She seemed not to understand, still studying herself in the mirror, turning her shoulder to catch the light. "I was just helping you check the effect. Time is tight before the union ceremony. Someone had to try it first."
I stared at the reflection—her face where mine should have been, her body wearing my future like borrowed skin. My voice came out unnaturally calm, the kind of calm that preceded violence in the world we inhabited.
"Take it off."
Only then did she turn, wearing that familiar innocent expression—the one that had fooled our father, our mother, every soldier and associate who had ever crossed the Ashford threshold. "You don't need to be so tense, Elena. It's just a dress."
"It's not your dress," I said.
She smiled, her tone light as poisoned wine. "But don't you think it suits me better?"
I did not answer right away. Emotion surged in my chest—rage, betrayal, the bitter taste of years spent watching her take everything I had ever been promised—but I forced it down. In our world, the one who lost control first lost everything.
"Now," I repeated. "Take it off."