My unease immediately returns and the words fall awkwardly from my mouth. “Yes. Thank you, Your Highness.”
She moves the sponge up and down my neck, along my collarbone and when she dips below the waterline, dragging the porous sponge over my breasts, I squirm.
“Our prince deserves a bride, clean and free of impurity,” Queen Lanneth says as she washes me. “Don’t you agree, Amara?”
I swallow hard, unable to meet her eyes. Instead, I focus on the water as it turns dark, the grime and blood swirling away from my skin. “Your Highness,” I murmur, my voice barely steady. “The journey was long, and I was brought to you before I had the chance to make myself presentable.”
Queen Lanneth laughs lightly. “No, dearest. I’m not talking about the filth on your skin. We can wash that away. But there are some parts of us that, once soiled, can never be made clean again.” Her eyes search mine. “Do you know what I speak of?” I understand what she is implying, but when I do not answer quickly enough, she speaks instead. “The Keeper told us you are a Sister of the Vine.” She lifts the sponge from the tub and squeezes out the excess water. “Is it true a Sister has never known the touch of a man?”
I nod, my stomach knotting with discomfort. “Yes, Your Highness.”
She nods her approval as her eyes trail over every inch of my body, like I’m livestock at a market.
“Your face is comely enough. Not beautiful, of course, but pleasant looking.” She peers at me coldly. “And you are rounder than I expected, but perhaps such wide hips will be helpful for a human womb carrying a Fae baby.” Queen Lanneth gives a tight-lipped smile and rises to her feet, laying the sponge on the edge of the tub. “Let us hope any offspring inherit the fair skin of their grandsires. Not that your tint isn’t… delightful.” She wipes her hands on a nearby cloth. “I will leave you now to finish up. Your maids await you in your bedchamber when you are ready to dress.”
The seconds crawl by, each one stretching painfully until, just as I think I’ll finally be rid of her, she looks back. I quickly smooth the scowl from my face before she catches it.
“I am very glad you are here, Amara Tyne,” she says over her shoulder. “You will make a fine bride for our prince.”
Queen Lanneth closes the door behind her, and I finally release the breath I've been holding tight in my chest. The fire crackles softly, and the steady rhythm of rain drums against the stone, but I let it all fade away as I surrender to the silence beneath the water. My body sinks deeper, my muscles unwinding as I wonder what would happen if I stayed here, submerged, and never resurfaced.
It would be such an easy escape. But the Mordorin bargained for a bride, not a corpse, and without their protection, The Grove is lost. A single tear slips down my cheek, mingling with the bathwater, vanishing long before I rise from the tub.
Chapter 4
The cold and wet had turned my fingers to prunes long before I stepped foot in the bath. Now they are so shriveled, I look more like a mummified crone than a princess. But the warm water has soothed my blisters, and I didn’t realize how much feeling I had lost in my toes until I wriggle them on the fluffy rug.
I pick up the heavy black robe hanging on the edge of the tub and swirl it around my shoulders, pulling my arms through the long hanging sleeves and knotting the silver cord at my waist. I could easily crawl into bed now. Fall into a deep sleep and pray this was all a nightmare I would wake from. But the chorus of voices from the bedchamber makes me think the night is not yet over.
I take cautious steps towards the door, unsure of what might be on the other side. I stare at the gilded handle. Surely there can’t be anything worse than a sea monster awaiting me. I shrug off my nerves and open the door, and a cluster of cackling Fae maids immediately falls silent. It is hard not to notice they are all beautiful with their sparkling eyes, striking features and pointedears peaking through their braided dark hair. They quickly shuffle their feet and form a line, then bow before me.
“Good evening, my lady,” they say in unison.
“Good evening,” I reply, a nervous croak in my voice.
One maid steps forward, her nose slightly sharper, her face slightly prettier if that was possible, and raises her head. “My name is Solena. If you require anything, you need only summon me.”
Though she offers her service, disdain drips from her clipped words, and her eyes scan me as if I don’t belong here. I choose to ignore it.
“What would I require?” I ask instead.
Solena clasps her hands. “Anything. Draw a bath. Prepare you for bed. Brush your hair.”
I frown. “Are these things people usually need help with?”
“Yes. Usually.”
“And it takes five of you to brush my hair?”
Solena’s lips are a straight line. “If that is what you require, my lady. Now, are you ready to be dressed?”
“Dressed?” I query.
The line of maids part revealing a dark, crimson gown laying across the bed, the bodice encrusted with black pearls, with layers and layers of black lace beneath the luxurious silk fabric. I’ve never seen a dress so shamelessly joyless and decadent, and certainly not something worn to bed.
“You want me to wear that? Now?” I ask.
“Yes, my lady,” Solena replies.
