Lassy had barely had time to breathe that week. Between tracking down rogue wanderers, dealing with ambushes in the dead of night, and patching up wounds that should’ve taken her out, she had been running purely on instinct and exhaustion. She hadn’t even thought about the gala. Not until the dress arrived. At the time, she had simply exhaled in relief, grateful that Sylus had thought ahead. Of course, he had. His taste was impeccable, and if he wanted to be seen with her on his arm, he wasn’t about to let her show up in a last-minute scramble of thrown-together fabric. She had slipped into the dress without much thought, never once questioning that he was the one picking her up. So when the knock came, she didn’t hesitate. She opened the door and realized her mistake. Sylus was there, as expected, a picture of confidence in his black suit and open red shirt, eyes gleaming in approval as they moved over her. “Sweetie…” His smirk curved lazily. “Perfect.” But just behind him, ano...