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The queen gave a polite chuckle. The gown she’d grabbed was a boring washed out green. The fabric had faded and the stitching was slightly loose from being worn one too many times, or perhaps it had been taken off too roughly one too many times. She couldn’t be certain. She tried not to think about it.
Burke stayed turned away while she found her undergarments and slipped into the dress. Mentally she patted herself on the back for this small victory. Ambrose held the top of the gown to her chest and only needed a single step to reach him. With one dainty finger, she tapped him on the shoulder.
“Yes, Queen Ambrose?” he said without moving.
“Now you opt for formality?” She must have really gotten under his skin.
His relaxed demeanor he’d shown slipped back into his mask of a soldier. Straight backed, squared shoulders, and hands clasped behind him, he did not sway as he responded. “My sincerest apologies if I was too casual with you.”
He didn’t sound like he meant it. He continued despite the snort she gave. “Are you covered?”
“As covered as one can be without the lacings of her dress being finished.”
His head dipped as if he was assuring himself of something before he turned to face her. Ambrose offered him her back. The sharp exhale of his breath tickled against her skin followed by the barest caress of his fingers as he weaved the bindings into place. His work was quiet, quick, and above all gentle. Even as he tightened the dress, he didn’t heave the ribbons as tight as a servant might.
“See,” he said, almost quietly, “you didn’t need anyone other than me.”
She spun to face him. If she were not the queen and he was not so loyal to Queen Ophelia she might have given him a gracious bow. However, queens bowed to no one, least of all the men who broke their hearts.
“Thank you for your service.”
“Shall I lead the way?” He kept one arm bent behind his back, with the other he offered his elbow.
“If I can dress myself, I can surely walk myself.” She lifted her chin.
Ambrose made for her staff first. Her fingers curled around the smooth wood that never blemished no matter how she treated it and the vines inside its glass globe twisted in response to her nearness.
Color seeped into the bottom of the gown raising the tone from an earthy forest color to a vibrant emerald green. Stitches tightened and Burke’s loose laces synched her waist. What was worn and unfit for a queen, in a matter of seconds, turned to a silken masterpiece made for her body and hugged her curves.
Burke followed her to the arrangement of flowers he’d set out when he’d arrived, watching as she yanked a red rose from the vase, stripped it over its thorns, and tucked it behind her ear. A defiant bit of red to complete the outfit.
He sighed, knowing. Every step he made was intentional. He didn’t allow himself to walk with the silent steps she knew he was capable of. It was reassuring to know where he was at all times. Even though the reminder that he could be swift enough she didn’t notice him still made her wary.
They made it through upside down rooms, rooms made entirely out of sweets, rooms painted top to bottom like a living breathing map of Pasia, and several other feats of magic. Sometimes it felt as if she was in the pits of the castle, somewhere several levels below where she began, but then she’d step out into the halls and outer rooms where the walls were made of glass only to realize she hadn’t gone nearly as far as she thought.
Though her body wanted to sag into her seat, Ambrose made sure to lower herself with a careful ease. Ophelia sat at a small table set for two. She beamed at Ambrose, pointing down to her plate full of toasted biscuits smothered in white gravy.
“Look, Ro, I had them make your favorite.”
That’s a pathetic excuse of an apology for locking me away all night, she wanted to snarl at her sister. But she knew that was not how you won the game.
“Aw, my growling stomach thanks you.”
Burke turned to walk away but Ophelia lifted a hand, beckoning him back.
“Do grab another chair and you can join us.” She snapped her fingers at the nearest servant who melted away from their spot at the wall and appeared at her side faster than any other servant Ambrose had ever seen. “Please have a plate made for Bee. Whatever he wishes. Oh! Blueberry pancakes? Like your grandma used to make?”
Burke nodded but said nothing further. Ophelia sat at the head of the table, Ambrose at her side. Burke set his chair down opposite Ambrose. If it had been just the two of them he’d likely have slung an arm over the back and lounged in the way you do with friends but instead, he rested his hands in his lap and looked straight ahead.
He was probably trying to imagine burning a hole right through Ambrose’s forehead.
“This feels like old times, doesn’t it?” Ophelia tossed a small berry between her red painted lips.
“Just like old times.” Ambrose nodded, trying harder than she should not to hold her fork with too much tension. If she wasn’t careful, she’d have clenched fists all day.
Her sister glanced between them, her smile faltering for a moment. “Wait? Is this awkward for the two of you? Since you used to be athing?”
“It’s not awkward for me.” Burke shrugged.
