with so much damage it would be more cost effective to install her personality chip into a brand-new body. She could have had her pick of any model she wanted. But Iko had refused. She had grown attached to this one, she’d said, and besides—none of her friends’ bodies were disposable, so why should hers be?
Cinder had no argument for that.
The only upgrade Iko had requested was a pair of brand-new eyes that changed colors based on her moods. Today her eyes were sunburst yellow. Happy, happy, happy.
“You won’t mind seeing them on me, will you?” asked Iko, pulling a slinky orange piece off its hanger and holding it against her chest.
“Not if they make you that happy.”
“Where will I wear them?” Before Cinder could answer, she waved her hand. “Never mind. Where wouldn’t I wear them?” Hanging the slinky dress back up, Iko scanned the wardrobe again. Her eyes darkened—more buttercup now, with a tinge of lime around the edges. “I think I feel guilty.”
“Guilty?”
Huffing, Iko planted her hands on her hips. Her concern lasted for a few moments before she beamed again. “I know. I’ll choose my ten favorites and sell the rest on escort-droid costuming feeds. We can use the proceeds to build schools in the outer sectors, or something charitable like that.” Fingering a fine lace sleeve, she glanced at Cinder. “What do you think?”
If Cinder’s eyes reflected her moods, they would have been sapphire-blue proud. “I think that’s a great idea.”
Iko beamed and started working her way through the racks again, narrowing down her favorites, while Cinder turned to face her reflection in the mirror that had been loaned to her from one of the Earthen spaceships. She was still getting used to seeing herself looking so … queenly.
Her own gown was brand-new. Although she had intended to wear one of Winter’s dresses again, a few Artemisian seamstresses had pleaded to be allowed to design her coronation dress, proclaiming what an honor it would be. Cinder hadn’t even known she had expectations until the dress surpassed them.
Done up in Luna’s official colors of white, red, and black, the gown was made of more material than she’d ever seen in her life. The heavy white skirt draped around her like a bell, with a massive train that would follow her down the long, long aisle. Red and black gems were beaded along the skirt’s hem and woven through the bodice. A modest neckline with capped sleeves fit her perfectly.
She had expected the seamstresses to also make gloves to cover her cyborg hand, but they didn’t. “No gloves,” one of the seamstresses said when she asked. “And no veil.”
A knock drew her attention to the door and the guard, Kinney, entered. “Your Majesty,” he greeted. His respectful expression turned sour as he addressed Iko, “Madame Counselor.”
Iko’s eyes went coppery with pride at her new title, even though she met the guard with a sour glare of her own.
“Yes, Kinney?” said Cinder.
“The captain and his crew are requesting an audience.”
“Ha!” Thorne’s voice carried from the corridor. “I told you I could get him to call me the captain.”
Cinder rolled her eyes. “Let them in.”