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The head servant led Anthea through several stone corridors to the shared bathing area for the servants. It was currently unoccupied—she was thankful for that. The expanse was filled with large stone bathtubs separated by linen screens and towering white pillars.
“The water is always warm,” Miriel said, a hint of pride creeping into her voice as she pointed to one of the bathtubs filled with steaming water. “Our mages see to it. And soap is provided on the shelves there.” She gestured toward a corner laden with neatly stacked bars of soap. “Prince Endreth has instructed that you clean up, eat, and then I shall take you to him in the afternoon.” The softness that had graced her voice had been replaced with a clipped, somewhat severe tone. “Change into this when you are done here.” She handed Anthea a maroon dress, neatly folded.
“Thank you.”
Miriel only nodded in response before leaving her to follow her instructions.
The sensation of warm water enveloping her chilled, weary body was comforting. Anthea chose a soap that smelled faintly of pine, its aromatic scent a soothing balm against her frayed nerves. She scrubbed her body, washing away not just the physical grime, but also the lingering scent of her own vomit that had been haunting her senses. She had been so harsh with Ari. Would that be her sister’s last memory of her?
No.
She couldn’t think like that.
Once she felt clean, she stepped out of the bath and slipped into the fresh dress Miriel had given her. It was a simple garment made from soft, breathable fabric that felt feather-light against her skin. Dyed a deep maroon, it was adorned with golden sigils embroidered along the hems. The dress was a bit long on her, the hem touching the ground.
Anthea traced her steps back to the servants’ eating area. She looked around, trying to pinpoint where she could get some food. Her best guess was from the kitchen. It was connected to the eating area via an open stone archway. She walked through it noticing the trays laden with unfamiliar foods on a small worn table. There was a variety of flatbread, an assortment of unrecognizable vegetables, a pot of stew exuding an enticing aroma, and a steaming pot of tea.
“Excuse me. Where can I get a plate?” Anthea gave a friendly smile to an elven maid chopping vegetables.
The maid pointed to a far wall, where a large dish cabinet was.
“Thank you.” She tried to catch the maid’s eyes again, but she had already turned her focus back to her task. So it seemed to be a cold welcome. She grabbed a plate and a couple of pieces of bread, not thinking she could stomach anything else. Looking around, she spotted a large pitcher filled with water. Anthea poured herself a glass and drank it right there next to the water station. She did the same with the second glass, the third she decided to take with her. Walking back to the dining tables, she felt the weight of scrutinizing gazes on her. But when she tried to catch anyone’s eyes, they turned away quickly.
The bread was soft and tangy. For now, she chose to ignore the unnerving attention, instead focusing on her meal and hoping her stomach wouldn’t rebel against the unfamiliar cuisine. She would work on the attitudes of the servants later. She would find allies later.
Upon finishing her meal, she slowly walked back to her room and sank into her bed, her gaze unfocused as it settled on the small wooden table in front of her. Was she losing her mind? How could this be? Everything felt so real . . .
Anthea brought her hands up to her face, rubbing her temples. Real or not—it was definitely incredibly bizarre. She hadn’t seen any other humans—only her. And she couldn’t ignore the servants’ obvious curiosity at her presence. Her thoughts circled back to the conversation she’d had with Endreth and Aegonar. It was clear there was more to their story. Plain curiosity with her supposed immunity—she didn’t buy it—there had to be more. They had accepted the fact she was from somewhere else way too easily. Did they know something? She needed to find out just how invested they were in her cooperation. Just how valuable they thought she was to them. Anthea closed her eyes, a new sense of resolve replacing the confusion and fear that had gripped her before. She would find out what they knew, what they wanted. And then, she would find a way to use it to get home. There had to be a way for her to get home—she couldn’t allow herself to think otherwise.
In the evening, after another lonely meal for Anthea, Miriel escorted her through the castle corridors. They stopped at an impressive set of white wooden doors. With a quick glance at Anthea, the elf knocked thrice before pushing them open.
Endreth was sitting behind an enormous table of finely polished wood. He had looked up from a book as they had entered, his gaze moving from Miriel to Anthea, lingering on the latter, taking in her appearance, her new dress—the maroon and gold matching the colors of the prince’s impeccably tailored jacket.
“It suits you,” Endreth said, while getting up from his chair.
She felt a spike of irritation at his casual remark about the servant’s attire on her, but held her tongue. This was not the moment to challenge him. Not yet.
Endreth dismissed Miriel with a nod, and turned his attention back to her. “And that horrid smell is finally gone. That’s a relief.”
She ignored him, turning away from him and facing the wide, arched window that framed a mesmerizing view. The sight of two large moon-like objects hanging in the sky caught her off guard once again. She had thought it had been a fragment of her imagination. Looking closer, she noticed three more moonlike objects in the distance, all in varying sizes.
“The moons,” she whispered as she stepped closer to the window.
“The moons,” Endreth echoed, his voice holding a note of impatience. “We have seven of them. Now, will you pay attention, or do I need to compete with celestial bodies for it?” Anthea felt the prince’s eyes on her, his irritation palpable. She noted it, storing away his reaction. He didn’t like being ignored, that was good to know.
“Celestial bodies would win, Prince Endreth.” She turned toward him, faking an innocent smile on her lips. One she had used many times with difficult clients.
Endreth’s eyes narrowed. “We are to meet the king of the Crimson court, my father, Endoral Silvarthiel.” He studied her reaction for a brief moment. Anthea kept her smile in place, her eyes on his face. “He is already aware of your peculiar situation. There is no need to act as my slave in his presence,” the prince added, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall.
Relief washed over her, but it was quickly replaced by a new wave of apprehension. Meeting the king—it sounded daunting.
“However, I advise you to remain obedient, address him as my king, and bow your head when you first meet him. My father does not tolerate disrespect or disobedience. You will address him correctly!”
Anthea nodded—she could play the gracious guest. She had done it before in her own world, dealing with insufferable clients and demanding bosses. She could do it here. Her fingers brushed over a glass orb on one of the cluttered shelves. “Why are we meeting the king?” She had moved to the large bookcase that adorned one wall of the study—the unusual trinkets on it piquing her interest.
“My father wishes to see your immunity to magic firsthand.”
Anthea frowned, her fingers tracing the cool surface of the orb. “Is that all? I’ve noticed there are no other humans in the Crimson court’s servant’s quarters. Makes one wonder . . .”
