And so I endure.
Chapter Thirteen: Rhea
Ilieawakeinbed the next morning, anxiousness swimming through my veins. When I first opened my eyes, I tried wiggling my fingers and toes, relief sweeping through me when I found that they moved with ease. Then I attempted to sit up, only for my head to fall right back to the pillow. Between the aching sting of the brand and the throbbing tempo pounding in my skull, it takes me a few deep breaths before the dizziness subsides and I try again, this timeslowly.
Running my hands over my arms, I take solace in the fact that my skin is smooth and unmarked. Despite howvisceralthe dream with the king’s advisor had felt. I shiver at the memory of his instruments splitting my skin, of the sick way he took pleasure in hurting me. All in the name of the king. For a moment, I question if he reallyhadbeen here. My nightmares always felt real in the moment, inescapable until my eyes fluttered open. But even in the morning light, my palms are still clammy and my heart beats too fast. As if my body is also remembering what Simon had done. I let loose a heavy sigh. It was only a dream, a strange conjuring of my mind.
I can’t shake the unease settling within me despite how I repeat those words. Pushing the comforter off of me, I carefully lift my nightgown to inspect the brand. It looks worse than it did the day before, the skin surrounding it still hot to the touch. The grotesque lines and curves of the roaring lion are raised, blisters pulling the skin taut from the gathered fluid. Feeling ill, I tug the nightgown back down, only to pause. My breath catches at the light pink color of the satin, my fingers rustling it.Light pink? Hadn’t I gone to bed in blue?
Heart in my throat, I peer over the edge of the bed, thinking perhaps I simply changed at some point and forgotten. But there is no clothing on the floor. Nothing to indicate that I went to sleep in anything other than what I am wearing. And when I glance down at the sheets beneath me, they are the ones the handmaiden put on my bed yesterday morning.
It was only a dream.
Gingerly, I make my way to the washroom, starting the shower as I try to push down that lingering disquiet. The warm water at the very least works to lessen the headache pounding at my temples, even if it exacerbates the gnawing pain at my hip. I stay there for a long while before turning the water off and grabbing a white cotton towel that hangs on a nearby hook,wrapping it around myself as carefully as possible. It’s a silly feat because the cotton strands still brush against the mark, forcing a hissed breath out through my clenched teeth.
Bracing my hands on the stone counter, I meet my own gaze in the bathroom mirror. How many times had I studied myself in a similar manner in the tower and found what I saw lacking? Not necessarily in my appearance—though there were often times I felt I looked more dead than alive—but intrinsically. In the things I so innately craved but that I was so desperately deprived of. And then in the Mage Kingdom, I had begun to see myself in a different light. I was stronger. More resilient. A tapestry of hurts and wants and lingering grief, yes, but I had started to believe that I was so muchmorethan those things.
And now?
My gaze drops to the counter. Like smoke curling up from a fire, another emotion braids itself into my mind.Fear. The truth is, I’m beyond terrified by what might happen before I figure out how to get this ring off of me. While I wait for Nox to come. I’m scared of what’s already occurred, of how many more concealed marks have been added to my soul. Of the one that’s not so invisible on my body. And I wonder, not for the first time, if it’s okay to be so afraid. If feeling this way undoeseverythingI thought I worked so hard for the past few months.
Does it make me as weak as I was when I lived secluded and beaten and so desperatelysadin that tower? So many “should haves” and “could haves” bounce around in my head, the result of too much time spent looking at my past with newly critical eyes. Because it is so much easier now to pinpoint all the ways I’ve messed up.
Sighing, I push away from the counter and open the door to the bathroom, nearly running right into the handmaiden. “Gods!” I shout, stumbling backwards and then grimacing at the pain that radiates down my thigh.
“I’m so sorry!” she counters, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, the rest of it pulled into a tight bun that rests at the nape of her neck. “I didn’t mean to frighten you! I had knocked on the door to let you know I was here, but you must not have heard it.”
I hadn’t, and I nod as I grip the top edge of the towel wrapped around me. Awkward silence falls upon us, the handmaiden clutching the white apron that is tied around her gray dress as her eyes dart everywhere else in the room but to me.
“The king has asked that I ready you for the day,” she says finally, forcing a small smile to her face. “He’d like to have breakfast with you.”
I nearly grumble an “of course, he would”but manage to keep the words from leaving my mouth. Based on the small quirk of the handmaiden’s lips, I’m less successful at keeping the emotion from my face.
“I would like toreadymyself,” I tell her, lifting my chin in a move I hope displays more confidence than I actually feel.
She cradles one hand in the other, her thumb rubbing at a spot on her palm. “I have been instructed to do as he asks.” Our stares hold, blue eyes like the waters of the lake outside my tower meeting my meadow green ones. Is it that scar indicating a blood oath that gives her gaze an edge of desperation? From what I remember Alexi telling me about blood oaths, the king’s command is as woven into the handmaiden’s blood as it is in the ring suppressing my magic. She couldn’t fight against it, even if she wanted to, or else she risked death. I just wish I knew whether she actually wanted to or not.
Intentions of the handmaiden aside, I still don’t want anyone else’s hands on my body, even for something as innocuous as getting dressed. I feel as raw and tender and exposed as the brand on my hip, and if I can control even thissmallfacet, it’s worth clinging on to. “Whatexactlydid he say?” I ask her.
She cants her head to the side, eyebrows pulling together. “He said that I had to ready you. For the day,” she answers slowly, working to clear her throat. “Because he’d like to meet you for breakfast.”
“I want to dress myself,” I say, reaching around to grab my damp hair and pull it over my shoulder. I can already see the protest forming in her mouth, so I add, “But I’ve always been awful at doing my hair. Perhaps you can help with that?” It’s certainly not a lie. I hadn’t taken Nox up on the offer he made in the woods of learning how to braid my hair. It was purposeful, of course. There was something intimate about him doing my hair, and I know that he enjoyed it too. I watch the handmaiden shift her weight, her eyes cast up to the ceiling in thought.
After a few more moments, her gaze meets mine again. “Alright,” she says, before spinning on her heel and walking to the bathroom. “I’ll give you time to dress while I clean up the bathroom. Just yell when you’re done.”
I wait until she is behind a closed door to exhale my relief. So thereissome leeway with the commands of the blood oath. I ponder over the meaning of that as I reach the closet and look through my choices for dresses absentmindedly. Selecting a lavender one with a loose-fitting bodice and a skirt made of silk, I lay the dress on the made bed before going to the armoire to gather my chemise and undergarments. Dressing is again an arduous task, one that reminds me with every movement just how horrific the brand is. I can’t help the way insidious thoughts crowd the edges of my mind like a black fog rolling in.This will always be on me. I will never be free from it. Will Nox’s hands avoid touching it? Will he avoid touching me? Will this irrevocably change things? Why does it feel as if it already has?
Eventually, I manage to push everything down enough to sit through the handmaiden’s gentle touch while cleaning and changing the bandage on my brand before she moves on to myhair. The distraction is welcome, and I watch as she gracefully braids small sections and then gathers them all into a twisted updo that I find beautiful.
You will leave your hair unbound. I immediately scowl at the memory of the king’s words.
“Is everything alright?” she asks, sincerity carved on her expression.
It’s a silly thing, to want to cling on to any small rebellion that I can. King Dolian may demand control over most of my being, but I’d be damned if I let him do it without a fight.
Meeting her gaze in the reflection of the mirror, I nod.
Xander is standing outside of my room when the handmaiden opens the door, a silent look passing between them as she walks past. His eyes might soften just the smallest amount when he dips his chin, but when he looks back to me, that gentleness is nowhere to be found. He motions for me to walk in front of him, shutting my door behind me before easily matching my stride.
