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“That must’ve been an honored position—as the Queen’s lady’s maid.”
“It was. Queen Lynoria was a kind-hearted soul. I learned much during my time with her.”
After the bath, Adaria began to work on Anthea’s hair, carefully combing and styling it into an intricate updo, loose curls framing her face. Anthea watched as her gentle hands skillfully moved through her hair, twining and twisting the brown strands. Every brush of her fingers, every pull and knot, was done with a precision that she could only marvel at.
“How did she . . .? The Queen. I mean, what happened?”
The elf shook her head, her voice firm but kind. “It is not my place to say. The wounds are still fresh for many, especially Prince Endreth.”
Anthea nodded. She was even more curious now—she would have to ask Endreth at some point.
Then Adaria started to put the chains on her—the golden collar with the crimson stone was back on her neck, attached to it were several delicate golden chains cascading down her chest. The elf connected each chain to a dark red corset that cinched at her waist. If this was the dress she had to wear—Anthea was grateful for the help—she couldn’t fathom putting it on herself.
“These garments are not easy to wear,” the elven maid commented with a compassionate note in her voice.
The skirt was a sheer, flimsy thing in the same dark red hue as the corset. It draped over her hips and floated around her legs, creating a mesmerizing illusion of shimmering crimson as she moved. The slits in the skirt showcased her legs, and Anthea couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.
Once Adaria stepped back, Anthea allowed herself a glance in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Dressed like this, she looked every bit the part she was supposed to play—the plaything of a prince.
21
Anthea stepped out of her room. Aegonar’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took in her appearance, but he quickly turned his focus on his younger brother’s reaction. There was a shadow of concern on the heir’s face as he watched Endreth.
The younger prince stood frozen. His eyes traveled the length of her, a certain desperation flickering within them. The façade he had carefully constructed seemed to crumble before her eyes, his usual detachment replaced by an undisguised devastation.
“Endreth.” Anthea crossed her hands on her chest. “What’s that look about?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just . . . you really look the part now.” He stepped closer to her, his hand briefly grazing her upper arm. “Do not stray more than two steps away from me.”
She gave him a nod, her heart pounding in her chest. Despite her unease about the day ahead, his reaction was strangely comforting. She wasn’t alone in this—he was with her every step of the way, just as he had promised.
“Do not do anything reckless,” Aegonar drawled. “Remember the stakes.” He wasn’t looking at her as he said it—he was looking at Endreth.
Anthea followed Endreth like a shadow tied to his heel. Their path took them through the opulent maze of the castle gardens. The sweet scent of blossoms, ripe and heavy, filled the air but did little to distract her from the uneasy spectacle unfolding around her. Humans, both young men and women, were displayed like living pieces of art amidst the splendor of flowering plants and golden fountains. Their painted bodies were adorned only in golden chains and glistening jewels. They were everywhere: strewn about the gardens, draped over marble benches, or posed as silent statues among the topiaries. A crude display of ownership and objectification that made her blood boil.
Her eyes followed the sound of pretentious laughter to Icarion, the king of the Cattleya court—he was lounging on an elaborately carved chaise lounge, surrounded by lavishly dressed elven men and women. His golden-brown hair was braided with shining jewelry, glinting under the sun. Icarion himself was a testament to the court’s principle of more is more. He wore a regal purple tunic, embroidered with gold threads, a lavish golden cape billowing around him. The accessories that adorned him were overbearing, rings studded with jewels on every finger, chains of gold and silver hanging from his neck, a crown with oversized lilac gemstones resting on his head. It was all too much, too extravagant, too vulgar. A bitter taste rose in Anthea’s mouth as she turned away from the sight of him.
“My friends,” Icarion boasted, “feel free to choose your nightly entertainment from my beautiful collection here. And should you wish to reward your guards, do not hesitate to inform me. After all, I am a generous host.”
Anthea clenched her fists—there’s nothing she could do, she had to remember that. She had to conserve her energy, her focus, for her primary goal—getting home.
She let her gaze wander through the sea of faces, high elves clad in an array of bright colors and glittering jewels, each outdoing the other in grandeur. Amid this riot of colors and decadence, her eyes fell upon a tall elven maiden talking with Aegonar—Anthea recognized her from the gathering at the Crimson court—Vanda, Icarion’s daughter.
Vanda’s fingers trailed slowly over Aegonar’s arm, tracing the sculpted muscles of his biceps with a familiarity that bordered on impudence. Her laughter echoed across the gardens, clear and high, carrying an air of giddy delight—golden brown hair cascaded in soft curls down to her back, catching the light and shimmering like spun silk. Her dress, a whisper of purple that hinted at the coming twilight, hugged her slender form. The bodice was adorned with golden pearls that traced a glittering path down to the lavish skirt.
Anthea narrowed her eyes. The resemblance to Icarion was unmistakable—the same elongated nose, the same high-arched eyebrows that seemed to constantly hint at amusement, the same molten gold eyes. And though her skin was paler than her father’s, it bore the same warm undertones, a golden tan that contrasted with the cool tones of her dress. Anthea wondered if their personalities matched as well. She dropped her eyes as Vanda looked straight at her, cursing herself for being so transparent, hoping the elven princess hadn’t caught her scrutiny or the distaste that had flickered across her face. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she focused on the ornate patterns on the mosaic ground, tracing them with her eyes. Anthea forced herself to maintain her submissive demeanor as she heard the light click of heeled shoes approaching. Vanda’s voice grew clearer and louder.
“Endreth.” Her voice dripped with sweetness. “I see you have brought your pet along. Such a pity, you could have just asked. My father has plenty he would have shared.”
“Endreth has always been . . . particular. He has never been fond of something someone else has touched.” Aegonar chuckled, the sound dark and foreboding.
Anthea stole a glance beneath her lashes. The pair was right in front of them. Vanda’s fingers traced circles on Aegonar’s broad shoulder as she tilted her head. “Oh, is that so?” she mused, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Then your brother is in luck. Just recently, the Iron legion found another human settlement hidden in the mountains. You know the Iron legion, they are not exactly known for their mercy—but they did spare some young and pretty ones. The market will be brimming with fresh additions.” She paused, letting the information hang heavily in the air. “So, if the Crimson court is in need of more . . . acquisitions, now would be an opportune time.”
Anthea’s breath caught as Endreth’s hand closed around the golden chains on her chest. She winced as he yanked her face toward him, making her rise onto her tiptoes. His voice was low, a snarl barely concealed beneath the surface. “I quite like this one, Vanda,” he sneered, his grip on the chains unwavering. “She is just so . . . docile.”
Then he was kissing her—a hard, rough press of his mouth against hers that was more for show than anything else. His lips were unforgiving, sealing away her gasp. She tasted the bitterness of the wine on his breath. Her mind reeled from the onslaught, from the suddenness of it all. She felt disoriented, overwhelmed, and entirely too vulnerable.
As quickly as it had started, it ended. Endreth pulled back, his hand falling from the chains to rest on her shoulder. She lowered her eyes, trying to catch her breath and regain her composure. Anthea knew what he was doing; he was playing the role, ensuring their cover wasn’t blown. The thought offered little consolation. She liked the feeling of his lips on her a bit too much.
