Violet held up a brocade dress, a deep enough green she could’ve melted emeralds in it. Embroidered wolf heads glinted on each sleeve.
“It’s stunning,” Violet said. “Why do you have this?”
Vesper handed her a silver skull mask like his own, failing to meet her eyes. “Someone else was supposed to attend with me. She couldn’t make it.”
“What happened to her?”
“Taken from me by the war.”
“I’m so sorry.” Violet tried to hand the dress back. “I can’t wear this.”
“Please. I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t want to see it worn.”
Violet hesitated, running her hands over the textured fabric. “It’s exquisite. A dress I would actually wear.”
Another smile bled through Vesper’s masked tone. “I thought it would be to your taste. It was made for a warrior.”
He showed her hidden pockets sewn in for small knives.
“I’m an archer,” she laughed. “Not quite the same.”