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Cora made no further argument. By the time her hair was combed, her scalp felt like it had been grated off. But when she ran her hands through her silken tresses, she thought perhaps the torment had been worth it.
“We must hurry,” Lurel said as she ushered Cora out of the tub and behind a dressing screen. “Your bath took far longer than I expected and you have a meeting to attend.”
Lurel left Cora to dry herself with a plush towel, then returned with her arms full of cream-colored silk and linen, which turned out to be a shift, corset, petticoats, and stockings. Cora’s cheeks heated as the girl took Cora’s towel and began dressing her in undergarments as if it were the most normal thing in the world. She supposed it was for a lady’s maid.
“A meeting with whom?” Cora asked as Lurel flounced off again, this time returning with the gold taffeta gown the seamstresses had left behind.
“With King Verdian, of course,” Lurel said.
“I’m meeting with King Verdian?” Her voice was muffled as Lurel pulled the dress over Cora’s head.
“Of course. Hasn’t anyone told you?”
When Cora’s head popped above the bodice, she gave the girl a pointed look. “You’re the first person I’ve had any lengthy conversation with who isn’t an inquisitor.”
Lurel paused, her face going a shade paler. “Oh. I hadn’t realized—well, there I go being a rotten lady’s maid again. No wonder Mareleau offered me up to you. I may be her cousin, but she doesn’t like me much.”
I wonder why, she thought with sarcasm, but chastised herself. Lurel may be a bit vague but she was kind. That’s more than she could say for the inquisitors. They had been some of the most abrupt, skeptical people she’d ever had to converse with.
Once Lurel secured the laces at the back of the dress, she rounded the front and assessed Cora through slitted lids. “It will have to do. The dress is a bit too modest for your age, but it was the only one that would fit without being hemmed first. It belonged to Mareleau when she was eleven.”
Cora glanced down at the gold and cream taffeta, the ivory lace at the hem and sleeves. The bodice was high enough to leave no sign of cleavage, but it wasn’t terribly modest. Then again, her ideas of fashion were likely out of date.
Lurel’s words suddenly dawned. “You're saying I have the body of an eleven-year-old?”
“An eleven-year-oldMareleau,” Lurel corrected. “She’s much taller and curvier than you are. You really ought to wear a crinoline or a bustle—but we don’t have time for that. Your hair! Oh, it looks terrible.”
She wasn’t sure if she should feel offended by Lurel’s comments, but she pursed her lips and let the girl finish her flustered ministrations.
* * *
Cora felt morelike a peacock than a princess as she left the room. Her hair had been woven into four braids that had been pinned around the crown of her head and dressed in feathered ornaments to hide that her tresses were still damp from her bath. Rouge colored her lips and cheeks, but she’d managed to convince Lurel to forgo the face powder and kohl. She hadn’t been this overdressed since she was a child and never had she been expected to wear cosmetics.
A pair of guards flanked her as they escorted her down the elegant halls of Verlot Palace. She tried her best not to gawk at the splendor around her, but this was the first time she’d been allowed out of her room all week. Equally as distracting were the many curious eyes that looked her way, the courtiers who stared shamelessly as she passed.
The guards stopped outside a pair of double doors. Her heart raced as they opened them, and she fisted her hands in the folds of her skirt. She found the room beyond to be a study, with the familiar face of King Verdian standing behind a large desk. He looked different from how he had on the battlefield. Instead of short gray hair, he now wore a powdered wig, and instead of armor, he bore a regal gold and white coat emblazoned with Selay’s rose sigil over his breast. An imposing-looking woman sat to his left, her golden hair arranged in a tight coronet, lips tightly pursed, eyes hard and assessing.
The guards closed the doors behind Cora, and she dipped into a curtsy several seconds too late.
“Princess Aveline,” King Verdian said, tone flat, “this is Dowager Queen Bethaeny.”
Cora blinked a few times. She’d assumed the woman was Verdian’s wife, Queen Helena. Instead, it was…Teryn’s mother. Now that she reassessed the woman, she saw some similarities between her and the boy she knew. While Teryn favored his late father’s looks with his green eyes and dark hair, his tresses glinted gold in the sun, a similar shade to the queen’s.
More surprising than the unexpected presence of Queen Bethaeny, though, was the figure that rose from his seat. She hadn’t noticed him behind the high leather back of his chair, but as her brother faced her with a worn, tired smile, she couldn’t look anywhere else. Her heart skipped and lurched, just how it had when she’d first seen him at Ridine Castle over a month ago. It seemed her emotions still didn’t know what to make of Dimetreus. For too many years, she’d hated him for believing she’d killed his wife. She’d despised him for ordering her to a dungeon cell without remorse. Only after she’d been captured by Duke Morkai had she realized her brother was being controlled by the mage.
At the end of the battle, her brother had been surrounded by soldiers, called a traitor for having attempted to conquer Selay and Menah. Dimetreus, however, hadn’t had a clue as to what the accusations were about. Morkai’s death had severed his magic and the multiple glamours he’d woven. Once the glamours had been lifted, Dimetreus—and all the others who’d been freed from the mage’s hold—had been confused. Lost. His memories a tangle of truth and lies.
Cora still blamed her brother for many things, primarily for letting Morkai into their lives in the first place and not being strong enough to withstand the mage’s glamour. But she knew he wouldn’t have waged war on Selay and Menah if he hadn’t been under Morkai’s spell.
At least, she hoped that was the case. It was the gamble she’d taken, the sole reason she was here and not far, far away, basking in the solitude of the woods. If Dimetreus was innocent, he deserved to keep his crown, and she owed it to their kingdom to ensure that happened.
She assessed him, noting the dark circles that still hung beneath his eyes, the wrinkles he was too young to have, and the thin gray hair that should have been lustrous and black. These telltale signs of Morkai’s abuse fueled her conviction. There was no way he’d have endured Morkai’s sorcery willingly. Hewasinnocent.
“Aveline,” he said as he walked toward her, voice strangled. His dark eyes glistened with tears, reminding her too much of how they’d looked when under the sheen of the glamour. He extended his arms, inviting her into an embrace, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.
A flash of memory shot through her, of him storming into Queen Linette’s room, of the rage on his face when he’d turned to Cora and blamed her for his wife’s death…
Slowly, he lowered his arms and gave her a knowing nod. “I’m so sorry, my dear sister.”
