“But I don’t have so much as a hairpin on me.”
Jordan’s shrug said that didn’t worry him. “If you play this right, you won’t need one. I heard the ladies’ maids talking before you arrived. They’re supposed to clean you up and present you to Marius’s court at supper. Maybe you can persuade him to honor your marriage contract.”
“Now I know you’re unhinged.”
“Planning a royal wedding takes a lot of work. Creates distractions that make a man vulnerable. Whatever you decide, I suggest you use that famous charm of yours.” As the general backed away, he frowned at her stained clothes. “I’m sure it’s buried under there somewhere.”
“How do I contact you?”
“You don’t.”
“But we need a plan. How will you know when to come for me?”
All he told her was, “Don’t worry. I’ll know.”
Then he ducked out the side door, leaving her head spinning.
An hour later, a team of guards arrived to bind her wrists and usher her to the servants’ wing, where a trio of scissor-wielding maids awaited on a tarp that protected the floor from a scourge of “mutated lice.” With pinched faces, the maids cut away her clothes and tossed the soiled rags into the fireplace, all the while remarking that poor Marius should never have been contracted to wed such a disgusting girl.
Over the next several hours, they scrubbed Cassia raw, washed her hair until her scalp burned, and then erased her bruises using medical cosmetics she hadn’t seen since her days in the palace. When the pain was gone and the real makeover began, she pretended to enjoy the tickle of shimmer being dusted on her cheekbones, but her focus was on Jordan’s offer.
There had to be a way to make it work.
She considered every angle, no matter how wild, as the maids styled her hair in a twist and secured it in place. The light scrape of metal against her scalp told her she now had access to hairpins, but she wouldn’t win this battle with lockpicks and pulse pistols. For Marius, tonight was about settling a vendetta. She would have to placate him, and her instincts told her humility was the key.
For that reason, she didn’t object when the maids zipped her into a strapless minidress more fitting for an escort than a princess. Nor did she complain when the guards left her feet bare and her wrists bound as they escorted her to the banquet hall. If Marius wanted her humbled before his court, she would give him that.
Once the banquet doors parted and she stepped across the threshold, she took care to shorten her stride into the steps of a girl ashamed. She dropped her gaze to the glittering quartz tiles beneath her feet and didn’t look up until she heard a familiar baritone that turned her blood cold.
“My god, is that you, dear Cassy? You’re nothing but skin and bones.”
The intimate use of her nickname grated her nerves. Nobody except Kane called her that. But she peeked shyly through her lashes at Marius, making sure to bite her quivering lower lip for effect.
From his seat at the head of the long dining room table, Marius looked the same as she remembered: like he belonged on a billboard. He’d always been beautiful, both by genetics and design, and tonight was no exception. There wasn’t a blemish on him, from the copper waves curling gently against his collar to the tips of his perfectly manicured fingers. He seemed as sculpted as ever, with a body that was literally known to stop traffic. (His exposed chest had once caused a three-hovercraft pileup.) But beneath the facade of perfection simmered a cruelty that all the enhancements in the galaxy couldn’t hide.
That was why she’d refused him.
The half dozen girls hovering around his chair didn’t seem to mind. Especially not the one sitting on his lap, stroking his well-trimmed beard with her fingernails. She looked content enough to purr, barely flicking a glance in Cassia’s direction before gazing in wonder at Marius’s face.
He lifted a chiding hand toward his guards. “Shackles? Our guest is a sovereign, not a soldier. Free her so we can dine like civilized human beings.”
The guards obeyed, but they lingered within arm’s reach, keeping their eyes fixed on her hands. They must have heard what she’d done to the Daeva. In retrospect, maybe punching the bounty hunter had been a bad idea.
“Come.” Marius indicated the upholstered chair adjacent to him at the table. Every head in the room turned toward the seat. “I ordered my chef to prepare your favorite: braised pheasant with asparagus spears, hold the truffles.” With a grin that didn’t reach beyond his lips, he added, “I remembered you hate mushrooms.”
He snapped his fingers, and a dozen platter covers simultaneously retracted, filling the room with the steamy scents of roasted meat and decadent spice. Cassia’s stomach grumbled as she settled in her chair.