Chapter Seven #3
“You didn’t see him after the eclipse, Ves,” she says. “I knew the bond was strong. I didn’t think it capable of destroying someone before it had been accepted. He wouldn’t listen to me. I tried to tell him about Rowen, about what he said, but he locked himself away in his office.”
She cracks a small smile and dry laugh.
“Much like you and that bathing room.” She gestures toward the open door. “No one could approach him. I think Fenryn was too stupid to realize how he took his life into his own hands every time he tried to talk to him.”
I can’t help but chuckle.
I don’t know Fenryn very well, but it’s too easy to imagine him being an oaf.
I’ve not spoken about my return to the hells.
Nothing beyond Netharis’ death.
But I did the same.
I wallowed.
Our heads turn as the door opens. Oraphia enters, carrying a long, black silk dress. Tapping the door shut with a heel, she crosses the room, the fabric trailing beside her. She hoists the hanger higher, hanging it upon the bedpost before giving the dress an approving nod and turning to me.
“Alright, Lady Ves,” Oraphia says with a faint smile. “Chin up. It’s time to get dressed for dinner.”
My brows crease. “I told Raevi to pass word I’d like to take dinner in my quarters.”
“And Lady Lilith is requesting your presence instead,” Oraphia counters, turning to meet my stare. Her smile vanishes and concern etches itself into her aged features. “How are you feeling?”
I try to offer some semblance of a smile. “I’m fine,” I reply. “Thank you.”
“Lady Ves, I need to apolo—”
“There’s no need,” I shake my head, not letting her finish. “You’ve done nothing wrong. The fact of the matter is I am a damned creature from a damned lineage. Of course I would find some means to slip into the veil.”
“I didn’t know that could happen,” Eve says and both Oraphia and I turn our attention to her. “I didn’t know people could just be pulled into the veil.”
“It’s called dying, Lady Eve,” Oraphia replies, her tone terse as she approaches the vanity near the other end of the room. “I’m glad it didn’t end as badly as it could have. You don’t deserve that. King Alaryc doesn’t deserve that.”
Oraphia pulls the chair from the vanity and sets it in the usual spot before the tall mirror—where I usually sit while she works on my appearance. She gestures to the seat with an open palm.
“We have an hour,” she says.
“Have fun with that,” Eve laughs and Oraphia’s eyes dart to her.
“You’re to be dressed too,” Oraphia counters and Eve’s laughter dies. “Your attire should already be in your quarters. Raevi is there to assist you.”
“Wait, what? Why do I have to be dressed? She makes sense,” Eve scoffs, and she watches me with a sharpened glare as I rise from my seat. “I’m simply the guard.”
Oraphia levels a cool, less than impressed stare across the room as I take the offered seat.
“You knew that was a lie before you uttered a single word,” Oraphia replies. “And yet you chose to utter them.”
It’s my turn to laugh.
And I’m quickly pierced with a daggered stare.
With a dragging groan, Eve stands and marches reluctantly toward the door. “I hate all of this,” she says, pulling the door open.
It closes behind her.
And I can’t help but laugh.
Oraphia, shaking her head, waits. Likely expecting Eve to return and try to argue her piece. When it doesn’t open after a few moments, she nods, satisfied by the silence, and sets to work.
Her hands move a brush through my hair with a skill honed through decades of service to the Witherhorn family. By this point, I’ve grown accustomed to her grooming assaults. Her ability to turn me into what a Sovereign Queen should look like is hardly believable. She’s unmatched.
It’s during these times I get to learn more about the human woman unafraid of the centuries-old Sovereign King she serves. To say the least, Oraphia is refreshing.
She’s proud of her service to the royal family, proud of her children—they’re her whole world. While they’re both employed at the castle, I’ve yet to meet them. But, even so, Oraphia is quick to share their accomplishments.
Today, it seems, the conversation will be all about her daughter, Cadence. She’s recently taken a specialized position in the kitchens, a pastry chef. I might have to meet her after all. And by meet, I mean visit to pilfer her creations.
If the topic isn’t her daughter, it’s her son, Gideon. He works in the stables, and it’s strange to see a woman unafraid of Ryc fret over a horse. Apparently the beast he’s working to break has already maimed two handlers.
While she talks about her family, tells me stories about her children, it reinforces the fact my siblings and family couldn’t be farther from functional. It makes me hesitant to share anything about my history when she asks.
Thankfully, she’s never offended by my silence.
She fills it with stories—stories that make it too easy to imagine what it would be like were she my mother.
The concept of mothers is foreign in the world of demons. Newborns are raised by their House as a whole, not a singular creature. It’s to encourage emotional detachment—Houses and members within them change. Often. A demon needs to be able to turn blade upon anyone regardless of history.
Mothers, in the sense of birthing, don’t exist. Maternal death is guaranteed when a demon is created. The death is considered the newborn’s first offering to their House.
The brush in my hair stops, and I lift my gaze from my hands in my lap.
“How are you really?” she asks, her voice low as her brown eyes meet mine in the mirror. “After… after today?”
A weak smile reemerges on my face.
Oraphia is a doting mother. The embodiment of motherhood within Castle Erus. We’re all her children, regardless of species or age.
Lowering my gaze to my hands, I pick at the laced edge of my night camisole. Thoughts of Vaelyn, the council, the ascension as queen, the veil… they all swirl in my head.
“I’ll be better once Fate is finished with me,” I answer in a long sigh.
“Fate is never finished,” Oraphia says, her voice soft. The brush begins to move again. “Fate is the fire in which we forge ourselves.”
“Or turn to ash,” I reply.
“Perhaps,” she mulls the word.
After some time, she taps my shoulder. And mindlessly, I stand, having gone through these same motions hundreds of times over the last few months. She brings tonight’s attire, a black slip dress, and helps me get dressed.
As she titters behind me, closing the last of the buttons, I stare at my reflection. Long, slender sleeves, high neck, clingy silk. Nothing outlandish or attention seeking. It’s a comfortable enough piece.
Even so, I look nothing like the demon I am.
Instead, I look fae.
Very royally fae.
Ryc was wrong. This is my demonic deception.
Turning my gaze toward the door, unable to bear the sight of myself any longer, I sigh.
“Would you like help with your shoes, Lady Ves?” Oraphia asks, appearing before me.
A delicate pair of black heels rest in her hands.
They’re quite pretty.
Wrapped in silk with a high heel and pointed toe, they’ll adorn this pretty facade perfectly.
“No, thank you, Oraphia,” I grant, the words barely audible, and she places them in my hands.
“Then I shall see you in the morn,” she bids with a curtsy. “I hope you enjoy your evening with Lady Lilith and Lady Eve.”
“Thank you,” I reply as she retreats from the room.
I’ve learned a great number of things about this realm since my return. Too often things are rarely as they seem.
And the prettier they are, the more they hurt.