Chapter 39
The soldier from the night before knocks on the door as I struggle to pull my clothes on—they’re in a pile on the floor, and I have to touch each with great effort to determine which articles they are.
I hadn’t changed for a few weeks, and whatever clothes have been arranged for me are not ones I’m used to wearing.
They’re Xavelor’s, after all.
I don’t have the time or energy to worry about the soldier’s tactlessness, yet the thought rolls around in my head anyway: why have a soldier tend to me and not one of Xavelor’s maids?
The thought comes too soon, because the door creaks open and a new voice cuts through the silence.
“Need some help with that?”
I pause with my shirt halfway on.
My nose wrinkles. She sounds familiar, but I can’t place who she might be. Not a noble, but perhaps a maid I’ve brushed past before?
“Yes, if you would.” I sigh, dropping my arms helplessly.
Thin fingers brush along my bare chest as the new entrant smooths my sleeves and buttons the top of the shirt. Thankfully, I’ve already pulled my trousers on.
“You sound familiar,” I say with a lightness. “Have we met?”
The maid’s hand pulls away from me as though I’ve burned her with my question.
“Yes. I was one of your brother’s concubines, Your Highness.” Her words stiffen as she remembers her current station.
“You’ve become a maid, then.”
She huffs, her hands returning to pat down the rest of my body, indicating she’s finished dressing me. A thin tunic and flexible, lightweight pants make for a simple outfit, but will work well under whatever armor I’ll be wearing.
There’s still so much I have no idea how to manage in battle…wearing armor, for one, and so many other things I’d rather not dwell on. Don’t let dark thoughts deter you , Ether’s voice sings in my head.
I try my best to heed her warning.
“I’ve been instructed to send you to His Majesty first thing this morning. Do you need guidance to the throne room, Your Highness?”
“Yes, if you would.”
The maid links her arm with mine and mutters small commands to me as we walk the halls.
Things like “there’s a servant on your left” or “watch the walls, the sconces’ flames are taller today.
” Though she harbors a clear disdain for me, she is surprisingly considerate, and I wonder if she’s worked with someone blind before.
We reach the doors to the throne room, and she leaves my side before I can ask her.
“I’ve been told that escorts will meet you when your meeting with His Majesty is finished,” she whispers.
At the silence following, my hand slides flat against the ornate doors.
I’ve never paid much attention to the molding before, but the bumps and dips beneath my fingers offer an oddly grounding distraction.
As the doors seal shut behind me, a chill crawls into the room. I shiver once before taking cautious steps forward.
The king must be sitting at his throne, arms crossed and face impassive as he watches his pathetic, blind bastard son approach him, unprepared for battle, for life, for anything thrown his way.
I’ll wager his opinion hasn’t changed.
“You’ve returned,” he grumbles without the malice I’m used to.
I transfer my weight between my feet, regardless, bending my knees to ensure I don’t fall on the spot. The energy he exudes is still much the same—brooding and overwhelming. Something else accompanies it, though, and I’m surprised I can sense it without seeing his physical form.
Fear.
He is scared of something.
“You must think you have a real chance at beating Lrozyn if you’ve decided to return,” he grunts again, a bit of that hostility I’m so familiar with creeping into his voice.
“And you must be glad for it too,” I say with a grin. “Otherwise, who would fight your wars for you? I’ve heard about Midra’s advances. Without me, wouldn’t this be the end of the Faundor?—”
“Silence, insolent child!”
His booming voice ricochets off the walls.
Once the sound settles, he sighs. “Does this mean nothing to you?”
It does. But not for the reasons he believes. Not when I know what he’s made Ether do, when I know he’d wanted her to sabotage me, when he killed her people to threaten her.
My fists tighten at my sides. I don’t care if he sees.
“Listen, boy,” he growls. “Sightless or not, you will face that dragon. And you will win. See to it that you win. This is your only moment to prove yourself to the kingdom. You will not fail me.”
I open my mouth but close it before I can stuff my boot into it.
There’s no right way to accuse him of what he’s done.
He can feign ignorance and perpetuate this false sense of pride and expectation, but I won’t believe it.
Not for a second. I know he wants me to fail, even if I don’t know the reason behind it.
I force myself to smile. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He laughs, the sound of it fractured. “Come, now. I am your father, first and foremost.”
My heart thuds to my stomach at his lie. He has not once warmly acknowledged his familial ties to me. Not since my mother died. I doubt he ever did, or if he did, I’d been too young to remember.
Not that his confrontation with the truth is in any way warm .
“Yes, Father,” I say through my teeth.
“Good. That is all.”
“What, you merely wanted to lend me your encouragement?” The words are salt on my tongue.
He chuckles, but it quickly turns to a growl. “That is all I have to give. If you’re expecting more, get it from someone else. Now leave.”
What did I expect? This, I suppose.
I grimace.
With a short bow, I turn and walk to the door in as straight a line as I can manage. My hand braces for impact, but I’m instead caught by a soldier in chainmail. I nearly embrace him with the way my arms encircle him.
My soul leaps from my skin when the doors slam behind me.
The soldier is the same one from before. His voice twangs as he speaks. “Take my hand, Your Highness. I will lead you to Prince Xavelor’s bathing chambers. You are to have your ritual cleansing bath.”
As is customary.
I’ve learned about the preparations for the Feast my entire life, as though the ritual was a carrot dangled in front of me, barely out of reach. Now here I am, being rushed through the pleasantries.
The cleansing bath is filled with minerals and oils that must not be washed or scrubbed off for an entire week. After that, the crown prince duels the dragon, receives his crown, and then takes another bath to soak off the dried blood and oil.
Nothing about the bath I’m to take respects tradition. The Feast is today, not in a week. Not in a month and a half, as was promised. We are blaspheming the gods, and we are going to be punished for it.
Or, rather, I am to be punished for it. My father is merely the one pulling the strings.
The soldier forcibly tugs my hand forward and catches my forearm, leading me down the breezy hallway. The lingering scent of lavender clings to the air like something long dead, and trails us down the long corridor and into the balmy bathing room.
“I must wait for you here. Make haste. You must appear before the lords in two hours.”
Two hours.
My heart leaps to my throat, but I nod my understanding. The soldier closes the door behind me, and I’m confronted with a haze of floral scents. The humidity from the bath sticks to my skin.
I’ve missed nice, steamy baths.
Before I can take a step farther, my body is assaulted with soft, warm hands. They glide along my arms and lead me deeper into the room before removing my clothing.
The maids are silent as they do their work, careful not to touch my bare skin anywhere other than my arms and legs. They are experts at this.
I wonder if Ether ever had to undress men and coax them into their baths during her time with Bear…
I shudder at the thought. Of course she wouldn’t have had to do that.
As far as I know, I’m the first and last blind person to have ever set foot in the castle.
Men of nobility have baths prepared for them, and maids are never forced to partake in the bathing itself.
That responsibility belongs to the concubines…
My cheeks flush when one maid gently holds my hand to lead me into the wash basin. The tiles under my feet are slick, so I rely on her steady arm to lower me carefully. Shame erodes my confidence, making my head go hot.
I suddenly wish to cover my unsightly areas.
One of the maids coughs. “Your Highness, you ought not to be so embarrassed. We used to attend to your brother, remember?”
Then it’s as I expected. These are those same women who’d moved to my wing of the castle, seeking my company in place of my brother’s. I offer a genteel laugh before submerging myself.
To my relief, the maids allow me to at least bathe myself. On my request, they provide soaps, lotions, scrubs, and sponges. Otherwise, the work is my own. I relish the heat of the bath and the soaps that dissolve weeks of dirt and sweat clinging to my legs and arms.
Next come the oils—one for anointing, one for scent, and one for the softening of skin. They all smell earthy and sweet. I’m not sure which is which as the maids apply it to my forehead, arms, and chest.
I bask in the warmth, allowing my thoughts to settle under the mist’s soothing aroma. Once my skin puckers and my feet are too hot, I twist upward and reach for a hand. Instead, a maid wraps a thick towel around my waist and tucks the corner into the front.
“Thank you,” I gulp, angry at the warmth in my cheeks. At least I can pretend it’s the temperature of the bath making my skin undoubtedly glow red. In many ways, I am glad my thoughts are here and not dwelling on the battle to come.
I think of Ether, and my arm responds with fervor.
“Your Highness,” she says softly, “I will help you with your clothing. I’ve been informed that your aide will assist you with your armor.”