Chapter Thirty #2
She throws open the curtains in another window and the intensity of the light grows painful. I groan as Ryc laughs harder. He pulls an extra pillow over our faces. The relief granted by the darkness is immediate.
“Do not play these games with me, Sovereign King.” The woman’s voice is muffled through the pillow.
“Ignore her. She’ll go away eventually,” Ryc half-whispers playfully and I can’t help but smile.
“I will do no such thing!” Oraphia exclaims, jerking the pillow away from us, exposing us both to the assaulting light once again.
With a roguish grin, Ryc kisses me quickly before leaving the bed. My brows shoot high at the casualness of the action.
Is this how it could be between us?
Easy and full of light?
Do I deserve such a thing after all the choices I’ve made?
Or is this yet another cruelty of Fate? Showing me things I’ll never have.
“I’ll see you at dinner, little demon,” he drawls with a smile that leaves me breathless as he backpedals toward the door. “Be gentle with her, Oraphia,” he warns with a grin.
“Your Majesty, please.” She sighs, placing her hands on her round hips. “You wouldn’t have asked me to tend to her if you expected anything less.”
The door closes after Ryc, and Oraphia turns her attention to me.
She’s an older woman, graying black hair, bright brown eyes, dressed in a simple but well-tailored black dress. It’s outfitted with a matching apron that features a plethora of pockets, a couple of brushes protruding from them.
“Good afternoon, Lady Vestaris,” she greets warmly, an entirely different tone than the one she’d used with Ryc seconds ago. “I’m Oraphia and I’ve been assigned as your personal attendant.”
“What?”
He’s given me an attendant?
Does he expect me to reside here?
I can’t do that.
Can I?
“Yes.” She nods once, firmly. “Now, it’s time we get you cleaned up and ready for the day. Or at least, what remains of it. Of which there’s dinner.”
With a groan, I pull myself from the bed and she ushers me to the bathing room at the other end of the room. Stepping around me, she beelines toward the deep clawfoot tub and begins to draw a bath. As it fills, I remove my camisole, letting it puddle at my feet.
“Come, come, Lady Vestaris,” she urges, taking me gently by the arm.
Good gods, I will not be called Lady Vestaris.
“Ves is fine,” I say and she gives me a confused look. “Please call me Ves.”
“As you wish, Lady Ves.” She leans over the tub, testing the heat of the water with the back of her hand.
I level a flat glare in her direction she fails to see.
She guides and urges me into the tub where, upon contact, the hot water melts into the very essence of my being.
I could spend an eternity right here in this water.
I would fight an army to do just that. Sinking into the fast-filling tub, I hug my legs to my chest, resting my cheek against my knees.
“Let’s get you washed up. It will help everything feel right as rain.” She smiles, revealing perfectly even, human teeth. “Then we’ll get you dressed and you’ll be ready to see the Sovereign King again.”
“I don’t have clothing here. Everything I own is at the temple,” I say, lifting my face as she fills a pitcher with water from the running faucet. Which, granted, I don’t own much.
“The Sovereign King already has a wardrobe for you. It’s limited at the moment, but one of the other castle staff will be bringing a selection a little later on,” she says, setting the pitcher down beside her to gather my hair, pulling it all behind me.
I’m not sure why, but the way she fusses over me reminds me of Button, the hen.
Button would cluck and croon and titter over the other hens in a motherly way.
The thought causes me to laugh. It’s a short-lived laugh as the thought of Button quickly ties back to Cora, and I swallow hard against the sudden tightness in my throat.
Who’s going to take care of Button?
Darla?
The other hens?
Artemise doesn’t strike me as the type to care about chickens—not when Cora had to argue to get them. Neither do Aenwyn or Opal. Definitely not Opal.
“Chin up, eyes and mouth closed, Lady Ves,” Oraphia instructs, her sharp tone yanking me from the verge of tears.
I can just imagine how foolish I look—a demon crying over chickens.
I would laugh if it meant I wouldn’t cry.
She pours the water over my head, taking care not to let it pour too heavily over my face. But it wouldn’t matter if it did. The water washes away the few tears that escape my tight hold.
“You’ll have nearly the entire northern wing to yourself,” she says as she begins scrubbing at my scalp with a bar of soap. The scent of lemon and lavender fills my nostrils.
“The king has had it furnished over the last couple of weeks. I believe he anticipated you.”
My brows crease as she works the soap through the length of my hair.
“What do you mean?”
Oraphia laughs, her fingers returning to my scalp. “The north wing has remained untouched since he ascended as Sovereign King. When he gave the order to begin preparing it, the entire castle staff knew it meant someone important was going to be arriving.”
“And you think that’s me?” I laugh with a scoff.
“I do,” she affirms, pouring water over me. “You’re safe to open your eyes again.” Reaching past me, she shuts off the water. “You’re the first female he’s dared share a room with since I’ve been employed here.”
I find that hard to believe and scoff a laugh.
Not with his engagement to Tanila—the stunning creature that she is.
She pauses to reach into a pocket, withdrawing two large black clips.
Placing them between her teeth, she pulls all of my hair into her hands, wringing the excess water free. Piling the silver mass into a loose bun atop my head, she clips it securely in place.
“You take a moment to relax. I need to see if your attire for dinner has arrived.” She quickly crosses the bathing room, closing the door behind her.
Not needing to be told twice, I unfurl my legs and stretch.
Leaning back against the tub, I rest my head against the ledge and let my muscles relax.
Under typical circumstances, I wouldn’t let Oraphia tend to me, but today…
today I’m not going to fight it. No, if Ryc wants his staff to tend to me, I’ll let them.
I don’t have it in me to fight and argue.
My mind is everywhere and nowhere at once and I don’t have the energy or desire to focus. Sadly, I’m not left alone for long. Oraphia returns and begins her assault against the dirt and grime clinging to my body.
By the time she finishes with me, I’m sure I’ve acquired more than one bruise. I endure her methods in brooding silence. Following that degree of torture, she plucks me from the tub, and rubs me down with a soft towel.
It’s rather exposing to have this woman dry me in such a manner, but anytime I reach for the towel, she lightly smacks my hand away giving me a ‘tsk’ sound. While I understand it’s expected of her, it feeds into the feeling of being useless and incompetent.
Finally, once I’m dry enough to meet her standards, she wraps me in the towel, shoving me into the bedroom proper to stand before the tall mirror.
Thinking I’m near finished and simply have to get dressed, my dismay grows when she comes at me with a thick bristled brush and begins tearing it through my hair.
As she brushes my hair, she talks the entire time.
Even if I wanted, I wouldn’t be able to get a word in.
She speaks proudly about her family as she works the brush through my silver locks.
I stand rigidly, holding the towel firmly in place over my breasts, steeling my neck against each drag of the brush.
It doesn’t hurt, nor did I believe she intends to hurt me, she’s simply overzealous in her application as she holds her one-sided conversation.
Her family has served the Sovereign King of Erus for six generations, since they arrived from a region of the Unclaimed Territories in the south.
An island, she says. She speaks about her daughter, now fifteen, recently being posted to the kitchens, and her son, now eighteen, working in the stables.
Oraphia admitted things in Erus aren’t perfect for humans, but they’re improving, especially since Sovereign King Alaryc came into power. As she continues raving about Ryc’s kindness and generosity, I roll my eyes and tune out.
She never notices.
I don’t need to be told what kind of fae the Sovereign King is. I already know he deserves a better Fate than to be contracted to a demon.
Taking a few steps back, she lets out an appreciative sigh at her handiwork. I have to admit, the silver of my hair glows in the bloody pink light of the setting sun spilling through the windows. Reaching, I pull a tendril through my fingers, my eyes widening at its softness.
Thinking she’d finished, I step away from the mirror as she moves across the room, toward the round table near the window.
“Oh no, Lady Ves,” she chides sweetly, grabbing a chair by its back to bring across the room. She sets it before me and with a gesture adds, “We’re not quite finished yet.”
I feared that, honestly.
We’ve already spent close to an hour and a half between the bath, the drying, and the brushing, but now comes the getting dressed and the styling.
Having had a troupe of twittering demons in wait in my early existence, I’m more than familiar with the purpose of the role.
Shine me up, dress me pretty, and set me off to be put on display.
During those years, I learned a great deal on how the court of the hells functions, and how I played into it. I’d been introduced to Kassil, Druka had been one of my demons-in-waiting—all of it several lifetimes away.
“We still have to get you dressed,” Oraphia chimes as she grabs the dress she’d brought with her from the door.