“Oh, well, that makes sense,” Clara says with a grin.
“But wouldn’t something less…unwieldy than a pair of shoes suffice?” Imogen asks.
I lock my eyes on hers, willing my expression to turn serious as I summon the air of a princess. Considering how few princesses I’ve made my acquaintance, it isn’t easy to do. So, I try mimicking the coldness of my stepmother instead. Holding my head high, I say, “Are you questioning me?”
Imogen blanches under my stare. “Of course not, Your Highness.”
“Good.” I turn on my heel and enter the washroom, closing the door behind me. My body sags at once, the weight of my lies, my act, my deception dragging me down. The aroma of tuberose fills the room, and I breathe it in, allowing it to soothe me. I turn the lock on the door handle and strip off the shoes and undergarments. A metallic clink hits the marble floor as I remove my corset, and a flash of gold catches my eye.
My locket.
I stoop down to retrieve it, grateful it hadn’t made an appearance any sooner. If my stepsisters had seen it…
I shudder. After today’s events, it’s clear I can’t risk continuing to wear it. I tear a large square from my already ruined chemise and fold the locket inside. Then I tie a thin strip of cloth around that. Without the key to the trunk, I’ll have to find somewhere safe to stash it.
But that will have to wait.
For now, the only thing I want is a bath.
I climb into the enormous moonstone tub and sink below the warm, fragrant waters. Right away, I close my eyes and lower my head beneath the surface until all but my nose is submerged. Sound shifts into a haunting, underwater melody, helping me forget where I am, who I am, and who I’m pretending to be. My mind goes still, peaceful, with nothing but the song of my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears.
24
EMBER
With no windows in the washroom, no bells to mark the hour, I lose track of time during my soak in the tub. Hours pass as I wash and doze, disallowing all thoughts and worries to plague me. The tub has become my sanctuary. A place I can wear my own face, free from the eyes of outside spectators. Best of all, no matter how long I linger, the bathwater remains at the perfect temperature as if warmed by some unseen heating element. Or magic. I suppose a fae palace would host the most advanced marvels of day-to-day magic.
My primary motive for staying so long in the washroom is to avoid my stepsisters. Even though I told them to take the evening off, I continue to hear proof of their lingering presence—footsteps, whispers, giggles. I’m about to give up hope that they’ll ever leave when Clara announces herself at the bathroom door. My pulse quickens as I glance at the handle. I know I locked it, but I can’t help fearing she’ll come in.
“What is it?” I ask, voice quavering.
“I’ve brought your dinner, Your Highness,” Clara says. “I was wondering where you would like me to put it before my sister and I leave your company for the night.”
“Just place it on the table,” I call out sharply, my words still edged with panic. To soften my abrupt statement, I add, “Thank you for your service today.”
I hear a shuffle of footsteps, as if she wants to say more. After a few moments, she says, “You’re welcome, Your Highness. Good evening.”
I train my ears on every sound that follows, every footstep and whispered strain of conversation, until—finally—I hear the bedroom door open and close. I wait several minutes to see if they return, and when silence answers, I gather the courage to leave the delightfully soothing water. My skin prickles against the steam-filled air as I retrieve a plush towel from a peg on the wall. I wrap it around me, closing my eyes at the heady gardenia that wafts from it. I remain like that for several minutes, enveloped in warmth, before I dry my body and step back into the shoes. Lastly, I gather the cloth-wrapped locket, fisting it tightly in my hand.
Outside the washroom, I find my bedroom has fallen under the dusky light of the setting sun. I make a beeline for the table where a tray of food rests. I don’t bother sitting down as I take a bite of still-warm bread, richly buttered and decadently soft. My stomach growls and I quickly down several heaping spoonfuls of soup. After the events of today and the night before, with hardly any food in between, it’s no surprise I’m ravenous. I make quick work of my meal, then shift my thoughts to the next most pressing matter.
Attending the opera with the prince.
Is that truly what he meant when he said he’d see me tonight? What reason could he have to bring me? Although the prince made it clear he’ll allow me to continue acting as Princess Maisie, I still haven’t figured out a reasonwhy. Furthermore, why would he want to act like we’re courting? I recall the flash of hurt I saw cross his face when he realized Maisie left the palace. After how he acted at the ball—making eyes at that moth pixie—I can’t imagine he’d be put out by losing a potential lover. Then again, it’s likely not his love life that suffers from being dismissed by a princess, but his ego.
I clench my jaw. Is that what this is about? Does he want me to pretend to court him so others will be clueless he was rejected? I suppose he’ll want to be seen as the one who severs our courtship when our alliance is over.
My fingers ball into fists. When one clenches around something soft, I recall the locket that remains in my hand. A sense of urgency has my eyes glancing around to every corner of the room, seeking the best place to stash it. No drawer will suffice unless I can ensure it’s well hidden amongst other items. If only I had the key to the trunk, I could hide it alongside my ballgown…
A knock at the door has my heart hammering a staccato beat.
Anxiety pulses in my chest. Have my stepsisters decided to disobey my orders to let me get dressed on my own? Damn them.
“Just a moment,” I call out as I stride over to the bed. There I find a spread of clothing my stepsisters laid out for me to wear tonight. I look from the clothing to the nightstand, then back to the bed, where I quickly stuff the locket deep under my mattress. That will have to do for now.
Another knock. “Princess…Em.” To my horror, it’s Franco’s muffled voice that calls from the other side.
I bite back a squeal of alarm, and my voice rises an octave. “I’m indecent.” With hurried motions, I gather the clothing from the bed and rush behind the dressing screen.
