"Will you let yourself get that filthy again?"
A longer pause. "No."
"Because?"
"Because it was miserable. And disgusting. And it didn't accomplish what I wanted it to accomplish."
"Which was?"
She meets my eyes through the steam. "Making you take care of me instead of making me take care of myself."
"Exactly." I stand, moving closer to the bath. "You're learning, princess. Slowly, but you're learning."
As if in response to her progress, the palace begins to react. Frost patterns bloom across the windows—not the mocking crystalline formations from her days of filth, but beautiful, intricate designs that celebrate her return to cleanliness. The walls themselves seem to gleam brighter, and somewhere in the distance, I can hear the faint sound of ice chimes singing in harmonious approval.
"See?" I gesture at the magical display. "Even the palace approves. It knows the difference between a lady and a sulking child."
She looks around at the beautiful patterns, and something in her expression shifts. Not quite acceptance, but a flicker of understanding. The palace isn't just responding to me—it's responding to her choices, her behavior, her willingness to meet the standards of this place.
"Now you may get out," I tell her, standing and moving toward the door. "There are clean clothes in your wardrobe. Wear them."
I pause at the threshold. "And Elise? Tomorrow you'll bathe again. And the day after that. And every day until it becomes habit. Because clean is how you'll stay if you want to eat at my table."
I leave her in the warm water, surrounded by the palace's approval and the returning awareness of her own body. Let her understand that cooperation brings comfort. That being what I want her to be makes everything easier.
The conditioning is working exactly as planned. She's learning that rebellion brings misery while compliance bringsreward. Learning that I don't need to break her—she'll choose to bend rather than endure the consequences of defiance.
I can hear her lingering in the bath as I walk away, the soft sounds of water lapping against ice. She's processing what just happened—the humiliation, the relief, the undeniable evidence of my desire for her. She's starting to understand that her comfort depends entirely on her choices. That I'll provide everything she needs, but only when she proves she deserves it.
Soon she won't remember why she resisted at all.
The palace sings around me as I return to my chambers, satisfied with the lesson taught and learned. Tomorrow will bring new tests, new opportunities for her to choose compliance over defiance.
And each choice she makes will bind her more tightly to this place, to this life, to me.
The bath was just the beginning. Soon she'll understand that everything—food, warmth, comfort, safety—flows from my approval. And my approval can only be earned through submission.
It's a lesson that will serve her well in the days to come.
CHAPTER 7
ELISE
DAYS 16-20
I destroythe dress on day sixteen.
Not in a fit of rage this time—I've learned that lesson the hard way. The memory of Aratus watching me eat on the floor is still too fresh, too humiliating. But my silk traveling dress—the green one I wore on that final night at home—catches on a rough stone corner while I'm carrying firewood, and the delicate fabric tears from hem to knee in one vicious rip.
I stare at the damage, stomach sinking like a stone thrown into deep water. This was my last connection to my former life. The final piece of fine clothing that marked me as Edgar Montgomery's daughter rather than Aratus's... whatever I am now. My traveling clothes are ruined from the three-day journey through impossible mountains—torn, stained, and reeking of things I'd rather forget. Everything else I own is back in the Montgomery mansion, part of a life I can never return to.
The silk gowns, the evening wear, the delicate day dresses with their perfect fit and exquisite details—all of it might as well exist on another planet for all the good it does me now.
For a moment, I consider asking Aratus for help. The thought whispers through my mind like temptation, offering the easy solution. He has magic. He could conjure me something appropriate with a gesture, the way he conjures food in the kitchen each morning.
But the memory of eating on the floor still burns in my cheeks. The humiliation of him watching me bathe—seeing every inch of my naked body while I tried to preserve some shred of dignity—still makes my skin crawl with embarrassment and something else I refuse to name.
I saw how he looked at me in that crystalline chamber. The obvious evidence of his arousal as he watched me wash. The way his eyes tracked every movement like I was something he owned, something he had every right to observe.
