“Barnham will take you to one of the guestrooms.”
“Thank you.”
Without another word, he walks away. I glance behind me, realizing Barnham is standing close by. He guides me through several passageways before leading me down a small corridor and unlocking a door for me.
Handing me the key, he says, “If you’re plotting anything?—”
I cut him off. “You seem to forget that his magic binds me not to cross him.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t still wreak havoc.” Barnham’s tone is deadly, a clear warning to avoid strife. He walks away, and all I can hear are his retreating footsteps, leaving me in the silent and empty corridor.
I push open the wooden door and step into a small, dimly lit room. It has the necessities: a small bed, a woven rug on the floor, a trunk for belongings, and a small private washroom. Closing the door behind me, I set the key down on the bedside table. I yank off my riding boots, cloak, and satchel, tossing them lazily to the floor.
I flop onto the bed and fall right to sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I sitin the tub for hours, picking dried flecks of blood out from beneath my nails. The sweat and blood that coated my skin were so thick that I thought it would never come off. My legs and hips are sore from riding for days, and my head is still tender. I soak in the bath long after the water turns cold, not wanting to move. I eventually will myself to stand and dry my skin. I pull on a light linen dress, the only clean piece of clothing I have left.
Traitor.They called me a traitor in Liora.
A soft knock at the door startles me. I open it to find a tall, slender woman carrying a woven basket against her hip. A few stray pieces of black hair frame her round face, the rest pulled into a long braid. Her blue eyes flow like endless ocean waves, contrasting her thick, dark brows. Her features remind me somewhat of Wrath’s, but I can’t precisely place them.
“Hello there,” I say hesitantly.
“I am Rowena Bainbridge of Myragos. I am a seamstress. Would you like me to make some gowns for you?” She smiles warmly at me.
“Yes.” I blink in surprise at the woman. “Thank you.”Rowena steps into the room, sets down her basket, and pulls out a notebook. I close the door and face her. “Did?—”
“The king told me to visit you,” she replies. “What colors do you prefer wearing?”
I don’t reply at first. A few moments of quiet pass as I watch the woman work. I often had a tailor in Cathros, but I realize I won’t be wearing the red and gold of House Valantis. I will appear as a traitor to the Elvarrans if I don those colors; I wonder if I should wear their colors instead.
The woman turns over her shoulder. “Princess?”
“What do you think will look best?” I ask.
“We can start with a few colors—forest green, black, silver… perhaps a slate blue?” Rowena digs through her basket and pulls out a few fabric swatches. “Come, please.”
Walking to her side, she places the swatches over my shoulder. “Too bland,” she says under her breath. She swaps to a new color, a walnut brown. “No…” Then another, a slate blue. “Lovely.” Another swatch, this time a dark mauve. “Yes, I think these are best to start with.”
“Agreed.” I go along with her suggestions.
Rowena appears confident enough to make anything look good. If she is the king's tailor, she can be mine. She smiles, puts her swatches away, and writes notes in her notebook. Tucking it away, she pulls out a dark forest green gown with silver accents on the long sleeves from her basket.
“I prepared this before your arrival without knowing your measurements ahead of time. I will have to make some adjustments,” Rowena says. “Hopefully, it will fit you.”
“Of course.” I nod, stepping closer to her. I am accustomed to tailors taking my measurements.
Rowena quickly measures parts of my body, writing them down as she goes. I change into the dress, and Rowena pulls the laces in the front to tighten the corset. I huff a breath asshe yanks one last time, the bones closing around my ribs. Stepping back, Rowena adjusts the fit on my sleeve, her fingers moving nimbly and confidently as she works. She doesn’t make any mention of the mark on my arm, which I’m grateful for.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look like the king, Rowena?” I ask curiously.
She giggles. “He’s my cousin.”
“Really?” Surprise fills me. “He never told me that.”
“I’ll make sure to scold him for not informing you,” Rowena says playfully.
