Page 22 of Nocturn

They inclined their heads, and she turned on her heel, leaving with steps that echoed off the wooden floor.

Training . . . that was what she meant in the carriage. My pulse raced in my ears.

The woman Lady Drusilla called Venus approached, the bottom of her long skirt swishing and bumping into my leg. She reached forward and clasped the bottom of my jaw. She scanned my face, turning my head from side to side as she hummed.

“You have the look of a Southerner,” she murmured. “But still pretty.”

My back stiffened at that comment. Southerners were known for having darker complexions and broader features. The antithesis of all the women I had seen with rosy cheeks, sharper lines to their faces, and pale skin.

Instead of replying to her statement, I studied the cracks lining her too-powdered face where the surface was caving in upon itself into little fissures. She stepped back so her sickly sweet breath no longer brushed against my lips and took a turn around me, groping me as she went. I stiffened when she palmed my hips and my bottom. I flinched as she collided with a tender bruise. My throat swelled from humiliation and pain.

“With a nice wash and her hair nicely primped, she’ll do.” She nodded and took another step back. A creak echoed behind me followed by footsteps and harsh stomping. Venus looked over my shoulder with a smile. “Miss Blane, take her to bathe and commence the training.” Venus strode around me. “Mr. Dod,” she crowed, heels clicking as she approached the slim, mustached man who had entered.

An arm wound around my elbow, and she jerked me forward, and I followed Miss Blane. Her steps were quick and clipped. My pulse bounced to life, quickening. I searched for the officer and I had an odd comfort that Egan walked behind us. The other officer extricated himself from a blonde to follow.

Miss Blane walked me toward a thin entrance large enough to only fit one of us at a time. She angled herself, then pulled me through behind her and into a chamber with crimson everything. Crimson curtains with frills at the top. Another lounging settee, much like the one we’d passed upon entering. She urged me left, up an incline. My steps thudded over the wood leading into a passageway. We entered the first doorway where there were multiple stalls.

Turning toward me, she said, “Clothes off.”

I stared at her for a beat, struggling to register her order. She continued watching me expectantly. My stomach growled audibly. A fresh flush of heat worked through my face.

Her lips twitched.

“Come now, we have somewhere to be, so.” She clapped her hands together. Both guards were inside and she wanted me bare? I looked toward them, my eyes wide. Her eyebrows furrowed. “She was not jesting. You are going to need a lot of work.” She sighed, scanning my face, then her expression softened and she neared. “Look, I understand how you must be feeling, but this will not end well for you. You need to understand how to handle a man.” She was close to whispering now. “Especially when considering who you will be serving.”

This was as serious as I’d seen her.

Her lips thinned. “Master it, and gain what you want.”

I knew I must learn the Warlord further than what I learned observing his temperament at the Citadel.

She told me how—using my body.

I stayed silent. There was nothing of use I could add to that.

The seriousness on her face faded, and she stepped back, tugging at the collar of the sleeping gown. “Get this off or I’ll have the guards help me out.”

The threat sent me into action, and I tugged down my bloomers, kicking them to the side. I gripped the dress, my hands trembling and refusing to continue.

“Miss Blane,” I whispered.

She sighed and clicked her tongue. “This is the easiest part.” Someone who looked to have the same annum rotations as I had should not be so jaded. “Fine, go on.”

My shoulders relaxed, and I backed into the stall. The walls blocked the officer’s sight. She reached for the knob attached to the tiled wall.

“They’re not heated, so brace yourself.”

That was all the warning I had. She turned on a spout. Icy water spat from it. Goose flesh rose along my limbs and I shivered. Miss Blane disappeared from my immediate view. I tensed, anxious, but it did not last because she returned with a washing cloth and a bar of soap. I took both from her outstretched hand. A flowery aroma reached my nose. I sniffed it, filling my nose with the pungent, sweet scent of rosah leaves mixed with the earthier, floral smell of the lavan flower.

I rubbed the soap into the cloth, placing it under the cold water until bubbles formed.

“I’ll fetch you something to dry yourself with.”

Miss Blane left, and I began to scrub from my arms to my neck. I reached under the sleeping gown stuck to my skin to scrub between my thighs and down my legs until my skin was raw. Miss Blane returned and hung the towel on the hook outside the stall. She stepped forward and poked her hand in to offer me something.

I took it without taking care, and it sliced my hand. Hissing, I flinched away.

“Careful!”