Chapter 2 #2
“They’ll know anyways come morning,” Soren replied wearily, beginning to fumble with the ties of her wrap dress.
Mona looked sidelong at her and said, very quietly, “We need to keep a low profile. All of us. The king will be on edge.”
Soren knew just who ‘we’ meant.
All the Misean servants were children who had been brought up as slaves in the palace, with minimal memories of their home kingdom.
But King Johannas was always on the lookout for reasons to punish them, especially when he was in a mood.
The next few weeks were bound to be dangerous, for them especially.
“I know,” Soren said quietly.
Even as she kept her face neutral and her voice calm, inside, she felt as though she wanted to scream.
Traitor.
The word repeated itself in her head like a terrible mantra. Somewhere out there, her true people were fighting tooth and nail to keep their kingdom from Aren’s grasp in a war that had carried on for decades.
When the gods abandoned them over a century ago, Aren had fallen into a great drought.
As a mountain kingdom with a drier climate, only magic had once kept their crops from dying.
When it was gone, the food supply quickly dwindled.
Mise’s land remained fertile and lush as it had always been.
But when King Hammod of Mise refused to aid Aren, knowing full well his smaller kingdom could not support the enormous beast, King Johannas took it as an act of war.
He decided if Mise would not give, Aren would take.
And take, they did.
The war had been going on for nearly thirty years now.
Mise still stood only because the neighboring desert kingdom of Meesling had agreed to aid their military effort in exchange for a marriage alliance, and likely a share of resources along with it.
Even so, from what Soren had heard, both Mise and Meesling were barely holding the line.
She pushed away the thoughts of war and her own betrayal, though. They were too overwhelming, and the helplessness she felt when she let them sink in helped no one.
So instead, she let her mind calm and mechanically pulled off her dress, tugging on a coarse nightgown.
Silently, across the room, Mona did the same.
They took turns in the tiny bathing chamber, and then Soren settled into her bed.
Mona blew out the single, waning candle atop the dresser, plunging the room into cool darkness.
Just before Soren fell asleep, Mona whispered, “Be smart as you have always been, Soren. Do not let the events of tonight turn your head to any grand notions.”
“Don’t worry,” Soren muttered sleepily. “My hope died a very long time ago.”
In the morning, she and Mona rose at dawn, as usual, then hurried to the royal wing. When they arrived, all was quiet. It was almost too quiet.
Thelia and Jasmen were already at Princess Cion’s door, waiting with her breakfast. They stayed in a different wing of the palace; the Misean servants were kept separate from the others.
“Have you gone in yet?” Soren murmured to Thelia, who shook her head, an odd, amused expression tugging at her lips.
It was then Soren realized why they were waiting. The sound of soft, feminine moans came from the princess’ chambers. A few moments passed, and the moans grew louder. Jasmen clapped a hand over her mouth to keep the giggles from escaping as Mona glanced at Soren, her brows raised.
Soren sighed then said to them all in a harsh whisper, “Not a word about this to the queen or king, even if they were to ask. We serve Princess Cion first.”
Three pairs of eyes darted her way.
Mona was the first to nod and reply, “Of course.”
Thelia and Jasmen quickly made quiet noises of agreement. Then Jasmen, in that soft-spoken, wary of hers, asked, “Should we knock? Before someone else hears them?”
Soren took a deep breath, worrying her lip between her teeth before saying, “I think we should.”
They all looked at each other until Soren muttered, “Alright, fine. I’ll do it.” She gave three sharp raps on the door and announced, “Your Highness, it’s Soren and the others. We are here to dress you.”
The moaning abruptly stopped. After nearly a minute, the door cracked open, and a rosy-faced Princess Cion appeared behind it.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” Soren said. “We…wanted to give you privacy but also needed to warn you others in this wing are likely to wake soon.”
Princess Cion’s mouth tilted to the side in a half-smile. Despite the events of last night, it seemed Lady Anabeth was able to lift the princess’ spirits.
“I understand, Soren. There’s no need to worry, though.”
She stepped back, allowing them in. Lady Anabeth was brushing her long hair, examining her features in the mirror as Soren stepped inside the chamber. She hardly gave the handmaidens a glance, as if unconcerned by their presence.
Soren busied herself readying the oils and milk for the princess’ bath while Mona, Thelia, and Jasmen served her breakfast and pulled back the curtains.
A knock sounded on the door, and Soren hurried to answer it. A boy, probably about thirteen, stood there, two full pails of steaming water in his arms.
“Water for the princess’ bath, miss,” he said in a trembling voice.
She nodded curtly, reaching out. “Thank you. I’ll take the buckets from here.”
“Are you sure, miss? They’re heavy,” he said, his pale blue eyes earnest.
“I’m sure.” She paused, examining him. “Are you new? I’ve never seen you before.”
The boy hesitated but replied, “Yes, miss.”
Soren feigned a soft smile then leaned in and murmured, “Don’t try to run. They’ll catch you and kill you before you can even beg for your life, understand?”
She pulled back, still smiling as she took the pails of hot water. The boy’s eyes were wide, but he only bobbed his head and hurried away down the hall.
She shut the door, Mona eyeing her suspiciously as she hauled the buckets to the bathing chamber.
Thelia helped her carefully pour the water into the bath, Jasmine adding the oils, milk, and rare honeytwine flower petals.
The flower was said to have originally come from Arcadia, the land of the gods.
If the legend was true, they were one of the last relics of an age quickly fading into the past.
Mona and Jasmen helped Princess Cion out of her silken robe and into the bath. Soren, who always washed the princess’ hair, poured soap from a glass bottle into her hand before gently massaging it into Princess Cion’s scalp.
“I want you all to know,” Princess Cion began, tilting her head back, “I am alright. I know last night may have frightened you. It frightened me too. But I refuse to be afraid.”
“Will you still ride?” Thelia blurted out. “Now that you’re Aren’s heir?”
Mona shot her sharp look, but Princess Cion only sighed heavily. “I will. The prophecy said I must, and even my father cannot deny such a hand of fate. I will likely serve my duty in the war effort and then return to take the throne when the time is right.”
“I see,” Thelia said. “Apologies, Your Highness, if I was too direct.”
Princess Cion chuckled. “Do not worry, Thelia. I’m not about to report you to my mother.”
Thelia bowed her head slightly in thanks, but Soren saw her hands shake before she could steady them.
“Princess,” Soren began quietly. “Should we keep word of your relationship with Lady Anabeth discreet as of now?”
Again, the princess sighed. “For now. And Soren,” she turned, water dripping from her now-rinsed hair, “my Choosing ceremony is in a week. It will occur, even with my brother’s passing, and I’d like you to attend to me as we travel to the temple and afterwards.”
Soren blinked. “You… Do you mean to say you would like me to stay with you once you enlist and begin your service?”
“If that’s alright?” Princess Cion said, raising a brow.
Soren cleared her throat. “Of course, Your Highness. I serve you wherever you wish to go. I am just surprised is all. Honored, but surprised.”
Princess Cion twisted back around in the bath and reached for a bar of honey-lemon soap, this time speaking to them all.
“I value all your aid and the work you do for me. I hope there are no hard feelings amongst you given my choice for Soren to come with me. I will be back someday, and then soon, you will be serving not just a princess, but a queen.”
Mona, Thelia, and Jasmen all smiled and bowed their heads, but Soren could see the envy in Thelia and Jasmen’s eyes. Mona, on the other hand, looked like she was concealing poorly hidden relief. Soren thought she knew why.
She had been chosen to aid the princess while she fulfilled her duty as a rider, fighting for Aren. She would have to be close to Misean soldiers. She might even have to stand by and watch them die, and, if needed, she would be required to protect the princess from them.
Heaviness already weighed on her at the task ahead.
Princess Cion finished washing, and then they helped her into a heavy, midnight-black mourning dress, the fabric so different from her usual wear. The thickness of the material was an Arenean tradition—a cage to keep sorrow in the body and a shield to ward off spirits as they passed.
Soren affixed a veil in front of the princess’ face, Lady Anabeth watching closely from her seat by the vanity.
“I feel like a ghost,” Princess Cion said quietly, slowly turning as she eyed herself in the mirror.
“You look beautiful,” Lady Anabeth said sternly. “And remember, you hold much of the power now. You are their heir.”
Princess Cion sucked in a sharp breath, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’m ready.”
Soren and the others bowed their heads as they trailed after the princess.
When they emerged into the hall, each and every servant and slave they passed did the same.
Whether they truly felt any sorrow for the late prince or not, there remained a heaviness in the air.
Much of it was probably an act, but here, they did not have a choice. Submission meant survival.