The fabric is sheer and flows like mist between her fingers—a slip of dark-blue chiffon with a neckline that plunges far too low and sleeves that fall off the shoulders in diaphanous drapes. The bodice is boned butnarrow, the skirt split up the sides, meant to reveal rather than conceal.
“That’s it?” I ask, my voice raw. “It’s freezing in here.”
Staja doesn’t answer. She simply holds the dress out to me with quiet resignation.
I square my shoulders. “I’m not going,” I say.
Her gaze flicks to the closed door, then back to me. She takes a hesitant step forward. “Please… it would be better—for both of us—if you do what he says.”
I frown. “‘Both of us’? Did Torbin threaten you?”
She shakes her head, eyes tight with something like fear. “He didn’t need to. I’ve seen what happens to those who don’t obey. I’d like to keep my position… and my skin.” She swallows, her voice softer now. “And if you want to keep your friend safe—”
The walls feel closer now, like they’re pressing in, heavy and damp. I can taste salt on my tongue, and my clothes suddenly feel thick with dirt and dried sweat. Despite the chill in the air, my chest tightens with a sick heat that makes it hard to breathe. My ears ring with the sharp thrum of my pulse.
He has Nadya.
And I don’t have a choice but to do as he says, for her sake.
And maybe, I can trick him into telling me where she is.
I nod slowly, tasting the bitterness of surrender on my tongue. “Fine.”
Relief washes over Staja’s features. She sets the dress gently across the bed, smoothing the folds like it’s something sacred.
“I’ll prepare the bath,” she says, walking toward a second door—this one carved with curling floral motifs that feel out of place in such a cold place.
As the sound of running water reaches my ears, I stand and go to the window. I rub the condensation from the glass, but all I can see outside are snow-covered mountains. Flurries drift down at a steady pace, but otherwise, there is absolutely no movement to be seen.
After a few minutes, Staja emerges from the bathing chamber, and steam rolls out with her. “Your bath is ready, Your Highness.”
The warmth of the room envelops me as soon as I step inside. The air is thick with the scent of lavender and pine. A copper tub sits in the center, filled with steaming water that ripples with my reflection. Dozens of small candles line the stone shelves, their flames soft and flickering.
“The prince instructed me that you be made pristine,” Staja says gently. “That I use the finest soaps and oils. For your body. Your hair. He said he doesn’t want any scents from… before… clinging to you. He wants you perfect for him.”
Her voice doesn’t betray emotion, but her hands wring together nervously.
‘Scents from before’? What does she mean?
I stare at the water, the fragrant oils already glimmering on its surface like a lure. I grit my teeth and step toward the bath.
I have to admit that the hot water makes me feel better. It warms my chilled bones and loosens my muscles. I only stay in long enough to ensure I’m clean, and when I step from the bath, Staja is ready with a thick towel.
Though I could manage alone, Staja helps me slip into the thin dress. The bodice molds tightly to my skin, cinching just beneath my ribs, and the sheer skirt offers no warmth, brushing like breath against my thighs. I shiver, arms prickling with gooseflesh, and not just from the cold.
She doesn’t meet my eyes as she opens a small jar of glittering lotion, the scent of vanilla and clove thick in the air. “He likes when the light catches,” she murmurs, smoothing it onto my bare shoulders, down my arms, across the tops of my breasts. “Says it makes the skin look like starlight.”
My stomach roils. I clench my jaw, my breath catching in my throat. I couldn’t care less what he fucking likes. But I don’t argue with her. It’s not Staja’s fault I’m in this mess.
As she moves behind me, gathering my hair and combing it out with quick, practiced strokes, a wave of helplessness crashes over me.
I shouldn’t be here.
I should be back at Ivystone. I should be with—
Dante.
Oh, gods!
