The room is modest, the simple wooden bed made up with crisp, white sheets that smell like starch.
“White?” I rasp, staring at them. “But Bahari’s color is blue …”
Finished turning them down, the barmaid smooths the new folds into place, averting my gaze. “Tradition, Mistress. They’re meant to showcase the evidence of a maiden’s broken virtue should somebody break in and try to …” she clears her throat, a deep blush pinching the apples of her cheeks.
Force their way between my legs.
A blunt reminder that I’ve sold my body to a complete stranger.
“Right,” I mutter bitterly. “Of course. What a silly question.”
“Is there anything else you need at the moment?” She fluffs the quilt draped over the end of the bed before sparking another lantern. “Can I draw you a bath?”
“I’ll sort myself out.” I offer her a small smile, suffocating under this thick oil of unease lining my chest cavity. “Thank you.”
She bobs a curtsey and turns to leave. The moment the door snicks shut my attention drags around the room again.
I don’t dash to the latrine to ease my overburdened bladder or begin running the bath, despite being covered in dirt, sweat, spume, and a mix of unfamiliar scents. Instead, I slide under the bed, running the tips of my fingers around the edges of all the floorboards until a splinter pierces me. I pare it back, snap it free, then wiggle out and tuck it beneath my pillow, sucking the swell of blood from my pinky.
Vanth caught me off guard. I refuse to let that happen again.
Inspecting the windows, I find them all sealed shut, bar the one in my washroom—high up and too small for most people to fit through. I leap off the latrine and take care of my business.
Twisting the tap, I fill the big brass tub, standing beside it as I watch the water tumble. I release a heavy sigh, my scratchy eyes, achy feet, and the twinge of pain in my lower back nothing compared to the bone-dead weight of my exhaustion.
Stripping down until my bare skin is exposed to the kissing steam, I move to the stone sink and grab a bar of soap, looking up at the small mirror hanging on the wall.
Frosted with fog, it reflects a blur of tan skin.
I lift my hand, swiping it across the glass, gasping at the reflection staring back at me—
Opaline skin …
Iridescent hair …
Glimmering freckles …
Crystal eyes that break my heart.
Cracks weave across my skin, peeling off to reveal the caustic blackness nesting below the surface.
A figure steps up behind me. Robust. Statuesque.
Beautiful.
Him.
The soap falls from my hand as I stare into lifeless eyes I don’t recognize.
“Rhor—”
He moves closer, and I swear I can feel his mighty presence pressed against my naked back. Can feel his powerful arm weave around my waist, hand threading between my thighs as he grips my throbbing heat.
I shudder, the sound snipped as a silver blade is whipped around and set upon my throat, dragged sideways in a brutal slice that cuts my voice and breath.
Blood gushes free, painting my bare breasts in a spill of red ribbons ...
I blink, shattering the illusion, heaving.
