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Reaching for the nightgown, I ignore their muttering and complaints. Slipping out of the simple dress I was given. I pull on the nightgown, my back to the room to better block out their words. It's buttery soft, unlike anything I've ever worn before. Annoyance pricks me as I glance about at the other woman. They turn their noses up at the food and clothing we've been giving, the beds not enough for them. Yet, it's the most I've ever had. The finest clothing and the richest food.
"I'm Lyra," a soft voice says, jolting me from my thoughts.
Blinking, I take in the woman watching me. Her large blue eyes are kind as she pulls on her own nightgown before setting about braiding her long blonde hair. She watches me, waiting for my name, I realize.
"Rose."
She smiles, her eyes lighting up, "It's nice to meet you."
Her pleasantries surprise me. It's as though we aren't crowded into a room full of women spending their last hours complaining instead of anything else. I note that Lyra hasn't said a single complaint as she finishes braiding her hair and glances about.
"It's very stunning here," she says, her voice soft. "It's not quite what I was expecting, but that's for the best."
"It is a very pretty castle."
She nods, her eyes going distant for a moment as she sits on the bed. Around us, the other women pull on their own nightgowns and braid their hair for bed.
"I'm surprised the prince couldn't even send a maid to help us," the woman in the bed across from mine mutters.
Next to her, another woman replies, "After the rude welcome, I'm not surprised. The least the prince could do is ensure that we're comfortable while we are here."
Lyra lets out a soft snort that draws my attention to her. She meets my eyes, and I have to fight back a grin. I realize that at least I'm not the only one that takes our situation seriously. If I weren't planning on escaping, I think Lyra and me would be great friends.
11
Rose
The sun has just started to paint the sky soft oranges outside the window when Ms. Thompson wakes us. Around me, the other women groan about the early hour. I say nothing as I slip from the cot. It's the most comfortable thing I've slept in, and I'm ashamed of how I'm almost tempted to just crawl back in and let Ms. Thompson pull me out.
"At the ends of your beds, girl," Ms. Thompson says.
Lyra catches my eye as we move to obey the woman. She raises an eyebrow in questioning, and I shrug in return. I can only imagine what is in store for us this morning. Ms. Thompson works her way down the row. She inspects each woman before nodding to the maid behind her. The woman is then stripped, cleaned, and handed a new dress. I frown as Ms. Thompson finally reaches Lyra.
"Name and age," Ms. Thompson says.
"Lyra. Eighteen."
Ms. Thompson nods, "Very well. Your hair, wear it down when you are summoned before the prince."
With that, she moves to me. Her frown deepens as she meets my eyes. I say nothing as she comes to stand before me.
"Don't get too comfortable," Ms. Thompson warns me. "The prince will have no interest in you."
I bite back my response. It's not as though I asked to be brought here, though I'm sure she knows that. I sense she knows far more than she lets on. She would have to to survive the castle that seems to thrive on destroying females. Meeting her eyes, I get a flash of something familiar in her eyes.
"Remember your place, girl," she tells me before moving away.
I'm not sure about my place. I never have been. Does she mean to remind me that I'm barely above a street urchin in her mind? Or is that her way of telling me to see my way out of here through the window? I glance at the window, longing tugging me toward it. It's been less than a day, and already I feel trapped in the room with the others.
Before I can move toward the window, a maid appears. She has a basin that smells strongly of herbs in her hands. Setting it down, she takes me by surprise as she reaches for me. I realize that it's my turn to be washed, but I still hesitate.
"The herbs are to help hide your smell," Lyra tells me.
I catch her eye, realizing that she saw my hesitation. Nodding, I glance back to the basin. I'm sure that as a useless human, I have quite the smell to the wolves. Part of me wants to refuse the water, but I know that'll just land me in front of Ms. Thompson. I get the sense that the woman doesn't like me and would probably get a small thrill out of getting to punish me. Biting back my refusal, I let the maid undress me. The water is cold as she sponges my body, and I close my eyes, feeling my cheeks flame. I hate feeling as though I can't even do the most basic thing for myself.
Distracting myself with thoughts of leaving this place far behind, I get through the bath. When the maid reaches for my hair, I gently step away. I'm not about to have her arrange it in the same bun as the others. Instead, I braid my hair into several long braids before braiding them together. The same style I've done for ages. It gives me the sense that I still have some control over my life while I'm trapped here.
"We match," Lyra says as I pull on the simple gray dress that was handed to me.
