"You cannot rule the world looking like a laundry maid, Mistress."
Revas stood in the middle of their cold room, holding up Mirabelle's ruined wedding dress between two fingers, his face twisted in obvious disgust.
"It smells like dead bat and despair," he said, dropping the dress into the fireplace. He snapped his fingers, and the fabric caught fire, burning up in a quick violet flame.
Mirabelle sat by the window, wrapped in a velvet sheet. "We have the King's fear and the Priest's obedience. Do I really need a new wardrobe?"
Revas turned to her, looking shocked. He put a hand over his heart.
"Presentation is everything, Mirabelle. If you want them to worship you, you must look like a goddess. If you want them to fear you, you must look like a blade."
He walked over to the heavy oak table, where a large velvet sack sat. It made a heavy clinking sound.
"Where did you get that?" Mirabelle asked.
"The Royal Treasury," Revas said with a shrug. "I took a walk while you were sleeping. The locks in this palace are so easy, they almost opened on their own."
He tossed her the bag. It was full of gold coins, each one stamped with her father's face.
"Get dressed," Revas said, his eyes shining with mischief. "We're going shopping. I want to buy you something dangerous."
Madame Leclaire's was the most exclusive boutique in Sanctum, where queens and duchesses shopped for their silks. When the bell rang and Mirabelle walked in, wearing a plain cloak Revas had found, the shop went quiet. Three noblewomen in the corner gasped and whispered behind their fans.
Madame Leclaire, a thin woman with a sharp nose, hurried over. She looked at Mirabelle with both recognition and disdain. People were starting to call Mirabelle the "Saintess," but Leclaire still treated her like the unwanted princess.
"Your Highness," Leclaire said stiffly. "We are... fully booked today. Perhaps you could try the seamstress in the lower district?"
Revas stepped in from the street, ducking slightly to fit through the doorframe.
The shop seemed to shrink as his presence filled the room. He wore his stolen nobleman's suit with such confidence that the velvet couches looked cheap by comparison.
"Fully booked?" Revas repeated, glancing around the almost empty shop. "I see three harpies and plenty of empty space."
The noblewomen gasped.
"Who is this—" one began.
Revas ignored her and walked past Madame Leclaire, letting his fingers brush over a rack of silk gowns.
"We require your entire inventory," Revas announced calmly. "Close the shop."
"Excuse me?" Leclaire bristled. "Sir, you cannot just—"
Revas turned. He didn't raise his voice or make threats. He just smiled, like a wolf finding an open chicken coop.
"Madame," he purred. "My Mistress has returned from Hell. She is tired. She is impatient. And I am holding a bag of gold heavy enough to bludgeon a man to death."
He dropped the sack on the counter with a thud. The wood creaked, and gold coins spilled out, rolling across the floor.
Leclaire looked at the gold. Then at Revas's violet eyes. Then at the gold again.
"I will close the shop immediately," she squeaked. She turned to the noblewomen. "Ladies, out! Emergency renovations!"
As the complaining noblewomen left, Revas turned to Mirabelle and rubbed his hands together.
"Now," he said, eyes gleaming. "Let's play dolls."
For the next two hours, Revas was completely in his element, acting like a tyrant of fashion.
"No," he barked, ripping a pastel pink dress from the rack. "She is a Saintess of the Abyss, not a strawberry tart! Burn this!"
"Too frilly," he dismissed a blue gown. "It hides the neck. The neck is a vulnerability; exposing it is a power move. It says, 'Go ahead, try to cut me.'"
He swept through the store, scaring the assistants as he piled clothes into Mirabelle's arms. He had a sharp eye for quality and liked colors that looked like bruises, blood, and night.
Finally, he found it.
It was a gown made of deep, oxblood red velvet. The dress had a high collar that framed the face and a back that dipped low. It looked like a pool of blood turned into fabric.
"This one," Revas whispered, reverently.
Mirabelle went behind the changing screen. When she emerged, the shop assistants went silent.
The dress fit her perfectly, the dark red making her pale skin seem to glow. She looked regal, dangerous, and completely untouchable.
Revas stared at her. For a moment, his playful look faded. His pupils grew wide, turning his eyes almost black. He walked toward her slowly, as if in a trance.
"Perfect," he breathed.
He reached into his pocket and took out a necklace. It wasn't from the shop. It was a black iron choker, set with a large ruby that glowed softly from within.
"A gift," Revas murmured. "From my personal collection."
He stepped behind her. Mirabelle felt his cold fingers touch her neck as he closed the clasp.
"Does it come with a curse?" Mirabelle asked, looking at herself in the mirror. Revas's reflection towered over her, his hands resting possessively on her shoulders.
"Only a small one," Revas said with a grin, his lips close to her ear.
The bell at the door chimed again.
"I told you, we are closed!" Leclaire shouted from the back.
"I do not care what you told them."
The voice was sharp, proud, and familiar.
Lady Voss, Fiona's best friend and the meanest gossip in the court, swept into the shop with two other ladies-in-waiting. They froze when they saw Mirabelle.
"Well, well," Lady Voss sneered, looking Mirabelle up and down. "You can put a corpse in red silk, but it still smells like a grave."
She laughed, looking to her friends for support. "Did you pay for that with your body, Mirabelle? Or did your 'Guardian' steal it?"
Mirabelle watched her in the mirror without turning around.
"Revas," Mirabelle said softly.
"Yes, Mistress?"
"I don't like her tone."
Revas smiled, and it was a frightening, but handsome sight.
He stepped away from Mirabelle and walked toward Lady Voss, moving with a smooth, unnatural grace that made everyone else seem awkward.
"Lady Voss, is it?" Revas asked, towering over her.
"Yes," she sniffed, though she took a half-step back. "And you are the brute everyone is talking about. The Princess'... pet."
Revas laughed. "Pet? Oh, no, my dear. I am the cleanup crew."
He leaned in close without touching her, just staring at her.
"You have a lovely dress," Revas complimented. "It's a shame it's so flammable."
Lady Voss blinked. "What?"
Revas snapped his fingers.
A single, tiny crimson butterfly materialized in the air. It fluttered gently and landed on the hem of Lady Voss' expensive lace skirt.
FOOSH.
The lace disintegrated. It didn't burn with heat; it just vanished into red dust. The "fire" crawled up her skirt with terrifying speed.
Lady Voss screamed. She slapped at her dress, but her hands passed through the red light.
"My dress! My dress!" she shrieked, dancing in panic as the hemline rose higher and higher.
"Dance," Revas commanded softly, watching her panic with delight. "Faster. Or it might eat your shoes next."
The other ladies screamed and ran from the shop. Lady Voss, left standing in her bloomers with her gown half gone, stared at Revas in pure terror.
"Go tell Fiona," Revas whispered, his voice dropping to a demonic growl. "Tell her that the next time she sends her poodles to bark at the wolf... I will eat the poodles."
Lady Voss turned and ran, sobbing, out into the street.
Revas watched her leave, then turned back to Mirabelle. He adjusted his cuffs, looking very pleased with himself.
"I think we made an impression," he noted.
Mirabelle smoothed the red velvet of her new dress and touched the ruby at her throat. She could feel his power and his complete confidence.
"You are a monster," she said.
Revas walked back to her, offering his arm.
"I am your monster, Mistress," he corrected. "Now, shall we buy some shoes? I saw a pair with dagger-sharp heels that would be excellent for stepping on people."