Chapter 10
ARLET
My room is as lavish as any other part of the palace that I have seen so far. It’s full of more gleaming wood, shiny silk-papered walls, gilded edges, intricate carvings, and rich textiles hanging from the windows and adorning the floors.
Six women in total are standing on either side of the room; three stand next to a privacy partition with simple yet extremely fine and elegant gowns hanging next to them, and the other three hold different beauty tools like a golden hairbrush, cosmetic pots, and a tray of perfumes.
The elven women are beautiful in a way my mind struggles to hold on to. Different shades of light-colored hair and pale-to-honeyed skin seem to fit together like the most beautiful flowers in nature. Their light skin reminds me of my own.
Standing in front of these women, I feel unbeautiful. Not just because of their extremely sharp and well-proportioned faces, but for the same freckles that have haunted me my whole life.
Except…there had been someone who loved the small dots that cover my body. He’d traced them with both finger and lip. He’d made me feel so beautiful that the way I looked no longer mattered.
Here, I am one of “them.” Back to being judged and scrutinized.
Looking at this room, and the women waiting for me, I realize what I have to do. I must use one of them to fix me. Could I trust them? Could I get them to obey me? I quickly spiral into fear and self-doubt.
My heart races and my breath quickens.
Before, when I was up against an impossible situation, I had the ability to reach deep and scrape out just enough conviction to face each challenge, perhaps not gracefully, but well enough to continue.
It happened when I lost the baby. When I was thrown out of my home.
When I came to Enduvida with Estela and Mikal.
And then, finally, when I was cursed and had to leave behind the new life that I’d built for myself.
I…don’t feel the same strength now.
Red, stop, Cursed One interrupts.
I pause at the nickname, only to be drawn away by Thorne.
“This is where you will be staying while you prepare for your upcoming engagement to the king. Once married, you will be taken to a suite closer to His Majesty’s personal rooms, but for right now, you will be given space and expected to be transformed into the ideal bride.
” Thorne gestures at the women holding beauty products. “These will be your ladies-in-waiting.”
A light goes off in my head. Potentially, they could be even better than a maid.
“They will ensure that your fairness increases every day from now until your nuptials.”
Hopefully, my fertility, as well. I nod my head at the women, who do not so much as smile. They look at me with mistrusting eyes.
“As future consort to the Elf King, it will be your privilege to choose your dressmaker. They will be tasked with creating your dresses for as long as you live in the palace’s halls, and we have selected the finest gown makers, both within Shvathemar and beyond,” Thorne says.
Immediately, I try to feel out which one I might be able to endear myself to, but Thorne is already impatient.
“Enough of that,” he says to me. “Remember, these women are meant to serve you—the only person here on your side is me. Friends and traitors, my dear.”
My cheeks heat, partially from his plain, abrupt way of speaking in front of these women that I am trying to gauge, and partially out of shame.
I glare at him, but instead of falling for his harsh words, I first approach the ladies-in-waiting.
I know from my reading that such women are meant to come from very important families in any court.
It would be an honor to serve in such close proximity to the crown, as access to greatness or power can be just as beneficial as holding it.
They might be very well connected. They would have access to resources.
They watch me like statues with moving eyes, but I don’t let my smile fall. I am not a master of political games, but I consider myself someone who understands, more or less, the nature of beings.
“My name is Arlet,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. They all look at me with measured expressions, as if waiting for more. Is that proper? “Humans do not have established systems of surnames as your people do, but where I come from, I was considered a lady in the court,” I continue.
Still nothing. Hostia.
“I am a weaver by trade, but I have come to learn a great deal about history through my teaching position.” I pause. “Do…any of you have other positions? May I know your families perhaps?”
I remembered how intimidating the women from the Sisterhood had been when they first came to Enduvida.
They introduced themselves with their first kill, but I knew that each of them had come from different places within the elven class system.
I know that women aren’t treated very well here, as in many systems where the pride of a society is a man and his power.
The one in the middle speaks up first. She’s got the deepest skin tone of the three, though very light compared to the melanin found in human colonies.
Long, light-brown locks spill from her scalp in silky waves.
Small braids keep her hair out of her perfectly angled face, with high cheekbones, a curved button nose, and wide lips with a pointed cupid’s bow.
“My name is Merlina. I come from the Alnory family,” she says.
There’s something in her voice, an obvious distaste, though whether for me or the situation, I am not sure.
As a prospect for trust, she’s not my first choice.
“I do not have a husband, but hope to marry well. With the help of the crown, of course.”
I give her a tight smile. So that’s what she was promised to be here. Is it the same for the others? I can use that in my favor.
“All the men in my family have achieved the highest status within the royal archer ranks. We have served the crown as the greatest tactical minds for over a millennium,” she continues, more obviously annoyed that I didn’t give a better reaction to her family name.
Damn, another mistake.
“That is impressive.” I nod, trying to appear more impressed. “It is an honor to meet you. You work with cosmetics?”
She looks down at the pots in her hands, still annoyed. “Yes. I am proficient.”
“What other talents do you have?” I press.
Thorne’s disapproving throat clearing in the background cuts her off, and the woman to the left of her speaks. She’s got blond hair and is much shorter than the other two.
“I am Eslina, from the Oakfeather family,” she says without elaborating.
The name is familiar, as are bits and pieces of her face. Glyni, one of the elves who served Mrath, the one who guided us around the Enclave as well as fought alongside my people in the conflict with the giants, had the last name of Oakfeather.
If I remember correctly, Glyni killed her father to be initiated into the Sisterhood. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but Thorne likely knows the same information as me. In fact, I can feel his eyes on my face even now as we speak.
She’s quiet. Guarded. I can’t tell if she would be the right choice either.
“It is good to meet you,” I say, and then turn to the final woman.
“I am Kiala,” she says. She also has light blond hair, but this time with brown eyes, not unlike my own. “I am of the Fereleaf line. I am accomplished in the usual tasks.”
Oh, she seems very nice by elven standards.
The smile that spreads across my face is genuine, but mostly born from relief to have at least one viable option.
“Lady Arlet,” Thorne says. “I have much to discuss with you. Dismiss your maids, and then you must select a dressmaker.”
I don’t like being rushed, but I let it rest and let them leave as I walk to the other side of the room, where the gowns still hang in all their splendor, their creators standing next to them. I stare, gobsmacked, when the first to enter is an older human. A woman with thin lips and a sharp frown.
I thought there weren’t supposed to be humans integrated into the elven court? And yet, there she is. Are there others like her? And if so, where?
I try not to stare, instead turning my attention to the hanging garments.
Each gown has its own flair, but each of the fabrics is as fine as any magic-spun stone silk in the Enduar Mountains.
Without thinking, I approach the first gown closest to me, one in a pale green with silver brocade, a velvet bodice and overskirt, and silk inserts near the legs.
I can see the impressive train pooling on the floor, and when I touch the fibers, I practically sigh.
I’ve never made anything as beautiful as this, and I likely never will.
I blink away the sudden onset of emotion and then say, “This is exquisite. Excellent velvet.”
The dressmaker, an elf with seemingly no expression other than a straight-ahead stare, nods.
The next dress, the one made by the human, is a deep blush pink and reminds me of flower petals.
Leaf-light sheer fabric is attached to the neckline and half sleeves, clearly meant to be worn around the forearm, creating an elegant cape-like effect.
The neckline is more romantic, with pleated fabric molded to the shape of my bust.
I am reminded of the last time I was given a pink dress to wear. The night of the ritual with the human witches on the island. My chest constricts. Did Arion know about that night?
I mean, Thorne could’ve told him. When they took me from the island, it was what I was wearing.
“Thank you,” I say, and continue on quickly to the final dress.
It is by far the most opulent of the three.
It looks like actual metal has been sewn—no, fused—to the fabric.
Sparkling diamonds and gems weigh down the tulle skirts, while chiffon sleeves and a neckline of rich ocean blue adorn the rest of the gown.
I realize that a matching headdress has been placed next to the gown.