What the hell is she doing?

I can't say if it's a nice color because her dress is merged with curtains. It almost seems as if Shawna's head and neck are just floating there in the air like a lost cloud.

She hasn't noticed me yet, her back is turned to me as she watches through the small slip of space through the curtain and down into the grand chamber.

I see her flinch at something which makes me quite curious to know what she's seen. The mystery behind it doesn't take long to unravel. A strong whiff of blood splashes against my sense of smell, deep and metallic. I must admit I find it quite inviting.

She doesn't seem to share my opinion. Which doesn't even matter in the grander scheme of things.

What I need to know is why she's dawdling here at the entrance instead of showing off down there.

I clear my throat.

And she swirls around with eyes wide and mouth falling open. I really love surprising people. Especially the moment when they notice me, when there's fear lurking in their eyes—

"What is that?" she asks as her nose wrinkles. The whole expression is completed with a pinched mouth as if she's just sucked on a lemon.

What is what?  "Excuse me?"

She's looking at me like I'm an ugly caterpillar, a frown set on her face making it quite clear there's something she doesn't like. Is there something on my shirt? I glance down only to be greeted by the pristine cloth of my clothes.

"Elaborate," I demand.

At first, she makes a motion with her hand. It seems like it's encompassing me. Then she rolls her eyes.

"That get-up," she replies finally.

"That get-up?" I repeat, bemused.

"Yes!" she shouts. "Who the hell chose that shirt for you to wear?"

I blink. "I did myself."

A sound that leaves her mouth at that answer sounds as if an animal is dying. "I-I..." she attempts to say, but it seems she's lost for words.

"What is wrong with my shirt?" My voice has gone cold, though I genuinely want to know what is wrong. I have a distinct feeling she's onto something, but I won't admit anything out loud. There's a reason I took her as a concubine. 

She swipes with her hands in front of her, mouth opening and closing, her brows rising, practically escaping into the hairline.

After a long moment of her choking on pure air, I get impatient and demand, "Answer me!"

"Ugh... Fuchsia. Why are you wearing fuchsia?"

Huh? What does it have to do with anything? It's a nice color. One I liked to wear while I was still human.

"It's a color like any other," I reply, arching an eyebrow.

She seems to struggle with something, letting out a huff of air. I really don't have the patience for this shit. There are guests waiting. Guests I need to make certain they won't make chaos at the Ball. There are a few envoys from other Lords who seem to have an inkling for trouble. The longer we tarry here, the more time they have to do something annoying.

"Out with it!"

"Fuchsia makes you look like a washed-out corpse," she squeaks out.

"Funny, I am a corpse."

Though I don't think it's funny enough to laugh. I can tell she notices it from the way she tries to cower in front of me.

"I don't care," I say, looking at the watch and realizing it's late already. "Let's go." Catching her hand in mine, I pull her along toward the staircase.

The grip turns around and, in an instant, she stops me in my tracks with her hand on my wrist. I could force my hand out of her grip... Well, maybe not. It's a strong grip. I don't want to walk down to the Ball missing half of my arm.

A quick glance tells me she's wearing a determined expression. I sigh and turn my head sideways to glare at her. Intimidation seemed to work before.

"We're going to wherever you hold your clothes and you are changing out of that monstrosity," she informs me and her voice only trembles once. She must be becoming much too comfortable in my presence.

A growl escapes through my clenched teeth, making Shawna flinch. But it doesn't result in the desired outcome.

Her expression is determined, flinty almost, as she walks, leading me forward, though still taking cues from me where to turn.

"Why?" It's almost exasperated how I sound when I ask that.

It's not just determined anymore, there's something else lurking behind her eyes, something dangerous, just on the shy side of a warning. And when she looks right into my eyes I can see it there, that presence I've seen before.

"You said you wanted it to be perfect," she answers, her tone going cold. "Our colors clash. If you want it to be perfect, we need to be unified." She glances up and down, taking in my whole visage. "Doesn't have to be burgundy like my dress, but at least the colors have to be welcoming to one another."

My patience seems to be drawing to an end as we enter the part of the main house where most of the bedrooms are. But then I realize... we can totally go with being fashionably late. There's a reason why I wanted to enter the grand chamber as the last participant. This may even turn out to be even better.

A tiny spell to connect minds and my message has been sent. Skip will do what he's been ordered to.

In the middle of the hallway, Shawna draws to a stop, biting her lip. Her grip over my wrist turns softer now that her determination has diminished.

"I have no idea where you hold clothes."

I roll my eyes. Preposterous. She dragged me over yet she doesn't know where to go.

With my arm now free, I step toward my room, opening the door through a magical imprint without touching it.

When I notice that she isn't following immediately, I shoot her a glare over my shoulder. "Come now. We don't have time to dawdle."

I don't wait for her and enter, making way to the walk-in closet. It's spacious, filled with a dozen types of fabrics and many more colors. I have no idea why I need so many clothes, but they're there, waiting to be picked up.

She breezes in like she owns the place, passing the coats and jackets, her gaze searching the hangers and shelves. That determination is back. I can almost smell it.

She snatches a dress shirt from a shelf near the mirror. "Here, try this on."

The corner of my mouth twitches since it sounds like a command a bit too much for my taste. But I comply.

The infamous fuchsia shirt lands somewhere on the floor. Someone will pick it up later. I don't really care about it. I have servants for a reason. And Skip usually serves as my valet. Though, he's not here now.

A loud breath intake brings me out of my musings. Ah, she must've seen the scars. I glanced back to see her horrified expression. She quickly wipes it off but some of it stays on. It's hilarious.

"See something you like?" I ask and get a weirded-out stare as an answer. Oh, well. It was worth a try.

Once the shirt is on, I can see why she chose it. The golden shine is... nice. Honestly, I have no idea what to think. It's much better than the other shirt, so much that even I can see the difference.

I turn around as I close the second to the last button, leaving one near my throat open. "We're late," is the only thing I say before we depart.