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"Do not think for an instant that I've so easily forgotten about you, girl," she hisses. "I'll have you wed before you can poison my son against me any further. Is that understood?"
Her reminder of my imminent betrothal to Lord Payne is unnecessary as I’ve barely had a chance to forget. Not wanting to provoke her further, I nod once.
Moving to clear the dishes, Merelda stands and steps into my path, giving me no choice but to glance up at her. I hate the way victory seems to have settled into her features.
"In fact," she says, "Lord Payne will be arriving within the hour. Apparently, he'd like to ... take a look at his future wife before coming to an agreement on your worth. Speaking of, we must see what we can do about your appearance."
With that, she reaches out to grab me. I wince as her fingers dig into the hollows of my shoulders. If only it were the first time that she’s held me in place in such a manner.
Her eyes move over my body as she takes me in. With a disappointed sigh, she shakes her head.
“Heaven help me, I’m not sure there’s enough time in the day to make you presentable, girl.”
Clicking her tongue at me, she grabs my wrist, dragging me out of the dining room. For a moment, I consider fighting her, but I think better of it as she pulls me toward her small private room and curiosity gets the better of me.
I'd only ever been inside once, and only then for a second before Merelda had found me and dragged me out screaming by a handful of my hair. That had been nearly six years ago now.
Opening the door, she pushes me inside before stepping in and slamming the door shut behind us.
The room is nothing like what I remember. Where shelves upon shelves of strange herbs and mixtures had once been, they now stood empty save for a pitcher, a piece of cloth, a few small jars, and a silver comb.
In the center of the room is a wooden tub, half-filled with water. A small chest is tucked away in the far corner of the room, and beside it an empty chair.
With a heavy sigh, Merelda steps past me to drag the chair closer to the tub. Her eyes lift to me, and with yet another sigh, she shakes her head.
I can't help but frown as I glance down at myself, taking in the simple dress and my limp braid. I'd never worried about my looks before, they'd been the least of my concerns over the years ... but now, I almost hope that my father was lying when he'd called me beautiful.
Perhaps, if I'm lucky and the gods can find it in their hearts to pity me, Lord Payne will find me wanting.
"Sit," Merelda orders, turning to grab the pitcher and washcloth off the shelves.
I move to do as I'm told without a second thought, not wanting to invite any more of her anger toward me. Turning back to me, she scowls.
"Don't be so daft, girl," she huffs. "Undress and get into the tub. The chair is for me."
My cheeks burn with heat at the thought of disrobing in front of her. I open my mouth to argue, to beg her to let me wash myself, but then I decide better.
Surely, begging would only make things worse.
Rising slowly to my feet, I work the tight knot of my apron before moving on to the lacing of my dress. Far too soon, I'm letting both fall to my feet in soft pools of old fabric.
I start to step into the tub, but Merelda stops me, grabbing my arm to turn me toward her. Her eyes rake over my body, and I want nothing more than to cross my arms over my chest to hide myself from her ruthless gaze.
She circles me, appraising me like a piece of livestock before finally gesturing toward the bath. Reaching out, she cups each of my breasts in her hand, as if weighing their worth.
"Small, but they'll have to do. Get in. Thank the heavens I had the good sense to have a new dress made for you," she says. "At least it'll help make up or some of what you lack in feminine beauty, if only through distraction."
I step into the tub, a shiver instantly racing across my skin.
"It's cold."
"Good, it'll bring out a healthy flush in your skin. Now, sit!"
I lower myself into the water, trying to allow my body a chance adjust, but I'm not given the chance.
Merelda leans over to dip the pitcher into the water before pouring icy water over my head. I barely have a chance to gasp in shock before she's wet the washcloth and slapped it against my skin, causing me to flinch.
Her cold laugh fills the room as she attacks my skin, and I have to brace myself against the edge of the tub. I flinch under the roughness of her hands.
