CHAPTER TWELVE #2
“Just presentations tonight,” the guard continued. “Will definitely be there for the fights tomorrow.”
“Ah well, then everyone wins. I must be on my way. I do hope to see you there on whichever night you attend,” the Hermit called, his body leaning into mine as he reached for the stag’s head and urged him to fly forward.
“Can I sit up now?” I asked, gritting my teeth.
The Hermit pushed a hand on my back, holding me in place. “Not yet.”
The stag turned direction again, and a moment later, my stomach lurched as we touched down on a bridge. I could hear the distinct sound of hooves against stone, our flight transforming into a skip before our moonstag stilled.
“Now?” I asked.
“Now?” he mocked. “Now you can keep quiet, and keep your head down,” the Hermit hissed.
I started to lift up, beyond annoyed. I’d made my bed with this bargain. I knew what I had to do. But he couldn’t control my every fucking move.
Except he could. Because the second I started to lift my head up, the scar on my left wrist began to burn. The blood oath wasn’t happy.
I couldn’t do anything to compromise the mission.
So I waited, my head down. The Hermit hoisted himself off the stag, his boots hitting the stone ground with a light thud. Then he reached for my waist, pulling me off so quickly and roughly I nearly screamed.
But he caught me in his arms and shoved the hood covering my head across my face.
“I said be quiet.”
“Then give me a warning next time,” I gritted, the cloak muffling my voice.
The Hermit began to walk, holding me tighter as his movements slowed. One leg stepping so high his knee hit my backside, followed by the other. Then I could hear the sound of a window closing, and I was set down on my feet.
“Now,” he said, his voice exasperated, “you can speak, Princess Olivay. Welcome back to your bridal bedroom. Your private quarters until the wedding.”
I let the cloak fall to the ground. The room I stood in had a ceiling nearly twice as high as anything I’d ever been in. It was also far more luxurious than anything I’d ever seen in my life.
I'd been raised a princess, lived in the finest tower and room with the finest materials in Azeal. And it wasn’t half as beautiful as what I saw before me.
The bed was three times the size of my bed back home and covered in a dozen pillows, each made of a different luxurious-looking material, from velvet to satin to silk.
A large blanket lay atop, and a white gauze canopy stood overhead, attached to four marble columns.
Multiple carpets layered the stone floor, and oil paintings adorned the walls, each one framed in gold.
A vanity table stuffed full of perfume bottles and lotions sat before an adjoining bathroom with a tub large enough for two.
To its right was a mahogany wardrobe with its doors already opened.
A dozen dresses in every color of the rainbow hung within, each one more intriguing than the last. They were made out of every kind of cloth imaginable.
Velvet, satin, lace, fur. Some were beaded and bejeweled.
But what remained consistent with every style before me was that each piece of clothing had been embroidered or sewn up with thread that gleamed with gold. The same thread used by House Lafir.
The one I’d seen in Brennan’s cloak.
And threaded within all of Jaron’s clothes.
My heart thudded. “These are dresses from Eskalon,” I said. “Not Spartva.”
“Well, well, well. Look who has an eye for regional fashion.” The Hermit nodded. “You know, your parents, the King and Queen of Spartva—” He paused, tapping his chin, his eyebrows raised at me.
I groaned, knowing exactly what he wanted. It was a Godsdamned test. As if the names of the Spartvan rulers weren’t common knowledge.
“King Dairen and Queen Noemay.”
“Very good.” His eyes narrowed, then he shook his head like he was remembering where he was in his little lesson. The more time I spent with the Hermit, the more I realized he just liked hearing himself speak.
“As I was saying, your parents spent a handsome fortune on dresses designed to fit you for your new role. Of course, this wasn’t completely altruistic or a mere wedding present to you.
Olivay. Your future father-in-law, King Tirian, demanded it.
And I’ve got to say,” he said conspiratorially, “I’ve never seen your father that agitated before, but he coughed up the coin. ”
I frowned.
The Hermit lowered his chin. “Olivay’s father,” he amended.
“Now you have a few minutes left for you to settle in,” the Hermit said.
“You might decide to take a few extra seconds to memorize your face in the mirror. I think it would be wise. Because soon there’ll be a knock on the door.
A servant will enter with an early dinner so you don’t starve through the night’s events. ”
“Princesses don’t eat at events?” I asked.
“Oh, they do. Better than half the country eats all year. But tonight will be long. First, before the tournament kicks off, there’s a little ceremony for you to complete. And you won’t have access to food until it’s long over.”
“Ceremony?” I asked. “What kind?” I knew there was one for marriage. But Olivay and Jaron were already engaged. The ink on the contract was dry. What more was there?
“The official announcement,” the Hermit said.
“That’s what tonight is about, presenting you to Eskalon as their future queen.
Now, you don’t know the servant who will be coming with your meal.
So it’s fine to act natural, I mean, as yourself.
She’s a stranger to you—to Olivay. But then not long after, your lady-in-waiting will arrive.
Abigail. She has pale blonde hair. Kind of timid but observant.
You’ve met her before, but you haven’t exchanged many words.
So smile when you see her, as if you’ve seen her before, but do no more than that.
She was assigned to you by King Tirian.”
“I don’t have a lady-in-waiting from Spartva?” I asked.
“And you’re welcome for that.” He bowed.
“Olivay tried to demand she keep her lady from home, for familiarity and safety purposes. However, I charmingly suggested she allow King Tirian to assign her someone familiar with the workings of the castle, someone who would help her adjust to the culture and customs of Eskalon with ease.”
I nodded, feeling equally impressed and disgusted at how much he’d managed to manipulate the princess.
“What else do I need to know?” I asked.
“Just eat and allow Abigail to get you bathed and dressed for tonight.”
“Oh shit.” I looked down before catching my reflection in the mirror.
My hair was darker than it had ever been, my eyes shockingly blue.
Olivay stared back at me from the glass, her lips, her cheeks, her eyebrows.
I could still see her in my mind. I was staring at an exact replica.
I frowned, mimicking the expression in the way she had.
But my clothing was the same outfit I’d conjured days ago to fight the chimera, and it was filthy.
“I better change before my meal arrives,” I said, suddenly feeling a whole host of butterflies in my stomach. I wore her face, I knew her favorite color and song and dessert, but suddenly the idea of pulling this off felt ridiculously impossible. “Who else will I see tonight?”
“Everyone most likely, but not for long. I’ll fill you in as much as I can and remind you when someone comes before you.”
I took a deep breath. It would be hard for him to come between Olivay’s parents and me. My stomach twisted at the thought of how deep this deception was about to become.
The Hermit sauntered over to the wardrobe, his hands wandering across each item until he landed on a blue dress and pulled it out.
The satin sleeves shifted to lace at the elbows, and the skirt’s many panels alternated between lace and satin. He held it up against the fireplace, where the logs were barely more than a few burning embers. Possibly from when Olivay—the real Olivay—had laid down for her nap.
“Well?” he asked, twirling the dress. “Is it to your liking?”
The golden threads of the blue dress gleamed. Just like Jaron’s had. Like they all did. Like they all would until this was over.
“It’s fine.” I swallowed roughly and grabbed it from him before slamming the door of the bathroom shut behind me.
Not sure if anyone would be suspicious upon finding my travel clothes, I imagined them gone, leaving me completely naked, save for my mother’s locket which hung between my breasts.
And though I knew a rather extensive bath was coming, I expected the real Olivay had most likely bathed fairly recently, so I quickly splashed some water from the basin over my body, and then with a small burst of magic, imagined I was both clean and dry.
I hadn’t conjured a dirty body, but smells that might have come from a lack of bathing were not something I could control.
Feeling at least somewhat refreshed, I stepped into the dress, but struggled to tighten the laces up my back. Olivay’s arms just didn’t reach.
This was why princesses had ladies-in-waiting.
But I had Azete magic at my fingertips. As long as something was a part of my appearance, like clothing or jewelry, then I could shift it around.
It was how I’d conjured my fighting clothes, and how I made them vanish.
It took a little more magic from me, but in the end, the action was no different than changing the length and color of my hair.
A few thoughts to guide the strings, and I managed to lace my dress up and tie a neat bow at the top. I smoothed back my dark hair, watching it as it shone in the light, and took in the full effect in the bathing room’s mirror. I was all Olivay now. The transformation was complete.