He unlocks the door and the three maids shuffle in silently.
The trunk crunches on the scattered glass as they set it on the floor, but their faces remain stony. It’s only Eloree who looks around the room, shock evident in her overlarge eyes.
“How is Lydia?” I rasp.
Eloree presses her pale lips together. “Worried about you,” she answers.
But she is alive.
“And the others?” I ask.
Eloree runs a comb through my tangled hair, her eyes flitting down to the floor, then back to mine in the mercury glass mirror. “I do not know.”
For silent hours, Eloree and her assistants work on me. There’s much to do.
Eloree combs out each strand of my hair until my wild curls are a ball of frizz. Then she rubs a lotion that smells of an herb garden onto her hands and distributes it through my scalp and down the strands with gentle pressure. She uses a curling tong until each of my natural, wild curls has been re-formed into a perfect, cascading ringlet.
Her two assistants kneel at my feet, each one taking a hand.They scrub the dungeon dirt from under my nails, then cut and file until they resemble ten perfectly shiny crescent moons. I resist the urge to wiggle my fingers, which feel bare without my rings.
I am nothing better than a paper doll, blank and compliant as Eloree and the others slip my dressing gown off my shoulders, exposing my bare torso.
They rub oils that smell of honeycomb and violets into the skin of my arms and neck and collarbone. They do my legs next until every inch of me is glowing.
Eloree unscrews a pot of something white and cold and dabs it on the dark circles under my eyes. “Close,” she says gently, then applies the rest to my swollen eyelids. She smears a pink salve on my lips and cheeks, bringing their sallow color back to life.
The tips of her fingers are cool and gentle against my angry skin, and it hits me that she will likely be the last person to ever touch me with kindness.
My stomach twists as I try my best not to think of the others. Eloree is being so gentle with me, and it would be rude to cry off all her hard work. I won’t have my final actions be those of disrespect.
I’m numb as they guide me gently by my elbows to stand, and then methodically lace and button me into a gown.
It isn’t until they’re done that I glance in the mirror and realize what I’m wearing. It’s constructed of layers and layers of whisper-thin, white, Swiss-dot tulle. Wide off-the-shoulder sleeves connect into a gentle V at the center of my chest. The waist is nipped in and tied with a grosgrain ribbon and the full skirts are embellished with intricate embroidery of wildflowers, white thread on white fabric.
“His Majesty selected it himself,” Eloree explains gently.
But I already knew that, just by looking at it.
It’s not the exact same, but it’s the closest copy Bram could make in the Otherworld of my Pact Parade gown. I look almost exactly as I did the day we met. Well, I suppose it was the dayImethim. He’d known me for long before that.
The only difference is my long, unbound hair and the golden tiara Eloree places atop it.
I look like a princess from a storybook.
And I am equally doomed.
I press my lips together and try to blink away the stinging feeling in my eyes. “Thank you, Eloree,” I say. “You did beautiful work.”
I look to the others, half cowering behind her. “I didn’t even ask your names,” I say with regret.
“Enid and Aspen, ma’am,” the taller one answers meekly.
“Thank you, Enid and Aspen.” I nod in their direction. “I apologize for my rudeness. You didn’t catch me on my best day.”
Eloree’s green eyes well with tears, and she turns from me quickly, so I don’t see them spill. “It’s been an honor, ma’am,” she says, then hurries out the door.
I’m afraid waiting will be its own form of torture, but the moment Eloree leaves, two large guards step into the room. One holds a delicate glass vial containing a few drops of silvery liquid. “We’ll force you if you don’t take it willingly,” the guard says in a tired sort of way that implies he’d really rather not.
I keep my face blank as I extend my hand. He drops the vial into my palm. I’m surprised to find it’s ice cold.
