Chapter Eight #2
A line of five women stands near the door. They all wear the same uniform, a simple light blue dress with wide sleeves that reach their elbows in the front, trailing down to their wrists at the back.
An older woman waits near the foot of my bed, her hands clasped before her.
I get a vague impression of disapproval coming from her, though she tries to disguise it.
Her uniform is a much darker blue, with a fuller skirt and longer sleeves.
Her black hair with bright silver streaks running through it is pulled back into a knot at the nape of her neck.
A hand settles on my shoulder, pulling my attention. The one who woke me. Her black hair is pulled back in a braid that drapes over her shoulder.
She smiles warmly. “My Lady, you must get up now if we are to stay on schedule.” Her outfit is a variation of the others. The color and sleeve length are both somewhere in the middle. Their clothing seems to indicate different ranks.
Her calm demeanor helps me think clearly and remember where I am and why. I nod and push away the covers.
The older woman signals to the lined-up women. They bow before splitting into two groups. Three of them hurry through a side door while the other two exit through the main door.
“He said you might want to eat,” the one at my side says, guiding me over to a low table near the window.
He? Did the prince arrange this after last night?
Before I settle, two women reenter. Each carries a tray.
One with food, the other with a teapot, a glass pitcher of water, and a cup for each.
They place it all before me, then leave without acknowledgement.
Considering the turnover rate for the prince’s wives, I might as well be nothing more than another decoration in the room.
Temporary. A flower that will wilt and be replaced soon enough.
“Once you are finished eating, we will begin the preparations, starting with the bath. After that, we will dress you and do your hair and makeup,” the senior woman announces.
As she continues to go over the schedule for the day, the first woman pours an amber tea into my cup.
The food smells amazing. One plate holds a colorful array of steaming, bite sized dough, stuffed with aromatic vegetables and meat. I lift the lid from the bowl before me to find a broth soup with vegetables. I start with a long drink, then pick up the spoon and start with the closest dish.
It’s uncomfortable being waited on when I don’t know how to address anyone. I should ask their names. Only, I don’t get a chance as every minute of the day is outlined in detail.
As the final vestiges of sleep fade away, my nerves tangle into knots.
Growing up with my condition, I never even considered marriage.
Yet, I’ve somehow found myself here… about to marry the fae prince I agreed to help with some mysterious task in exchange for restoring my parents.
The same prince, who is known for his cruelty, and whose six previous wives have all ended up dead.
A small part of me is afraid he will bring me the same fate through some subtle wording of our bargain I’ve yet to realize. However, I am not worried about finding an early death at his hands because, irrationally, a much larger part trusts him.
Prince Joon might need me because of the flower, but he didn’t need to promise my freedom. He didn’t just say he would keep me alive—he swore to keep me safe.
I’ve already lived three years past the age I or anyone else expected. And he is giving me more time.
After breakfast, I’m ushered into the side room and bathed in perfumed water. The five attendants scrub me, wash my hair, then massage oil into my skin. Any attempt on my part to do anything myself results in my hands being pushed aside.
My mind swirls with thoughts of Joon’s contradicting nature. He is harsh and cold, but he will say and do things to belie all I thought I knew of him.
It takes all five women a painfully long time, tugging, twisting, and tying twenty layers of sheer material fabric into knots to create a dress that gives the illusion of being crafted from ice.
Without a moment’s break to breathe, they move onto my hair, drying, brushing, and styling it into an intricate knot of twists and braids.
My back aches even before they start the makeup portion. I don’t think I have ever been forced to remain so still for so long before in my life.
The older woman chides me whenever I squirm.
At last, the five attendants finish their work and step back. I hardly recognize myself in the mirror. My hair is styled into complicated knots, and my features look flawless. They are beyond talented. This is what I would look like if I had been born to a life like this.
The older woman dismisses them, then turns to the one who woke me. “Make sure to stay on schedule, Iseul.” Her eyes flick in the direction the others had gone as worry tugs at the corners of her mouth.
“Yes, Mistress,” Iseul says with a low bow as the woman retreats.
Alarm turns the blood in my veins into rivers of ice.
“Are you ready?” Iseul asks.
When I don’t respond, she places a hand on my shoulder. I startle and whirl to face her. “What?” The question comes out breathless.
She holds up a large veil in her hands, and I allow her to place the material over my head. It’s thin, making everything appear covered in fog.
“We must go now, My Lady.”
My throat goes painfully dry. I nod, then follow her out.