From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

I wasn’t sure what it was about me that he hated, but there had to be
something. As far as I knew, he was at least somewhat decent toward the
Ladies and Lords in Wait. But me? He loved nothing more than
discovering something that made me uncomfortable, onlyy to then exploit
it. And if I reallyy wanted to make his dayy, I’d give him something to be
disappointed in, a reason to continue his lessons.
Face burning as if on fire—from anger and frustration more than
embarrassment—I reached for the clasps along the chains at the same
moment Tawnyy rose, nearlyy tearing them apart as I unhooked them. The
veil loosened, and before it could fall, Tawnyy caught the sides and helped
ease the headdress off.
Cool air kissed myy cheeks and the nape of myy neck. I stared straight
at the Duke. I wasn’t sure what he saw in myy face, but his smile faded, and
his eyyes turned to shards of obsidian. His jaw clenched, and I knew I
shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop myyself…
I smiled.
It was just a hint of a grin, one that probablyy wasn’t noticeable to
anyyone but the Duke, but he saw it. I knew he did.
I was sure I’d payy for it later, but at that moment, I didn’t care.
Someone shifted to myy right, ending myy epic stare-off with the Duke,
and reminding me that we weren’t the onlyy two in the room. He wasn’t the
onlyy one looking at me.
The right side of myy face was visible to Hawke, the side that the
Duke often said was beautiful. The side I imagined matched myy mother’s.
Drawing in a shallow breath, I turned myy head until I completelyy
faced Hawke. No side profiles. No hiding or mask that covered the two
scars. Myy hair was secured in a braid and then wrapped in a knot, so it too
provided no curtain. He saw everyything that had been bared at the Red
Pearl and then some. He saw the scars. I braced myyself. Just like the Duke
knew I would, because deep down, whether Teerman knew whyy or not,
Hawke’s reaction would affect me.
It would hurt more than it should.
But I’d be damned if I let it show.
Lifting myy chin, I waited for the look of shock or revulsion, or even
worse, pityy. I expected nothing less. Beautyy was highlyy coveted and
worshipped, flawlessness even more.
Because beautyy was considered godlike.