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That word hit her thoughts hard. Alone. Not free. Danesse no longer offered freedom, and she was no longer sure what freedom was. The ability to do as she pleased? She was losing that, too. Freedom wasn't just choice any longer, she realized as she sank shoulder-deep into the wooden tub. Freedom was the way her heart fluttered when he'd kissed her, when his fingers tangled in her hair, when her soul was set alight by the soft sweetness of his words. She wouldn't taste that—or him—again.
When Thea had washed, she reconsidered the honeysuckle oil. It was a foolish idea, the whims of a love-struck and naive girl. Yet they were still to meet Prince Rilion, and she still needed his help. Allowing herself some feminine charm could be beneficial.
As she dried her hair and begrudgingly donned her grubby travel clothes, she wondered if there had been any point. Perfume wouldn't hide the dirt.
Her assigned guest room had been arranged to welcome her back. A tray of dried fruits with a pitcher of some sort of cider waited on the dark wood table, just in case she'd grown hungry. A variety of dresses lay on the bed, giving her pause.
“There ought to be something there to fit you,” the maid said as she bustled in with an armful of wood. A little fire burned in a narrow fireplace in the corner of the room, chasing the chill out of the air, and she left the wood beside it so the flames could be fed through the evening. “His Highness said milord and milady would look a good bit different after freshening up, so don't worry. The prince keeps interesting company. We're all used to it by now.”
Thea couldn't help her thoughtful frown. “Is Prince Rilion here already?”
“Just arrived. Settling a horse for milord in the stable out back. He'll be in to join the two of you before long. Shall I help with your hair?”
“Please.” She couldn't fathom why Rilion would betray their illusions so readily, but she wouldn't pretend to understand the machinations of royals or assassins.
The maid closed the door while Thea selected a dress. The green one drew her attention, but the color made her hesitate. It was similar to a shade she could accomplish with cocklebur, but who knew what had been used? The fabric she'd used for Gil's cloak had been one she dyed herself, a mixture of crushed flowers and copperas.
“You've heard the stories too, have you?” the maid asked. “Don't worry. Ranor has mountains aplenty, but we're sparse on mining facilities. Our mountains are good for rock and not much else.”
Reassured, she shed her dusty clothing, grateful to have it back off her newly clean skin. “You believe the rumors about dyes making people ill, then?”
“Oh, it was all the gossip about Danesse. The king's always refused to import textiles, saying it would be bad for the wool market here. He's been looking to push exports instead, since Ranor's artisans can prove our dyes are safe.” The maid took the dress from the bed and helped Thea into it. It buttoned up the back, an unfamiliar style and one obviously meant for noblewomen. She would have never been able to get into the dress on her own.
“Is there demand for brighter dyes in Danesse?” Those she had experience with were made primarily with plant-based components, though she'd tried her hand at a few blends using earth-based pigments.
“That, I couldn't say. Working for the royal family, I already see the best there is to be had. There's no shortage of bright colors in royal wardrobes, but I'm sure you know that.” After the last button was secured, the maid crossed to a small vanity where a polished silver mirror hung against the wall. She fetched a brush and ran her finger over the coarse boar bristles before she pulled back the vanity's stool. “Come, sit. Don't want to keep His Highness waiting.”
Thea doubted they'd wait for her. Rilion's business with Gil had been delayed enough already.
The maid worked the tangles from her hair with a deft hand, then produced a bowl of pins from a drawer. She wove strands above Thea's ears into braids and pinned them together at the back of her head, covering the meeting point with carefully positioned curls. “There. That's suitable for dinner with a prince. Come, milady, I'll show you to the dining hall. Cook will be ready for me to serve things by now.”
“Thank you.” At the height of her father's success, Thea's family had hired servants. Now, that seemed such a distant memory that she couldn't recall how she was meant to reply. She checked her reflection once, then made herself follow the maid. Her bare face was far too plain. A hint of something on her cheeks or lips would not have been amiss, but there was nothing more to do.
Thea smoothed her hands down the front of the dress and steeled her resolve. She would meet with the prince and speak of her needs, and with fortune, the night would bring peace.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Voices carried through the house.Thea recognized Gil's, muted as it was. His voice was strong, the cadence of his speech comfortable. It always was. By comparison, Rilion sounded soft and uncertain, but that could have been because of the matters they discussed. Both men fell silent when she appeared in the doorway with the maid. Her dress made her self-conscious, though she knew the cut was flattering. The high-collared neck turned down like the coats in the outpost village, exposing a panel of gold silk that matched the trim on the sleeves. A band of gold ran around the waist, too, accentuating the shape of her hips.
Gil had changed clothing, too. The soft gray of his shirt made his eyes stand out, and if his hair was darker, it was only because it was still wet. She didn't know how he'd found time to wash, but he was good at making her wonder. He offered her a slight smile.
“Yes,” Rilion said, indicating she'd interrupted their conversation. “Shall I retrieve it? I think you'll find it humorous.”
Thea raised a brow, but Gil's smile widened. “Please do,” he said.
The prince shook his head and waved a hand before he excused himself from the dining hall. That he hadn't greeted her left Thea uncomfortable, but the way Gil inspected her from head to foot chased away her worries. He liked what he saw. She recognized it in his eyes.
“I have just finished explaining why you are here,” Gil said when his attention returned to her face. “He is displeased with my chivalry, but there's nothing to be done or undone now. We shall discuss your residency over dinner.”
“And your mission?”
His smile faded. “After that. In private.”
Of course. She tried to smile back, but faltered. There was no point in trying to hide her disappointment. Somewhere along the line, she'd begun to assume he would eventually tell her everything. Now, standing in a guest house belonging to the Ranorsh royal family and waiting for the prince to return, she had no choice but to admit she still knew nothing of value. She'd been given a vague sense of what his mission entailed, knew he'd taken it upon himself to pursue it, but nothing beyond that. How foolish it had been to think she had earned knowledge.
“Look, see?” Prince Rilion said as he returned. “You can't deny it's funny.” He unfurled a piece of paper. A poster, Thea realized. Awantedposter.
Gil burst into laughter, a sound so deep and merry, it warmed her heart and spiraled her into dismay at the same time, for her face was the one emblazoned on the decree.
