"You cannot be serious."
Vaelra's spine straightens to steel. "Excuse me?"
"Those words." I gesture dismissively at the air where her recitation still lingers like smoke. "They're medieval. Degrading. I won't speak them."
"You will speak them because they are required." Her voice drops to the tone she reserves for final warnings. "Bram expects traditional vows."
"Then perhaps Bram should marry someone traditional."
The color drains from her face, leaving only sharp angles and cold fury. "How dare you?—"
"How dare I what? Refuse to publicly declare myself livestock?" The words flow like water breaking through a dam. "Father never would have?—"
"Your father is dead!" The shout reverberates through the room. "Your father's wishes died with him! You live under my roof now, by my grace, and you will honor the arrangements I make for your survival!"
I take a step closer, my voice steady despite the fire building in my chest. "I will not recite those words."
"You ungrateful, selfish?—"
I turn toward the stairs, done with this conversation, done with her demands, done with pretending any of this serves anyone but her own ambitions.
"Don't you walk away from me, Ilyra Dain!"
Each stair carries me higher, away from her sputtering rage and empty threats. The wooden boards creak under my feet like old bones, but I climb steadily until I reach my room.
The door closes behind me with satisfying finality.
I lean against the solid wood, breathing deeply for the first time since this wretched conversation began. The moonbeam lily glows softly from its box, casting gentle light across the silks and jewelry Azrathiel has given me.
Footsteps approach—lighter than Vaelra's, more hesitant. Mariselle.
The door handle turns without ceremony. She steps inside, gray eyes scanning the room with calculating precision.
Her gaze lands immediately on the silk box, then travels to the fine dresses hanging carefully in the corner, the delicate jewelry scattered across my small table like captured stars.
"Well, well." Her voice carries dangerous amusement. "Look what the mouse has been hoarding."
I straighten, crossing my arms. "Get out of my room."
She moves closer to the table, fingers trailing across a silver bracelet set with tiny sapphires. "Where did you steal these from?"
"I didn't steal anything."
"Of course you did." She lifts the bracelet, examining it in the lamplight. "Poor little Ilyra couldn't possibly afford such finery. So you've been pilfering from Bram's estate, haven't you? Taking what was meant for your wedding trousseau and playing dress-up like a child."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Put that down."
"Or what?" She dangles the bracelet mockingly. "You'll tell Mother? She'll be fascinated to learn her stepdaughter is a common thief."
"Those aren't yours to touch."
My voice cuts through the room like a blade, sharp enough to make her fingers pause on the bracelet's delicate chain.
"Everything in this house belongs to my mother now." Mariselle's smile turns predatory. "Which means it belongs to me."
"Put it down, Mariselle."
"Make me."