Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
I sat stiffly in the large, ornate bathtub, surrounded by handmaidens who fluttered around me. The opulence of the room—a private bathing chamber fit for royalty—only served to heighten the sense of intrusion. The walls were lined with gold-veined marble, the floors covered in plush deep-blue rugs that matched the frosted glass windows. The ceiling arched high above, painted with delicate, icy patterns that mimicked the eternal winter outside.
But all the beauty in the world couldn’t make me feel less like a specimen under a microscope. I wasn’t even allowed the privacy to grieve, to let the tears that threatened behind my eyes fall freely. Instead, I was forced to sit there, naked and exposed, while fifteen handmaidens surrounded me, their eyes wide with a mix of fascination and horror.
“She’s covered in scars,” one of them whispered, her voice filled with pity as she reached out to trace a thin line that ran across my shoulder.
They were like curious birds, pecking and prodding, their voices filled with questions. My muscles tensed under their touch, but I forced myself to stay still, resisting the urge to pull away.
“Where did you get these?” one of them asked, her voice smooth with awe, as if she were admiring a piece of ancient art rather than the evidence of my survival.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the tickling sensation of their probing fingers. “Some from accidents in the Crypt of Silence,” I muttered.
I glanced at the scar, the memory flashing in my mind like a half-forgotten dream. “That one?” I grunted. “Fell out of a tree, trying to catch a bird.”
Their hands paused, and I could feel them staring at me. I looked up and saw a mix of surprise and disbelief on their faces. “You were trying to catch a bird?” one of them asked, her tone skeptical.
I shrugged, smirking a bit as I remembered the event. “Yeah, well, I was hungry, and the bird looked tasty. Didn’t quite think it through.” I could still remember the sharp crack of the branch beneath me, the sudden drop, and the way the world had spun as I tumbled to the ground. The bird, of course, had flown away, leaving me with nothing but a nasty gash and a bruised ego.
One of the handmaidens shook her head, clearly bewildered. “You could have broken your neck!”
“Could’ve,” I agreed with a nonchalant shrug. “But I didn’t.”
They continued their work, scrubbing away the dirt and grime, as if they could somehow scrub away the life I’d led before this. But I knew better. The scars were a part of me, and no amount of washing or questioning would change that.
An older woman knelt by my feet, her nose wrinkling as she examined the dirt that had accumulated under my nails. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly and set to work, picking at the grime with a small silver tool. “This will take some time,” she said, more to herself than to me.
Another handmaiden poured warm water over my head, her fingers working shampoo into my scalp with a gentle but insistent pressure. The sensation was almost soothing, a rare moment of comfort in the midst of everything. But the constant murmur of voices around me kept me on edge, reminding me that I was still very much a stranger in this world.
“Her hair,” one of them remarked, running her fingers through the wet strands, “I swore it was icy blonde when she left.”
Another voice, quieter and tinged with something like concern, replied, “The queen has instructed us to dye it blonde again so as not to distress the king.”
I stiffened at her words, the casual way she mentioned the queen’s orders. They talked about the king as if he were a fragile old man, one who couldn’t handle the sight of anything out of place. My hair—the very thing that marked me as different—was just another detail to be smoothed over, another imperfection to be hidden away.
“But why did it turn black?” one of the younger handmaidens whispered, clearly confused.
“Magic is unpredictable, and the princess spent a lot of magic fortifying the boundary over the years. I bet it drained a lot out of her,” the older one said, her tone sharp as if silencing any further questions. No one was allowed to know what happened to the crypt, and handmaidens were a bunch of gossips.
They fell into a quiet lull after that, their hands working through the motions of cleaning and grooming, but I could feel the tension simmering beneath the surface. It was as if they all knew something was off but were too afraid to say it out loud. I could sense it in the way they avoided my eyes, the way they hesitated before speaking.
They spoke amongst themselves, debating the best way to restore my hair to its former color, as if it were the most important task in the world. They spoke as if I weren’t even there, as if I were just a doll to be dressed up and presented to the court.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out their voices and find some small corner of peace within myself. But the memories of the past days flooded back, relentless and unforgiving. The fire, the screams, the crushing realization that Aeliana was gone, and the twisted, monstrous plan the queen had laid out for me.
The handmaidens continued their work, scrubbing, washing, and combing as if they could somehow wash away the person I had been, the life I had lived. They worked in silence now, their earlier curiosity replaced by a quiet determination to make me into something I wasn’t.
I had just gotten out of the tub and put on a silk robe when the door to the bathing chamber burst open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang. The sudden noise made everyone jump, and I whipped my head around to see a round, ruddy-faced maid with fiery red hair barreling into the room. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, and her eyes sparkled with triumph as she held up a small glass vial.
“I found it!” she announced, her voice cutting through the murmur of the other handmaidens. “Had to trade three frostbits for it, but this should do the trick.”
The other handmaidens gasped, their eyes widening in awe. Frostbits were the currency of Icespire, small hexagonal coins made of enchanted ice that never melted. They were as valuable as they were rare, each one representing a day’s worth of work in the kingdom’s unforgiving environment. To trade three frostbits for anything was a considerable sacrifice, a testament to the importance of the vial now clutched in the maid’s hand.
The red-haired maid pushed her way through the crowd, her wide frame easily parting the thinner, more delicate women who had been attending to me. She stopped beside me, her smile was unnerving as she held up a small vial.
“This is magic hair dye,” she declared, the liquid inside shimmering with an unsettling, iridescent glow. It shifted between shades of silver and white, like a frozen rainbow trapped in a bottle. “It’ll permanently change the color of your hair. Women use it to keep their youth, to capture the beauty of winter. And it’s the strongest one I could find.”
I eyed the vial with deep suspicion, leaning back slightly. “Uh, I have a rule,” I said, raising a hand to halt her approach, “that I don’t take magic drinks from strangers.”
She smiled, entirely too cheerful for someone about to force questionable substances down my throat. “I promise this is safe,” she said, taking a step closer. “I got it from a very reputable source.”
“Reputable?” I repeated, not convinced in the slightest. “Where, exactly?”
She hesitated, which did nothing to ease my concerns. “Well… from a back stall in the marketplace,” she admitted. “But it was a very respected back stall. The vendor assured me it was the finest in the land, even swore by it!”
“A back stall?” I repeated, my eyebrows shooting up. “That doesn’t sound safe at all. That sounds like the opposite of safe. That sounds like you’re trying to poison me.”
“Nonsense,” she insisted, though she glanced at the vial with a touch more doubt. “He seemed very trustworthy. Said it was the same potion that the ladies of the court use.”
I started backing away, inching toward the door. “Yeah, I’m going to pass on this. I’ve had enough surprises for one lifetime.”
But she was quicker than she looked. The handmaiden lunged, her hands reaching out like claws as she tried to grab hold of me. “Oh, no you don’t!” she cried, her cheerful demeanor turning slightly manic. “The queen insisted!”
I ducked, trying to dodge her, but she was relentless. “Rhydian!” I shouted, hoping he was somewhere nearby. “Here’s your chance to save my life and pay that debt you claim to owe!”
Just as I reached for the door, she tackled me, sending us both crashing to the floor. The vial clinked ominously as she pinned me down, her plump fingers prying my mouth open with surprising strength. “Drink up, Princess!” she chirped, her voice way too cheerful given the situation.
I struggled, but she was determined. The next thing I knew, she was pulling the cork out with her teeth, then tipping the vial to my lips, the liquid sliding down my throat before I could do anything to stop it. The taste hit me like a punch—sharp, metallic, and entirely unpleasant, like sucking on a piece of frozen steel.
And then came the pain. It wasn’t just a slight burn; it felt like my insides were being lit on fire, the searing heat spreading from my throat to my scalp, down to my very bones. “Rhydian!” I managed to choke out. “Now would be a great time to save my life!”
The door burst open, and Rhydian stormed in, sword drawn and eyes wide. He was out of breath, like he’d just ran the length of the castle to get here. He took one look at the scene—me on the floor, the handmaiden practically straddling me in my silk robe, vial in hand—and his face twisted into a mix of confusion and exasperation.
“What in the—” he began, but I cut him off.
“They’re trying to poison me!” I gasped, the burning sensation making it hard to speak. “And you’re just out there doing nothing!”
Rhydian pointed his sword at the handmaiden, the tip hovering dangerously close to her chest. “What did you do to the princess?” he demanded.
The handmaiden paled, her hands trembling as she held up the empty vial. “I was just doing what the queen instructed!” she yelled. “I dyed her hair, that’s all! The queen wanted her to look like her old self, I swear!”
Rhydian’s gaze flicked from the vial to me, then back to the handmaiden, clearly debating whether or not to believe her. Finally, with a grunt of annoyance, he sheathed his sword and turned to help me up. I was still coughing, trying to clear the bitter taste from my throat as he pulled me to my feet.
Rhydian’s eyes darkened. “Do you normally tackle members of the royal family?” he demanded.
“N-no, sir,” she stammered.
“That’s Warden Lord to you,” he corrected sharply, his tone cutting through the air like the blade he wielded.
The handmaid’s eyes flicked nervously between us, clearly terrified. “Warden Lord, I-I was just doing what the queen suggested?—”
“They’ve been poking and prodding me all day,” I argued, feeling more irritated by the second. “I need a break.”
Rhydian glanced at me, taking in my exhausted expression, then turned his gaze back to the handmaidens. “Everyone out,” he barked.
The handmaidens hesitated, exchanging worried glances. “But we aren’t done,” one of them protested weakly. “We need to get her dressed.”
Rhydian’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Out,” he repeated, his tone bringing no further discussion.
They didn’t need to be told a third time. The handmaidens scurried out of the room like mice fleeing a cat, leaving me alone with Rhydian.
I let out a long sigh, moving over to the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, unfamiliar and unsettling. I was dressed in a silk robe, my hair now a striking icy white, glowing in the light of the room. My skin seemed to shimmer, almost unnaturally smooth, and my eyes were bright, my dark brows perfectly plucked. I looked like someone else entirely, like a porcelain doll dressed up for display.
“You’re going to have to get better at bossing people around,” Rhydian said from behind me.
I snorted, an unladylike sound that I couldn’t suppress. Irritation flickered across Rhydian’s face. “And don’t make that sound,” he added, his tone harsh and mockingly stern. “Princesses don’t make that sound.”
I rolled my eyes. He looked like he regretted every second he had to spend in my presence, and the annoyance in his voice made it clear he’d rather be anywhere but here, dealing with someone like me.
I turned to glare at him, frustration boiling over. “I’m not a princess!” I snapped. “I’m a fucking handmaiden!”
Without missing a beat, Rhydian raised a hand and made a small, subtle gesture. Suddenly, the air around us seemed to shift, and a hum filled the room, almost imperceptible but unmistakable.
“What… what did you just do?” I asked, gawking at him in awe.
Rhydian’s expression remained impassive, though the irritation in his eyes gave way to something more calculating. “It’s called a Soundveil ,” he said gruffly. “A little trick passed down through my echoweaving ancestors. It creates a barrier around us so no one can hear what we’re saying.”
I blinked, still trying to wrap my head around the idea. Echoweaving. The memory of him during the frostwolf attack flooded back to me—how the air around us had vibrated with some unseen force. At the time, I hadn’t understood what he’d done, but now it all made sense.
He had wrapped us in a sound barrier, amplifying his commands, guiding the soldiers. No wonder he was a Warden Lord at such a young age. The control he must have wielded in battle—directing chaos with precise, deadly efficiency—wasn’t just skill, but power.
“Your family?” I asked as I tried to process it all.
Rhydian snorted, the sound low and bitter, like it had been dragged out of him against his will. “I’m a noble bastard,” he said, his voice edged with something cold and sharp. “Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with old wounds.
“The house that bore me has been echoweaving for generations,” he went on, his tone clipped and emotionless, like he was reading a list of crimes. “Amplifying orders, muffling footsteps, directing battle without ever being seen—or heard. A perfect legacy for people who’d rather pretend I don’t exist.” His lips twisted into a humorless smile. “I get the dirty work, and no one hears me coming.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the bitterness in his voice, by the rawness that slipped through his otherwise impenetrable demeanor. Rhydian wasn’t just a gruff soldier; he was someone who’d been carved into something unyielding by a world that had no use for softness.
“So, you can control sound,” I said cautiously, the words awkward and small in the charged space between us. “That’s… impressive.”
His gray eyes flicked to mine, flat and unimpressed. “It’s useful,” he said curtly, brushing off my words like dust. His body shifted, leaning closer, and there was a new sharpness in his expression—focused, intent. “It also means I hear things most people think they’ve kept quiet.”
My chest tightened. The air between us grew heavier as his gaze locked onto mine.
“Like certain… surprising conversations,” he continued, his voice low, deliberate, each word a warning. His eyes narrowed, cutting through me with unnerving precision. “When the queen took you to her chambers earlier.”
I stiffened, the cold dread curling through me like a frostbite I couldn’t shake. The memory of her voice—sharp, mocking, final—clawed its way back, but I forced my expression to remain still. “What did you hear?”
Rhydian tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing, cutting through my bravado like it was nothing. “Enough to know you’re to play princess,” he said, his tone flat, but the accusation hung heavy in the air. “The queen has already wiped the memories of my soldiers that brought you here. There were… questions about your identity.”
My stomach dropped, the words twisting like a knife. “How?” I asked.
His lip curled faintly, humorless. “A Mindbinder .” The name landed like a stone between us, bitter and heavy. “The magic has them confused, docile as cattle. They’ll believe whatever the queen tells them to believe. And now, so will everyone else. The queen and I are the only ones that know of your true identity. I’ve been allowed the privilege of knowledge because I’ve earned her trust, and she wants me to keep an eye on you.”
I swallowed hard, the truth settling in my chest like lead.
Rhydian stepped closer, his boots echoing on the stone floor, each step deliberate, controlled. “So pretend.”
I looked up sharply, and his gaze locked onto mine, unflinching. “Wear her face. Use her name. Walk like you belong, and don’t give anyone a reason to doubt what they’ve been told. Because if you falter—if you give so much as a flicker of the truth—this entire court will devour you alive.”
I stared at him, my pulse pounding so hard it hurt, and yet I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out, jagged with grief. “And you? What will you do?”
Rhydian didn’t move, didn’t blink. For a moment, there was nothing but silence between us, his gaze unreadable, flickering with something I couldn’t name. “I’ll do whatever my queen tells me to,” he said finally.
His words lingered, a weight I couldn’t escape, as if he’d already decided how this would end. Pretend. The command pressed into me like a brand. I had no choice. Not anymore.
“And let me be clear,” Rhydian continued, “I don’t care about you or your problems. But you saved my life back with the frostwolves, so I’ll help you adjust where I can. Just don’t make me regret it.”
I nodded, the reality of my situation sinking deeper than before. Rhydian wasn’t here to be my friend; he was here because of some twisted sense of obligation. And he wasn’t going to let me forget it.
Rhydian sighed, dragging a hand through his unruly dark hair, his gray eyes raking over me with a look of pure exasperation. “Even your posture is a disaster,” he muttered, shaking his head like I was some impossible problem he’d been tasked with solving. “Stand up straight.”
I arched a brow at him but begrudgingly adjusted my stance, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. I tried to channel the grace Aeliana had always carried, but from the way Rhydian’s scowl deepened, I clearly wasn’t getting it right.
“Ancestors preserve me,” he grumbled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re supposed to look like you belong in a court, not like you’re bracing for execution.”
“Well, forgive me,” I shot back, crossing my arms. “It’s not like I grew up practicing royal dinners.”
His lips twitched, but not in amusement—it was more like he was holding back a curse. “You need someone who actually knows this court nonsense to teach you. A woman, preferably. Someone with patience.”
I arched a brow. “So obviously not you.”
“Just get through dinner without embarrassing yourself. The Crown Prince and the Second Princess are coming, and they’re not known for their… generosity. The queen will keep your true identity close to her chest, so they’ll just see you as a threat—as the daughter of the king’s beloved concubine. You must behave.”
“I know, I know,” I said quickly, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “Don’t snort. Don’t burp, don’t fart?—”
“ Princess, ” he growled, his tone low and biting. He leaned forward, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as they locked on mine. “You’re new to noble powers. The Crown Prince is an ass, and he’s going to see right through you if you let him. He’ll poke and prod until you snap. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. “And the second princess?” I asked quietly.
Rhydian’s face darkened further, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “She’ll avoid you.”
I frowned, the words catching me off guard. “Why?”
“Because she’s guilty as hell,” he muttered, the words sharp enough to cut.
“Guilty?” I repeated, bristling slightly. “Of what?”
Rhydian straightened, the scar along his cheek pulling taut as his jaw tightened. “The queen convinced the king to send Aeliana to the crypts,” he said flatly, his gaze turning colder. “The princess was supposed to go. She was the heir. But the queen said Aeliana could handle it, that it would be safer for the court if she went instead.”
Aeliana—my friend—had been sent to die, and the queen had let it happen. Worse, the princess, the one who should have gone in her place, hadn’t done a damn thing to stop it.
“So, no,” he added, his tone clipped. “Don’t expect her to say much. She won’t want to look you in the eye.”
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. A surge of anger bubbled up inside me, sharp and hot, but I forced it back down. “Fine,” I muttered, my voice tight. “Anything else I need to know?”
Rhydian’s gaze softened just slightly. “If things get bad,” he said, his tone quieter now, “whisper for me under your breath. I’ll come get you.”
That threw me off, his words cutting through my anger like a blade through ice. “And how long does that offer last?” I asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
His jaw worked, his eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite read. “Until I decide the debt’s paid,” he said gruffly, the words flat but heavy.
I swallowed hard, unsure what to make of that. Before I could press him further, he gestured sharply to the wardrobe, cutting the conversation short. “Now get dressed,” he said, his tone snapping back to brusque efficiency. “You’ve got a performance to put on.”
I nodded reluctantly, my mind still reeling from everything he’d said. The Crown Prince, the princess, the queen’s ruthless decision to send Aeliana in her daughter’s place. It all swirled in my head, sharp and heavy, but one thing was clear:
Rhydian was right. I wasn’t ready for this. But pretending to be Aeliana meant I didn’t have the luxury of doubt. Not if I wanted to survive.