Again, I’m not complaining. It’s nice to have my wants and needs anticipated.
I glance once more at the door to be certain Valen hasn’t returned—then begin unbuttoning my dress. It slides off me easily, the ruined fabric whispering as it pools at my feet. I shed my panties next, folding them carefully and placing them on a low carved bench beside the tub. Honestly though, I need a new pair. I need a new everything. I certainly hope the magical wardrobe holds undergarments as well as outer ones.
Standing naked in the golden glow of the luminescent flowers, I feel oddly exposed—not just physically, but in a deeper way, as though the tree itself is watching me.
I’m not sure I like that feeling, so I’m quick to climb into the tub.
The leaves cradle my body immediately, warm and pliant, molding themselves to my shape. I sink down with a sigh as the water rises to my shoulders. It smells faintly of rain-soaked earth and flowers after a storm.
“Oh,” I breathe. “This is… wonderful.”
On the wooden ledge beside the tub, the crystal bottles gleam invitingly. I reach for the first—a pale blue liquid that shimmers like captured moonlight. When I unstopper it, the scent of lavender and something cool and minty drifts out.
I pour a little into my palm. The soap warms instantly, turning silky between my fingers. As I rub it over my arms, it foams into pearlescent bubbles that slide over my skin like liquid satin.
The next bottle holds a golden liquid that smells of honey and wildflowers. Another is deep green, sharp with rosemary and pine. Each one feels perfectly suited to its purpose, cleansing without drying, leaving my skin tingling and soft.
I’ve never had so many choices—not even back at the castle. I have to say, I love all the scents except for the pine one—that smells slightly medicinal, so I don’t use any.
When I pour the shampoo—thick, milky white, and scented faintly of apples—over my scalp, it tingles pleasantly, almost fizzing as though it was alive. I work it through my hair, closing my eyes as the bathwater seems to swirl gently around me, rinsing away soap without my having to lift a finger.
I rinse my hair and then I just lay there for a while. I know I promised Valen I’d be quick, but he’s not back yet. And after the ordeal of the forest, the warm water feels so good—so relaxing.
I close my eyes for just a moment and I think I must take a little nap. When I open my eyes again, the leaves are shifting beneath me.
“What? What’s going on?” I say out loud, my voice coming out groggy and half-awake. I was having some kind of dream about trying to reach a golden apple on a tree but it kept hopping out of my reach.
I feel motion again and open my eyes wider, looking around. The vines lining the tub are moving…slowly…deliberately. One curls upward, its tiny blossoms brushing against my shoulder. Another slides along my calf, the petals soft and cool. Are they trying to wash me?
“That’s enough,” I say nervously, trying to laugh it off. “I’m quite clean now.”
But the flowers do not retreat.
Instead, more vines rise from the water, their blooms opening wider. Soft petals begin to glide over my arms…my shoulders…my back—scrubbing, polishing, working on my skin with gentle but insistent strokes.
I guess they really are washing me—only I don’t need washing. I wonder if their behavior has anything to do with the strange Old Tongue runes I couldn’t quite read on the side of the tub. Are they following some kind of magical mandate?
If so, they need to stop—it’s making me feel strange to be in a tub with vines that move on their own.
“Stop,” I say, lifting my hands to brush them away. “That’s enough—really.”
But before I can push the intrusive blooms away, two vines coil around my wrists—not painfully—but firmly.
My arms are drawn outward, held apart above the water, exposing my breasts completely.
Hold still so we can wash you! I can almost hear them saying. The vines tighten just enough to make it clear this is not a suggestion.
My breath catches in my throat—I don’t like this. It makes me think of what happened in the forest…of Old Man Oak.
“No—no, let go!” I struggle, panic rising in my chest. “That’s enough! I said stop!”
The flowers ignore me.
More vines rise, their blossoms sweeping over my skin in methodical strokes, scrubbing and caressing in turns, sliding over my body with uncanny purpose. The sensation is not rough—but it is thorough—relentless in a way that makes my heart pound.
And then two large white blossoms fasten themselves over the tight points of my nipples.
“What…what do you think you’re doing?” I demand, breathlessly.
