CH472 · Rewrite
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Chapter 472: A Pledge of Love

“Garments, shoes, mugs, spoons and forks.” May ticked each off on her fingers. “Is there anything else?”

The floor was scattered with household supplies — water kettle, wooden bowl, things a person accumulates without noticing until she has to move them.

“Bedding is the most important,” Irene said. “Take a pillow set, sheets, and a blanket at minimum.”

Rosia and Gait collapsed into laughter. May silenced them with one look.

“The bedding isn’t necessary. Carter says he’ll buy a new set from the marketplace — they’re said to have come from the four families’ basements.”

“Fine silk, then.” Irene said this with a wistfulness that was entirely genuine. “I’ve heard there’s a tailor in King’s City who sells fabric of pure silk. Only great nobles and wealthy merchants can afford it.”

“One set is worth five gold royals, he said.”

The three other girls went still.

Five gold royals.” Rosia moved her lips. “That’s almost two years of my pay.”

“How can you compare yourself to the Star of the Western Region?” Gait tapped her on the head. “Miss May has performed in King’s City. His Excellency Carter is Chief Knight to His Highness. You can’t compete with either.”

“I envy you so much,” Irene told May, with the open brightness that was entirely her own.

May knew what was genuine in the room and what wasn’t. Irene’s happiness for her was real, completely real — that quality was why Morning Light had fallen for her in the first place, and May had always found it faintly astonishing that a girl raised in the theater had come out the other side with her innocence intact. She was pleased to see Irene envious, just a little. “When you rise to fame, you’ll be able to buy one yourself. A single King’s City performance pays several gold royals, and the nobles tip generously.”

“How long before I’m as good as you?” Irene asked, mouth pulled tight.

Before May could answer, the door swung open.

“Are you rehearsing?” A young man’s head appeared in the gap, dark-haired, well-made, with the expression of someone who genuinely doesn’t know whether he’s welcome. “Am I interrupting?”

“His Excellency Carter!” Gait and Rosia bowed immediately.

“Good morning, Mr. Knight.” Irene turned easily. “We’re discussing what May should bring to your place. We were just talking about you.”

“Really?” He scratched the back of his head. “What did you say?”

Nothing.” May looked at him with the calm precision she used when she wanted a particular effect. He did look well when he stopped talking — that was true. “Why are you here today? It isn’t your day off.”

“His Highness gave me a little time.” He held a parcel under his arm and set it down carefully. “I brought you something.”

Gait caught the look May didn’t give her and said, “I just remembered — something I need to attend to,” and was out the door before she finished the sentence, pulling Irene with one hand and Rosia with the other.

“I haven’t got anything to do—” Irene’s voice faded down the stairs.

May bolted the door. “What is it? I hope it isn’t another one of His Highness’ inventions.”

Carter glanced at the parcel, then at her, and said, “Your father—”

“He’s busy.” She hadn’t meant the edge in her voice and couldn’t entirely remove it. Her father had found a clerical position at the Ministry of Construction within a week of arriving in Border Town, which had startled her and left her with no reason to worry about him, which had left her without anything to do with the worry. “Don’t look at me like that — everyone isn’t on holiday like you.”

“I’m not on holiday.” He put his hands up. “Iron Axe’s most efficient man got transferred to Longsong Stronghold and now everything lands on me — interrogations, resident verification, criminals coming in from the western camps. I haven’t sat down for a meal in two days.” He said it without complaint, practically — a man accounting for his time. “The camps are the difficult part. These aren’t the local troublemakers from the Western Region. They’re organized men who hid among the refugees. Now that things have stabilized, they’re testing the edges. I’ll catch them when they’re found in the inner city.” He paused. “Don’t worry about the inner city.”

May looked at him: this man who described municipal crime prevention with the quiet satisfaction of a craftsman describing sound joinery, who had appeared at her door on his one free afternoon with a parcel under his arm and his hair still damp from rushing, who had clearly not slept.

“Have lunch here before you go,” she said. “You have enough time.”

“Almost — yes.” He set the parcel in front of her. “Try it first. I asked His Highness to design it.”

“His Highness designed it?”

“I told him about the wedding date and he described something called a wedding gown. It takes considerable effort to make, apparently.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I had to beg for quite a while, and then I had to bribe Soraya with ice cream bread before she would commit to it, but here.”

May unfolded the fabric.

White. Not the white of common linen or bleached wool but something lighter — layered muslins, weightless in her hands, gathered into a structure that was simultaneously simple and intricate. No jewels. No gilding. The complexity was in the cut alone: a fitted bodice, a wide girdle at the waist, and below it a skirt that flared and fell in waves, each layer catching the light differently. The craftsmanship was embedded in the seams, invisible until you held it up and understood that this effect was not accidental.

She carried it into her room without a word.

When she came back out, Carter’s jaw dropped. Dropped openly, without pretension, without any attempt at recovery.

“God,” he said. “You are — you look—”

Stunning?

“Yes.” Very simply. “Stunning.”

The flush that came was involuntary and she let it happen. She could imagine what she looked like. She didn’t need a mirror — she had Carter’s face.

She crossed the room and pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. “Thank you. I love it.”

He put his arms around her, and this time she let him.

She closed her eyes and thought, quite calmly: May Lannis doesn’t sound too bad.

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