She nodded, moving to help me with my borrowed clothes, her touch efficient but gentle as she eased fabric away from skin that flinched at contact. I fought the urge to cross my arms over my body, to hide the evidence of years of neglect… the too-prominent ribs, the old scars from punishments, the permanent gray stains of ash that no amount of scrubbing had ever removed.
If she noticed these things, her face revealed nothing but professional attention as she helped me into the bath. The water enveloped me in shocking warmth, the heat so complete it bordered on painful against skin accustomed to cold. I sank deeper, watching in fascination as the clear water immediately began to cloud with released dirt, with years of enforced invisibility dissolving away.
"We’ll need to change the water," she observed, no judgment in her tone. "This is just the first rinse."
She worked methodically, helping me wash my hair with scented soap that lathered richly between her capable fingers. The simple pleasure of having someone else’s hands in my hair, massaging my scalp without intent to harm, brought unexpected tears to my eyes. I blinked them away before she could notice, unwilling to explain emotions I barely understood myself.
The water darkened quickly, gray and then nearly black as years of ground-in ash released from my skin and hair. She drained it without comment and refilled the tub, adding different oils this time, the scent sharper, more clarifying. The second washing revealed skin I barely recognized, paler than I'd thought, unmarked in places I’d believed permanently stained.
By the third water change, I emerged transformed. The woman wrapped me in a towel so plush it felt like beingembraced by a cloud, guiding me back to the bedchamber where the fire was keeping the evening chill at bay.
"Would you like to see the rest of your quarters?" she asked, gesturing to several doors I hadn’t explored.
I nodded, following her through a tour of my temporary domain… a dressing room filled with clothing I couldn't imagine belonging to me, a small dining area where meals could be taken privately, a sitting room where guests might be received. Each space was appointed with the same thoughtful luxury, each designed with omega comfort clearly prioritized… soft textures, soothing colors, excellent light by day and soft illumination by night.
"The princes requested these rooms be prepared for nesting," she explained as we returned to the main bedchamber. "Is there anything you'd like rearranged? More pillows, perhaps? Different linens? The room should feel perfectly comfortable for you."
"Nesting," I repeated, the word strange in my mouth. I knew the concept, of course. Omegas preparing spaces of comfort and safety, particularly before heats or bonding. But I’d never experienced the urge myself, had never been permitted the materials or the space to indulge such instincts. "I don’t... I’m not ready for that."
She accepted this without question. "Of course, my lady. There’s no rush. Let me help you dress, and then perhaps you’d like to rest? Or are you hungry?"
Food. The concept seemed distant, abstract. When had I last eaten? Before fleeing Lady Morvane’s estate, certainly. Days ago now. My body had been running on adrenaline and fear for so long I’d stopped noticing hunger. Plus the scent suppressants muted my hunger.
"I should dress first," I said, suddenly aware of standing in nothing but a towel while this woman waited patiently for my directions.
She led me to the dressing room, opening wardrobes to reveal clothing in styles I’d only glimpsed on noble omegas from a servant’s perspective. Nothing elaborate or restrictive, no corsets or complicated fastenings, but all made of materials so fine they seemed to float between my fingers.
"Something simple, I think," she suggested, correctly reading my overwhelmed expression. "For comfort, while you settle in."
She selected a gown of pale green silk that slipped over my head like water, falling in graceful lines that skimmed rather than clung. The neckline scooped modestly, the sleeves ended just below my elbows, and the hem brushed the tops of my feet. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever worn, and the least constraining.
"Perfect," she said with satisfaction, guiding me to the dressing table where a mirror reflected a stranger back at me.
The woman in the glass had my features but seemed impossibly changed… clean skin glowing with health I hadn’t known I possessed, hair a rich dark brown rather than the dull gray-black I was accustomed to seeing, eyes clear and bright in a face transformed by the simple absence of fear. I stared, unable to reconcile this image with the one I’d carried of myself for so long.
"Would you like me to dress your hair, my lady? Or would you prefer to rest now?"
I shook my head, still watching the stranger in the mirror. "I think... I’d like to be alone for a while."
"Of course." She moved toward the door, then paused. "Shall I have food sent up? You must be hungry after your journey."
The mention of food again awakened hunger so intense it bordered on pain. "Yes," I managed. "Please. Thank you."
"It's my pleasure to serve, my lady." She offered another small bow before withdrawing, leaving me alone with my transformed reflection and the oppressive luxury of my surroundings.
I moved to the bed, sinking onto its edge, half-expecting to fall through like a stone through water. The mattress yielded perfectly, supporting without constraining, another unfamiliar comfort in a day full of them. I ran my palm over the silk coverlet, marveling at its cool smoothness against skin newly sensitive without layers of ash dulling sensation.
I was still sitting there, lost in the simple pleasure of touch, when another soft knock announced the return of my aide. She entered carrying a tray laden with food… warm bread releasing clouds of yeasty perfume, slices of roasted meat glistening with juices, fresh fruit cut into delicate portions, and a pot of tea that filled the air with fragrant steam.
"I wasn’t sure what you might prefer," she said, setting the tray on a small table near the fire and arranging the plate and utensils with practiced precision. "But the kitchen prepared a selection. Is there anything else you require?"
"No," I said, eyes fixed on the food with an intensity that should have embarrassed me. "This is... more than enough. Thank you."
She withdrew again, and I moved to the table, forcing myself not to fall upon the food like a starving animal. I ate slowly at first, then with increasing abandon as flavors exploded across my tongue. The bread still emitted steam from the oven, crusty outside and pillowy within; the meat seasoned with herbs I couldn’t name but that made my mouth water with each bite; fruits whose sweetness seemed impossible, as if I’d never truly tasted before this moment.
The tea completed the transformation, fragrant and delicate, nothing like the weak, bitter brews I’d occasionally beenpermitted. I drank it slowly, savoring the warmth that spread through my chest, the subtle flavors that lingered on my tongue. By the time I set the empty cup aside, exhaustion had caught up with me, crashing over me in waves that made my limbs feel leaden, my thoughts sluggish.
I managed to return to the bed, this time pulling back the covers and sliding between sheets so fine they felt like nothing against my skin. The pillows cradled my head as if designed specifically for me, and the weight of the coverlet settled with perfect pressure, enough to feel secure, not enough to constrain.
