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Stars above, how deep does this plan go, and who has King Travers prepared to take the blame?
My skin crawls with anxious pinpricks. I can’t sit around and wait for the Crown to make their next move. I can’t do anything right now, either. There’s too much movement for me to roam about and this dress isn’t stealthy.
I glance around the room and take in what Bash examined earlier. The space is elegantly furnished, dominated by a large four-poster bed. A small sitting chair stands beside the window and three books lie, fallen on their side, on an end table beside a lantern. There’s a door that leads to the bathroom, and a large mahogany wardrobe takes up the far wall.
I push myself to my feet and head to it. The inside is filled with a multitude of gowns that look like they’ve come straight from Jessup’s dress shop, none of which will do me any good. Ever. As I dig throughsomeone’seffects, I find a silk pajama set mixed in with all the flowing nightgowns in the bottom drawer. The shorts are short and the top barely has enough fabric to be called a shirt, but it’s black and I can move in it, so they’re what I choose.
The idea of a bath to wash away the stench of death sounds heavenly, but first I needed to secure the room. Without a lock on my door, I don’t trust Graves not to barge in and finish what he’s started. I eye the wardrobe again, calculating how heavy it might be. It’s solid wood and will be a bitch to move, but it should keep me safe. At the very least, it’ll give me enough time to grab Bash’s dagger if someone tries to break in.
I press my back against the side and push. The thing is a beast and takes more effort than I anticipated. The wood resists, making a terrible scratching sound as the legs scrape across the floor. I know someone, somewhere, will be furious once they discover what I have done, but that's a problem for another day. After more grunts and meaningless curses than any respectable lady would utter, my door is secure and I am out of breath.
I grab Bash’s dagger and bring it into the bathroom, just in case. The room is vast, almost as big as my bedroom, with a ceramic tub in front of a large arched window. Gold curtains hang loose, providing privacy from unwanted eyes, starkly contrasting the nearly black wallpaper adorning the flat spaces. Thick white trim and a large marble vanity brighten the room, as does a sizable golden chandelier above the tub.
There’s water drawn, waiting for the princess who was supposed to get my room tonight after accepting the invitation to be a Lady of the Prince’s Court. I dip my fingers in the tub and shudder. I hate a cold bath. It may soothe tight muscles but does nothing to ease tension from a heavy day.
I release a stream of magic, just enough to feel a snake of warmth coildown my arm and into my palm. I stick my hand back into the tub and the fire pooling in my veins bubbles beneath the water. I swirl the heat until the water is comfortable, then cut my magic off. It itself is healing, finding the cuts Graves gave me along my neck, but a warm bath is soothing, too.
I walk to the vanity and look at the oils on the counter—jasmine, lavender, and orange blossom—but settle on a mixture that smells like pine trees and cinnamon. Why? It reminds me of someone I’d rather not think about, but can’t cleanse my mind of.
My dress falls easily from my shoulders and I sink neck-deep into the water. I close my eyes and the tension of the last twenty-four hours falls away. Like this, it would be easy to pretend I’m back in Irragin after a long day helping around the manor. Ezra would be in his cottage, tossing firewood into the hearth, waiting for me to sneak over so we could play each other in a game of chess, or perhaps we’d sneak into the village and have drinks. We’d spend the late hours together, having fallen into a comfortable routine to make the mundane bearable. I’d crawl into my bed before sunrise, sleep for a few hours, then start it all over again.
Ezra still waits for me. Only he’s locked in a cold dungeon instead of wrapped in the warmth of his cottage. I open my eyes and guilt stabs me in the heart. Who am I to be relaxing in a tub while he’s writhing within the clutches of a curse?
It’s my fault we’re in Central Arcane.
My fault he felt the need to spell me to turn our friendship into something more. I knew the lines I crossed but was too selfish not to dance on them. Look where that’s got me.
I climb out and wrap myself in a towel. I don’t know how much time has passed, but the sun is almost above the clouds when I look out the window. The Crown’s guests will be waking in a few hours for breakfast. Tomorrow is already upon me. I should rest, even if only for a few minutes, if I’m going to survive the day.
The silk pajamas I’ve chosen for tonight cover my body, but only just, and do nothing to hide my nipples. Scandalous wouldn’t come close to describing me if I’m caught outside of my bed chamber dressed like this.
I twist my hair into a braid and let nature’s knots keep it in place while I stretch my webs into the hallway. There isn’t a single guard outside mydoor or down my hall. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse, but I am curious. Riot must have told Bash I didn’t want anyone around. Given how adamant he was about finding Graves, I’m surprised that he’d leave me so vulnerable.
I look at myself once more in the mirror before slipping into bed. Last night’s bruises are gone, and tonight’s cuts have already begun to fade. My eyes are bloodshot from a lack of sleep but still a vibrant green. I pinch my cheeks to bring a little life back into them. I look almost as tired as I feel and then curse myself for caring.
What Bash, or anyone else in the castle, thinks of me shouldn’t matter. I won’t be around long enough to have a shot at beingqueen.
Apersistent knock at the door jolts me awake. At first, the sound is gentle, but the tapping grows louder, bordering on frantic. I grab my dagger off the bedside table and shove the armoire out of the way, my nerves building up as I prepare to face the unknown.
I fling the door open, fully prepared to protect whoever is in peril, only to find a delicate, freckled girl standing there. Her hair is the color of sand on a warm summer’s day and a nervous but kind smile lifting her lips.
"Good morning." She fidgets with the hem of her apron but, to her credit, doesn’t look away. She’s braver than most of the Ladies of the Court. I like her already.
"Are you in danger?" I ask, sending my webs out. I don’t sense anyone outside of their rooms. Everything is quiet. Too quiet, considering nearly all of the Crown’s guests were murdered last night.
"Nnnn…no, ma'am," she stammers, shaking her head. “I’m here to help you get dressed.”
“Next time, just knock once. I thought you were hurt or something.”
“What were you going to do?” She laughs, but the sound cuts off when she spots the knife in my hands. The girl swallows thickly. “Sorry, it won’t happen again. May I help you get ready for the day?”
I look at the poofy gown draped over her arm. All I see is layers and layers of white gauze. Near her chest is a pretty strip of blue, but I don’t like the color enough to turn myself into a circus tent. “No, thank you.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I’m not wearing that.”
“But…” She looks from one side of the hallway to the other, as if someone will appear and help her. Even if they did, my answer would be the same. I’m not wearing something I can’t run in. It was one of the few rules my mother gave me growing up, and I live by it to this day. “It was the queen’s. His Majesty insisted.”
