“You never told me where you got it—where you got all my favorite dresses.” Rhys arched a dark brow. “You never figured it out?” I shook my head. For a moment, he said nothing, his head dipping to study the dress. “My mother made them.” I went still. Rhys smiled sadly at the shimmering gown. “She was a seamstress, back at the camp where she’d been raised. She didn’t just do the work because she was ordered to. She did it because she loved it. And when she mated my father, she continued.” I grazed a reverent hand down my sleeve. “I—I had no idea.” His eyes were star-bright. “Long ago, when I
...more
