"Yes, Mistress."
"You will wear a high-collared, long-sleeved black dress. It will cover the marks. It will convey mourning for the dissolution of the Tan dynasty."
"I will wear the black dress."
"And Yanna?"
"Yes, Sovereign?"
Camille looked down at her. Her amber eyes were cold, calculating, and completely devoid of mercy.
"You will wear the tungsten."
Yanna's breath hitched. The thought of standing under the hot lights of a press conference, wearing a heavy wool dress, with three pounds of vibrating metal locked inside her, was terrifying.
"Sovereign, the weight... I will not be able to walk to the podium."
"You will not walk," Camille corrected. "You will be escorted. I will hold your arm. To the press, it will look like the devotion of a loving wife supporting her nervous, introverted partner."
Camille smiled.
