When she stood in her quarters hours later, she stood alone. Andrew had not yet gone to bed. There was business to be cared for, supposedly.
Amelia's head dropped between her shoulders, her arms held out on the vanity. Her black hair hung straight down before her until it kissed the cushioned seat. She felt nauseous from that rush of magic. Or maybe it was the adrenaline that threatened to release her stomach.
Since leaving Feren, the designs on her skin burned ice cold. If given parchment, she would not even be able to draw out the sways and switchbacks that she'd long memorized on her skin; they felt like they had overtaken every inch of her flesh.
Only once had she allowed herself to look upon the beast that marked her back. It had been at least a year since then. She hadn't let herself look for a long time, though she knew what shape it was. It would have been too painful to remember the details, so every day she had tried harder to forget about it, the same way she tried to forget about the rest of her magic. Andrew had seen it, though.
"What is this?" he had asked, one day late in the afternoon after entering their rooms. He must have caught its reflection in the mirror, because Amelia had always tried very hard to keep herself covered above the shoulders, or to at least keep her back facing away from him. After the glimpse, he had roughly forced her to turn away from him and pushed the hair from her neck and shoulders. The mark had never been fully exposed to him before; who would have seen her naked back except Feren?
Andrew's finger had swiped firmly over the skin of her upper back to be sure it wouldn't wipe away, then after seeing that it stretched down past the seams of her dress, he tore the fabric down the middle, forever ruining that gown.
Amelia's hands had immediately been thrown against her chest before the dress could fall. The King's cold, hard stare pressed into the skin of her back.
He'd demanded to know what it was and when it had gotten there: the dragon, wings spread and claws bared, that stretched across her pale skin in sharp, black contrast. Amelia had only seen it once, but she knew exactly what it looked like without having to use a mirror. The back of the creature was a row of sharp spikes. The long reptilian neck was lifted; mouth open in soundless cry of pointed teeth and forked tongue. The wingtips stretched so far to her sides, they curved barely up the slopes of each breast. It was detailed in quick lines rather than shades; it mimicked the wisps of the spirit animal that would form if she were to call its name.
Andrew had been furious for days, and refused to touch her. Maybe he knew how Voerr only revealed their marks after connecting with a mate. Maybe he had seen her naked back before and she just couldn't remember. He must have known how she had come to develop the tattoo that spread across half her body. Why would he have been so upset otherwise?
But then, Amelia never remembered an exact time in which Andrew would've seen her back exposed and bare. How could he know the drawing did not exist before? Unless he had actually payed attention to her the same day in Leera that they'd signed their marriage documents. If he did know that Feren had released it for her, he never gave her any indication.
Amelia stared down at a comb on the vanity. The ties of her corset had been loosened, not tied properly again, and loosened once more the moment she was alone in the chambers so that she could fill her lungs — really fill them for the first time in ages, as she panted from the use of magic.
Her eyes closed. Every inch of her felt alive and renewed. Breath actually felt substantial. Her grip felt real. The world was alive again.
Whatever part of Feren that had been weakened before by the effects of the poison, had surely become stronger by the time she'd slipped from the room. Though he had not moved or said a thing.
