Chapter Nine
Princess Ophelia’s personal guard meets me at the palace entrance. She doesn’t ask questions. Not about why Caden’s limo dropped me off. Nor about why I’m now skulking behind her with a tear-stained face and scraped hands as I follow her in.
I’m tired. Terribly tired. At least we hardly encounter anyone as we make our way through the palace, so I don’t have to maintain my forced smile after Erin turns her back on me. Only a few butlers and maids scurry about, hurrying past us with heads bowed.
Once again, I go over the words I’ve prepared for my encounter with the princess. Already my cheeks burn with shame. I’ll have to tell her about my visit to the East End, and about Caden’s enemies having become aware of my existence. But I’d better keep the details to myself.
A set of white double doors at the end of the hallway are yanked open before Erin and I even reach it. Ophelia is wearing a long, flowing nightgown. Her dark-blonde hair falls loose around her shoulders.
“Kaya,” she exclaims when she catches sight of me. “My God, how awful. Mr.Nox just called to tell me what happened. Are you all right?”
Taken off guard, I nod. Caden sure works quickly. I wonder if he told the princess everything that happened. Even those things I would have preferred to keep to myself.
Ophelia beckons me toward her. I search her face in vain for a hint of whether or not she’s judging me. She seems friendly as always—even a little worried.
“Come in, come in. You must be exhausted.”
I gladly accept her invitation. The princess’s bedroom is huge. The carpet is a soft fluffy white, and I look up to see high ceilings that were once probably decorated with stucco. Its remnants left patterns that can still be clearly seen. In addition to a large bed, there is a desk, a wardrobe, and a small sitting area. A door appears to lead to the adjacent bathroom.
“You’ll probably want to freshen up first,” Ophelia suggests.
In the bathroom I look at my pale face in the mirror. The tears have left streaks on my cheeks, my eyes are red. Fortunately, there is no sign of Ava’s lipstick, which I applied a few hours ago.
I wash my face and hands. Then I carefully roll down my tights, which I put back on in the limo, to take a look at my scraped knees. The blood has dried and left a crust. I carefully wash it off. It stings a little, but that’s probably the least of my worries right now.
After tending to my wounds, I sink down on the edge of the bathtub and bury my head in my hands. What am I supposed to do? I have a life to lead, a job. I can’t just hole up in the palace and hope Caden’s enemies won’t find me here. But if they do, what will they do to me? Will I end up like my mother? How could I have followed Amy to that strip club? I should have known it was a trap.
“Kaya?”
Ophelia pushes the door to the bathroom open a little and peeks in. I lift my head and wrestle a smile onto my face.
“May I?”
Ophelia points to the edge of the bathtub as if it were a chair, and this my room into which I’d invited her for some tea. I move over to make room for her. Together we stare at the white rug and the beige tiles of the bathroom.
“I can only imagine what you must have gone through,” Ophelia finally breaks the silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” I shake my head, but then it does burst out of me—unstoppable, like water finding its way downstream. “They wanted me to eat a strawberry, and I knew that it was wrong. I tried to resist, but… My body stopped obeying me, and then his hand was on my dress. He pulled down the zipper and…”
My voice fails me. Tears run down my cheeks again. I shouldn’t have told her; I want to press my hand to my mouth to stop myself from saying any more. Ophelia will think I’m a filthy sinner. She’s the princess , by all the seven virtues! She can’t just overlook what I’ve done.
But Ophelia doesn’t say anything, just silently pulls me into her arms, her hand stroking my back soothingly. Her touch is far too personal, but I allow it. It feels infinitely good to be wrapped in her warmth and comfort. To know that she doesn’t look down on me.
My story must sound terribly confusing to her, but she doesn’t ask me to clarify. Instead, after a while, she rises and pulls me back toward the bedroom.
“You must be awfully tired after all that’s happened. Let’s try to get some sleep. Then tomorrow, we’ll find you your own room. It’s not like we don’t have enough of them here.”
Her hospitality is overwhelming. I wonder what Ava would say if she knew I’m sharing a bed with the princess tonight. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth at the thought, chasing away the tears for a moment.
“See, you can already laugh again,” Ophelia says, pleased. “And I promise you, the world won’t seem as bleak tomorrow.”
Indeed it doesn’t. But not because I’ve forgotten the horrors of the previous night, but because I wake up to an unfamiliar scent that smells simply heavenly.
Ophelia is sitting with her legs drawn up to her chest on one of the armchairs in the sitting area, still looking a little sleepy and glancing guiltily over at me. In her hand she holds something that looks like a pastry.
“Chocolate croissants,” she says, licking her index finger. “They’re my only vice. Just don’t tell my father about them.”
I’m instantly wide awake. I sit up in bed and look at her with wide eyes.
“That… that’s forbidden,” I say lamely.
Ophelia shrugs as she tears off a piece of the croissant and shoves it into her mouth.
“Well, everything fun always is. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Do you want one? I asked Erin to sneak a second one into the palace especially for you.”
I shake my head firmly, even though it’s as if I can already taste the sweetness of the croissant on my tongue. The flaky crust, the smooth, chocolatey filling inside. I lick my lips.
What is wrong with me? I’ve always been able to control myself. But since last night, I feel as if something inside me has been awakened. Something that had been asleep and hidden away deep inside me.
“Are you sure you don’t want some?” Ophelia asks, already reaching for the second croissant. “God, these are heavenly!”
I watch as she greedily stuffs the second croissant into her mouth. I want to snatch it out of her hand. I breathe in and out shakily.
Pull yourself together, Kaya.
After Ophelia polishes off the second croissant, she slaps her hand over her mouth in embarrassment.
“Sorry, that was completely self-indulgent. I just suddenly had such a craving for them.”
A delicate blush tinges her cheeks.
“Where does Erin get the croissants?” I ask to distract myself from how uncomfortable the whole situation is making me.
Ophelia’s gaze darts to the door. Presumably to where Erin is standing guard.
“There’s this little shop on Downhill Street on the edge of the East End,” she says.
“And she doesn’t mind going there for you?”
Ophelia’s face turns a darker shade. She looks embarrassed.
“We went there together once. Since then, every now and then, she’s brought me a croissant for breakfast. I’ve never asked her to do it.”
“This is…” Insanity? Against the law? Dangerous? “… nice of her.”
I smile without much conviction.
“It is nice. Very nice. Erin is…”
Ophelia interrupts her nervous stammering and bites her lips.
“… Nice?” I finish her sentence and raise my eyebrows.
“Yes.” She draws out the word. Her gaze goes to the door again, with something almost like longing in it.
Well, well, well. Erin’s nice , is she?
Before I can say anything else, Ophelia claps her hands, visibly eager to change the subject.
“Let’s find you something to wear. It’s not like I can let you walk around in those clothes.”
She points to my black tights and dress lying in a heap beside the bed. No, I certainly don’t want to be seen walking around the palace wearing that outfit.
“We should be about the same size,” Ophelia murmurs as she pulls open her wardrobe and slides a few hangers from right to left.
Her selection of clothes is considerably larger than mine, even if the colors are just as muted. She pulls a gray skirt off a hanger and tosses it on the bed where I’m still sitting.
“Try this one on!”
I stroke the fabric reverently. It’s so much softer than the skirts I usually wear. Ophelia hands me a black and blue, long- sleeved top to go with the skirt and then disappears into the bathroom.
After getting ready, we head for the royal breakfast room. Erin accompanies us, always walking three steps behind the princess. I cast furtive glances at her. Did she really just bring Ophelia the croissants out of kindness, or is there something more going on between them?
From old books I know that there was such a thing many years ago —love between two women. Today, it’s unthinkable.
Love is unthinkable.
The only reason a union between a husband and wife is permitted is procreation. Ophelia, too, will one day be married to produce an heir to the throne.
“Oh, and we’re going to need a dress for you,” Ophelia says as we pass a large hall where the floor is being polished. Maids are sliding on their knees over the black and white pattern, scrubbing each tile until it shines.
“A dress?”
“For the reception tomorrow night. Father has invited some influential people. There’s even going to be dancing. Should be fun.”
I’ve heard of the receptions of the nobility. Usually on such occasions, young ladies are introduced into society or presented to their future husbands. Ophelia waves me off as she notices my questioning look.
“Father is always trying to set me up with some suitor or other. This time, the suiter’s name is Lord Ernest Diligence. His family is very wealthy and has been instrumental in the construction of the cathedral.” Ophelia rolls her eyes. “I’ll dance with the boy once and then declare my disinterest. After that we can enjoy ourselves the rest of the evening.”
“You shouldn’t take this lightly.”
Erin’s voice is just a whisper, but Ophelia jerks to a stop anyway. Her head whips around to her guard.
“Well, I do take it lightly though. It’s just a dance, nothing more,” she says firmly.
The two stare at each other for what seems like a moment too long. Then Ophelia turns away and we walk on.
Last night, I barely noticed how many hallways we passed on the way to Ophelia’s bedroom. Now I have to admit to myself that without Erin I would have gotten completely lost in the winding halls of the palace.
We go down a small flight of stairs and reach a room with large windows. A brown-haired man in a suit sits at the head of the long table dominating the room, his newspaper spread out in front of him. My stomach clenches.
“Father!” Ophelia’s instantly alert. “I didn’t think you’d still be at breakfast.”
The king takes his time folding up the newspaper and setting it aside. His steel-gray eyes are unyielding as he scrutinizes me, forcing me to curtsy awkwardly.
“Don’t be silly, Chastity. I finished having breakfast hours ago. But I learned of Miss Ashton’s unexpected visit. What is the meaning of this?”
Apparently, the king calls his daughter by her middle name. And it’s very apparent that she doesn’t like it. I can tell by the way her shoulders tense in her father’s presence.
“Where—” she begins, but her father interrupts her gruffly.
“Did you think you could keep your visitor a secret from me?”
The king shakes his head, an annoyed frown on his face. Ophelia kneads her hands nervously.
“No, I …”
He stands up and comes over to us, hands clasped behind his back. My gaze automatically drops to his shiny polished shoes and I keep my eyes glued to them.
“What brings you to us, Miss Ashton?”
I stutter in surprise that the king is addressing me directly.
“I … I …”
“Mr. Nox scared her, Father. She no longer felt safe at home,” Ophelia rushes to my aid. “I invited Miss Ashton to stay at the palace for a few days. After all, we’re the ones who put her in this position. I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”
That isn’t a lie—I am afraid to go home, and Caden is partly to blame for that. Still, the king furrows his brows even more.
“So the encounter with Mr.Nox frightened you, Miss Ashton?”
“Yes.”
I dare to look him in the eye. His gaze is hard and unyielding.
“And now you fear your own shadow,” the king says and nods thoughtfully. “Very well. You may stay.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I say, though his condescending remark annoys me.
After all, I have a lot more to fear than that.
I curtsey again. Somehow, I get the feeling that the king is scrutinizing me, like he’s waiting for me to do or say something rash. Ophelia places her hand reassuringly on my arm as her father finally turns his back on us. I can see the tension slowly draining from her.
At the door the king stops and turns to us once more.
“Oh, and Miss Ashton?”
Ophelia’s hand slides off my arm as hastily as if she’d been burned.
I swallow, not daring to move an inch.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Just so we’re clear: I will not tolerate sin in my palace.”