“Where were you? With the king? Has he taken you? Are you sore? Did you please him? You better have pleased him or I swear to the Ancestors I will—”
“Nobody’s taking me.” I plop onto my bed and lie back. “We slept. That’s all.”
“That isnotall.” She glares down at me. “I heard about you making a tart of yourself after the banquet. That isnothow consorts are to behave.”
“Hey, I didn’t make a tart of anyone.” I shake my head. “The king is the one who decided to tart me.”
“You must control yourself.” She slaps my knee. “Kings are emotional. They follow their hearts and their … you know.” She looks away, then back. “But you must comport yourself like a respectable female in order to keep the peace within the court.”
“You mean to keep Gwenarie happy?”
She nods, her gray horns soaking up the light. “Yes, most certainly that.”
“She’ll never think I’m a respectable female. I’ll always be a whore to her.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to act as one.” She smooths her already-smooth dress. “Now, we need to prepare for the day.”
“Okay. What do consorts do all day?”
“First, you must pose for your portrait.”
“Portrait?” I sit up at that. “Like there’s an artist here?”
“We have many artists.” She lifts her chin. “The day court is the center of culture for all of Arin.”
“Do the other realms know that?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Shush.” She backs up a step. “Get up and remove that sleep dress. I didn’t have time to give you a thorough once-over yesterday, but today I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“It means I need to make sure you’re perfect for your portrait and for the king’s attentions.”
“He thought I was perfect yesterday when he dragged me out of the dining hall and—”
“Up.” She snaps her fingers and magic lights between them in a warm green glow.
“You’re a healer?” I rise and shimmy out of my sleep gown. Modesty isn’t something I’ve ever been worried about in the night realm. Not when Mama and I shared a tiny, one-room cottage. And, even though she’s not the warmest of souls, Lucidia is almost motherly.
She takes my hands and frowns at my fingernails. “Yes, I have healing magic. But you don’t need healing, you need a more thorough scrubbing.”
“What?”
“That pale skin. It shows dirt worse than my frock.” She scowls. “Come, you need to bathe, and then I’ll take care of your hair.”
“Can I do a braid today?” I ask and follow her to the bathing room.
“I’m not talking about that hair.” She glances at my ladybits.
I follow her gaze. “Oh. That? What’s wrong with that?”
“The painter prefers it gone for her work, especially if she’s struck to paint something a bit more risqué.”
“Wait.” I climb into the tub as she turns the water on. “This portrait is going to be nude? Of me? Nude?” I sink into the water.
“Of course. You’re a consort.” She says it as if it’s utterly obvious.
I harrumph into the bath. “And the Daylanders are the ones always calling us hedonists and frowning on our naked rites under the moon.”
