The Ivory Rite

Chapter 4

I stare into the mirror at the white-blonde hair cascading down around my shoulders. The skin on my face, neck, and hands is pale with makeup, the rest of me concealed beneath one of my plainer dresses and a long, wine colored cloak. The eyes of my reflection are light as the sky, making them completely unrecognizable. They've just stopped watering after my ten minute ordeal with the altering drops, a struggle which has necessitated that my face powder be reapplied several times. 

Raina, my personal maid, handles the process with grace. 

I'm unable to say the same for myself.

"This powder is murder to my lungs," I cough violently, leaning away from her. 

I can't help but complain, although I know there's no skipping the makeup. All the Elite ladies wear it, even those with naturally ivory skin. Appearing as pale as possible in public is the height of both status and fashion.

"I think you're ready, my Lady," Raina says, used to my negative attitude toward dressing properly. She steps away, furrowing her dark brow.

"What's the matter?" I ask, studying my reflection. "Did we miss a spot?"

"Oh no, Highness," she says. "You're perfect." A pause. "I just think your real hair is so pretty." Her voice has dropped to just above a whisper, like she's unsure of herself. I turn around and smile at her.

"Thank you, Raina." I stand up and place my hand on hers for a moment. "That's very nice of you to say."

Raina Ember has been my personal maid for a few years now, and although we aren't close, I like her. I've tried to befriend her, but she refuses to cross an invisible line of stiff formality.

There's a knock at my door, and I jump to my feet as she moves to answer it. I've called on Landon, desperate to speak to him before I leave for the Mart. I need an explanation for what I overheard last night. 

The door opens, and my heart drops like a stone. Thane's son, Adair, strides into the room as though he owns it, greeting me with a sneer. Raina takes the opportunity to duck out, shooting me an apologetic look before closing the door behind her. 

"Raina, you don't need to shut—"

"She's already gone," Adair interrupts me, amused at my obvious discomfort.

"Where's your father?" I frown. 

Thane usually accompanies me to the castle wall, although he's too recognizable to go any further as one of my disguised men. Many of the Elite know him by name and face, as he's the only member of the White Watch who doesn't don facial armor in public. I'm unappreciative of this trade, as it would be an understatement to say Adair and I have never gotten along.

"He's indisposed," Adair responds, having stopped right in front of me. His eyes travel up and down my body, as I take a few steps away.

Adair is the Dara—right Hand to the Laoch and second in command of the White Watch, despite his young age. Coincidently, he and I share a birthday. Margret adores him, and between preferential treatment from her and his parentage, it's no wonder he has an inflated sense of ego.

"How unlucky," I say, lifting the hood of my cloak and making for the door, just as Adair's lack of uniform occurs to me. Members of the White Watch wear black from head to toe twenty-four hours a day, yet he stands before me dressed as a typical Elite. Realization dawns, dark and foul. 

He's not just here to walk me to the wall in his father's place. 

He plans on being one of my escorts into the Mart.