Chapter 1

Constance looked at herself in the mirror and bit back a sigh.

"It's very… grand," she managed.

"Only the finest materials were used, as per your father's specifications," Adele said severely. The designer, a tall, thin woman clad in an exquisitely tailored black dress, looked down her nose at Constance and allowed herself a discreet cough. "Perhaps a little makeup might be appropriate."

This time the sigh did escape. The deep purple satin, heavily embroidered with gold thread, only made her already pale coloring look even more washed out, but her father had decreed that purple and gold were his House colors and ordered that her dress for the ball reflect those colors. Humans did not actually have Houses but that hadn't stopped her father. He'd decided he liked the sound of it and declared that they were now House Thompson.

He'll be calling himself Lord Thompson next, she thought bitterly as she took another look hoping that the dress might improve at second glance. It didn't.

The collar of the outer robe rose up behind her head to form a stiff, rounded peak, making it almost impossible to turn her head without risking injury, then fell stiffly to the ground. The stiff fabric did nothing to flatter her small breasts or her slender figure. The high neck and long sleeves of the gold satin under robe shrouded even more of her body.

Since her father never allowed her to wear anything that was remotely revealing in public he would no doubt be extremely pleased. The only part of her that was actually visible was the pale oval of her face - even her hands were covered by the oversized flounces at the end of the long tight sleeves, making it almost impossible to touch anyone with her bare skin

"Perhaps," she agreed, even though she had no intention of painting herself up like a doll for her father's pleasure. "Do you need to make any more adjustments?"

She hoped that Adele might decide to loosen the high, tight collar, but the other woman only shook her head.

"Not unless your father requests any additional changes."

Adele didn't ask if Constance wanted any changes, but then she didn't expect her to. The seamstress's eyes flickered toward the door at the back of the room that led to the hallway, where Constance's guards waited. They were technically outside the large dressing room, but only a curtain covered the entrance.

"Would you like me to help you change?"

"Yes, please. I'm pretty sure I can't get out of this dress by myself," she said dryly.

Adele unfastened the complicated series of ribbons that held the outer robe together, then stripped off the purple monstrosity and Constance breathed a sigh of relief. Because of the amount of gold thread, the robe weighed a ton. The seamstress untied the additional ribbons down the back of the gold satin underdress, and then she was free.

She pulled her own dress over her head. Although it also had a high neck and long sleeves, the simple white sheath was made from a light cotton that floated gently around her ankles. Her unruly hair had escaped its braid again so she tied it back into a quick knot before turning to thank Adele. It wasn't the other woman's fault that the dress was so unflattering - she had no doubt followed her father's instructions - and the workmanship was exquisite.

"I can take the dress with me," she offered, but Adele looked scandalized by the idea.

"The garment must be carefully packed for transit. I will bring it with me on the night of the ball."

Transit? They were less than a mile from Thompson Tower. But she didn't argue with that either. Instead she smiled politely, nodded again, and left the room. In the hallway, Oxmar, one of her guards, was looming over Adele's assistant Carol. He probably thought he was flirting but the girl only looked terrified.

"Adele is waiting for you, Carol," she said calmly.

The girl gave her a grateful look and hurried past her into the work room. Oxmar scowled at her, but she ignored him. He might be crude and obnoxious but he was too afraid of her father to cause her any real trouble. Rogut, her other guard, was another matter. Although he too was afraid of her father, he was both brutal and vicious and she prayed she would never find herself alone with him.

"About fucking time," Rogut muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.

Ignoring him as well, she passed through the small reception area and the locked doors that separated the workroom from the rest of the store. Her father expected his staff to keep his daughter confined when she came for her fittings. It might have made more sense to have her dress fitted in the tower, but her father enjoyed forcing the designers to accommodate his unreasonable demands.

Although it was already well past normal business hours, several customers still lingered in the elegant boutique. Two women glanced in their direction, their mouths tightening as they recognized her, while the men who must have accompanied them stared at her with more than passing interest.

Oxmar glared at the men, who immediately looked away, but not before Constance caught the speculation in their expressions. She couldn't blame them - her father dangled her in front of the most powerful males in the city like an expensive jewel. Only the fact that he enjoyed the game - and had yet to identify a suitor who had sufficient wealth and influence to tempt him - had kept her unmarried so far.

Not that marriage was necessarily his end goal. Under the right circumstances she had no doubt he would just as happily sell her as a high-priced concubine. At least that would put a more honest face on the transaction, she thought bitterly as she donned her cloak and swept by the other customers, keeping her head high.

The breeze from the ocean whipped strands of blonde hair across her face, chilly after the heat of the day, and she pulled her cloak more closely around her. The street bustled with activity as the surrounding merchants closed their shops and people embarked on their evening activities. She caught the mouthwatering aroma of spiced meat pies drifting from a nearby food stall and her stomach rumbled. When was the last time she'd had the chance to sample such simple pleasures?

Not since Algar, her last bodyguard, had disappeared. He'd been as big and brutish as her present bodyguards but his appearance had been deceptive. A kind heart lurked beneath that rough exterior. He'd taken pity on her restricted existence and occasionally allowed her to indulge in such harmless behaviors as visiting the market. Unfortunately, he had paid for that kindness when her father had discovered her activities. She hadn't seen him since.

The reminder caused a sudden surge of rebellion.

"I want to go this way," she said, turning down the street towards the market square.

"Your father instructed us to return directly to the tower," Oxmar rumbled, lumbering after her.

She saw the guards exchange a look when she didn't obey, but she ignored them both, picking up her pace as the lively sounds and smells of the open-air market grew stronger. The square opened up before them, a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors and bustling activity. Vendors hawked their wares from rickety stalls, calling out enticingly to the throngs of people passing by.

A beggar woman held an infant to her breast, rattling a chipped cup at those who strode past. Her heart ached for the two of them, but she still felt a pang of jealousy at the tender way the woman was cradling her child. Her mother had died when she was very young, and she had only the vaguest memories of her.

"You there! Sweet cakes to tempt a lovely lady!"

She turned toward the jovial call. A plump matron waved a tray piled high with fried dough dusted with sugar. Her mouth watered, but despite her father's wealth, she was never permitted to carry any credits of her own. Algar would have bought the treat for her, but she knew better than to ask Oxmar or Rogut. She gave the woman an apologetic smile and moved on.

The glint of torchlight on metal caught her eye, drawing her attention to a weathered old male peddling curious trinkets. Baubles, amulets and talismans of all kinds adorned his makeshift stall, but one in particular snagged her gaze—a tarnished medallion dangling from a frayed cord. There was nothing remarkable about it except the detailed markings etched into its surface, and she traced the faded lines, curious about their meaning.

"Ah, I see you've an eye for the unusual." The vendor's gravelly voice startled her and she turned to see him giving her an appraising look. "That there's a freedom talisman from the Korlian Rift. It's imbued with the wanderlust of thousands of nomads searching for a future."

She gave him a startled look as she ran her fingers over the markings again.

"Does it really grant freedom?"

Although she tried to sound skeptical, even she could hear the longing in her voice.

"Freedom is a journey, not a destination." He tapped the talisman. "This is but the first step."

Rogut's harsh grip closed on her wrist, his meaty fingers digging into the fragile bones.

"Enough. Back to the tower. Now."

"How dare you touch me?" she said furiously. "Let go of me at once."

Malevolence gleamed in his eyes as he looked down at her, and her heart started to pound. They both knew there was no way she could escape that cruel grip unless he chose to let her go. Then Oxmar gave him an uneasy look and tugged on his arm.

"Better let her go. Her father wouldn't like it," he warned.

Rogut stared at her a moment longer, his fingers tightening, but then he shrugged and released her.

"Tower. Now."

Knowing that her small attempt at rebellion was over, she gave a quick nod. As she turned to accompany them, the vendor slipped the talisman into her palm.

"I'm sorry, but I can't take this," she said quickly. "I don't have any credits."

He shook his head and closed her fingers over the worn metal.

"It's a gift, child. Perhaps it will be the first step you need."

He turned away before she could thank him and Rogut gave her a threatening look. Lifting her chin with as much dignity as possible, she tucked the talisman in her pocket and followed him.