Chapter 392: Dressing Room 2

"I wouldn’t," said Kuri.

"Good girl." Aurora rose and crossed the floor in her stockinged feet, past the green dress without a glance, to a small writing table under the window. "Come. Tavian needs another letter."

Kuri got to her feet and followed, which left her with a full view of the princess from behind.

Aurora walked with slow, unhurried strides, her hips swaying from side to side and her bare back straight.

The black lace hugged the round curve of each cheek, and with every step the soft flesh shifted and bounced a little, the garter straps pulling tight across the tops of her thighs.

The lamplight slid down her silver stockings from hip to ankle.

She did not look back once, and she did not need to.

She knew exactly what the walk was doing, and Kuri, who had followed it down this hall more times than she could count, knew the sway was never an accident.

A single lamp burned on the table beside a stack of cream paper, a pen and an inkwell.

Kuri dropped into the chair and pulled a blank page toward her.

She dipped the pen and began to write in a round, careless hand that belonged to a boy of eighteen who had never been to the north in his life.

Aurora came up behind her and bent over at the waist, both hands flat on the table on either side of Kuri’s shoulders, to read along.

Her bottom lifted into the lamplight, the lace between her cheeks dug in, and the silver garter straps pulled tight across the tops of her thighs.

The mirrors at the far end of the hall showed all of it, and Kuri could see it from the corner of her eye whether she wanted to or not. Long silver hair fell across the page.

"Your hair is in my ink."

"Then write faster."

"Move over. You’re blocking the lamp."

"Stop with the complaining and write." Aurora did not move. "What does Tavian say?"

Kuri read it out in a flat voice.

’Dear Mother and Father, I am well. The Royal Enforcers have sent me on a mission I cannot name. The food is good and the captain is fair. Do not worry if you do not hear from me for a while. Love, Tavian.’

Aurora, still bent over her, reached around Kuri’s shoulders, cupped both her breasts through the black top, and squeezed them, quite casually.

"Mm. Soft, and heavy."

Kuri flinched, and a drop of ink fell from the pen onto the page. "Aurora!"

"Don’t scowl. It was a compliment."

"You made me blot it. I’ll have to copy the whole page again."

"Does he say where he is going?" asked Aurora.

"He doesn’t know yet." Kuri pulled out a clean page and began copying, and slipped in a new line as she went.

’The captain goes quiet whenever the northern passes come up, and the older men will not look at me.’

"Nobody sends a boy somewhere like that for fun. They’ll understand."

"Subtle," Aurora murmured, reading over her shoulder. "You are getting better at it"

Aurora straightened at last. For a moment she looked at nothing in particular, and then she smiled, small and private.

"Do you know what I like best about the tournament?"

"I don’t know about you, but I like the free food."

"Not the food. The students." Aurora sat on the edge of the table.

"Every year they show off their magic in front of the whole kingdom, and I sit in the royal box, smile, and wave. Most of them are ordinary. But every year there are one or two with something special. A boy with lightning in his blood. A girl whose fire burns white. They are always in Class A, and they are always proud of what they can do."

Kuri kept writing. She had heard this before.

"A few nights later, they are in my vault, and I take what they have. After that, someone has to tell their parents something. That is where you come in."

"My letters."

"Your letters, from the Royal Order of the Gilded Veil, saying their child was chosen to serve the kingdom in secret." Aurora’s smile widened.

"I made up the name in the bath. Nobody has ever asked who runs it. People would rather believe in it than ask."

"There is no Gilded Veil," said Kuri, without looking up.

"No," Aurora agreed, delighted.

"After a few months there is a dangerous mission, the letters stop, and the family understand by themselves that the mission went wrong and their child died proudly serving for the kingdom. Nobody questions it. Nobody else knows. My father, my mother, the guards, the maids, none of them. It is only you and me."

Kuri rubbed her wrist.

"Six months of letters for every one of them," she muttered. "My wrist is going to fall off."

"Then I will buy you a better pen." Aurora patted her on the head. "You are the only one who can write like a boy their age."

"I’d rather have the green dress."

"No."

Kuri did not think about the faces. She had decided a long time ago not to.

Paper was paper, and ink was ink, and Aurora was the one person who had given her a place to stand after the orphanage.

That was enough.

She won’t judge the type of person she is, nor the things she does.

Aurora slid off the table and went to the green dress.

She lifted it from its stand and stepped into it bent at the waist, one leg and then the other, then wriggled the velvet up over her hips and shoulders with an impatient little shake until it settled over the lace and silk.

She turned her back.

"Hooks."

Kuri left the table and started at the base of the spine.

"I keep thinking about the dungeon," Aurora said, quieter now. "My heel went through the floor, and I knew exactly where that strength came from."

"Lor?"

"Him. It lasted a few minutes, and then it faded, as I knew it would. Borrowed strength always does." She lifted her chin. "I want it back."

Kuri’s fingers stopped on the sixth hook.

"I wish I could walk into his house, bring him down to the vault, and find out what he is the slow way. They always scream."

She said it lightly.

"But he is not an ordinary boy."