7. Celebratory
CHAPTER SEVEN
Celebratory
Once again, I found myself in the bathing chamber of the council wing.
I tilted my head back against the partition that screened the toilet.
Two officers waited beyond the chamber door; a third stood just inside it.
The partition had granted me a sliver of privacy, but that would not last if I did not hurry.
Exhaling did nothing to calm my rapid pulse.
I did not recall the walk here. Everything had blurred around me as I reeled over Cassiel speaking inside my mind. I battled with opposing emotions. Relief that he was alive cycled into despair. Over and over again.
I wiped away the tears wetting my cheeks.
Piper was truly gone.
Any hope I’d maintained withered and died. There was no turning back or getting her back. Cassiel forced me to face it.
“Redblood!” The sharp snap muffled by the partition informed me my time had run out.
I pulled the lever hanging from the side of the porcelain toilet and walked back out into the main bathing area. A large tub fit for four Warlords sat with steaming water.
Vera stood beside the tub, ivory fabric resting across her arm. The whites of her eyes were a pinkish color, as was the tip of her nose, as if she had been crying. I caught myself before lunging forward, masking the jolt with my limp.
“Your Highness,” Vera murmured, curtsying. “I am to prepare you for a celebration.”
I straightened my shoulders and approached the bath slowly. The scent of rosah came with the steam of the water, and pink and yellow petals floated along the surface.
Why has she been crying?
Vera set the gown on her arm across the stool beside the bath and stepped behind me to take the dirt-riddled coat off my shoulders, tossing it aside. She began to unlace the back of my gown, settling into the acts of a practiced lady’s maid.
The front of my gown gaped, and I tugged it until the feeder gown pooled at my feet. I stepped out of it and approached the steps, keeping my bloomers on.
The officer standing at the exit raked his gaze over my breasts. I gritted my teeth, ignoring him as I stepped up and into the bath. Warm water lapped against my skin, and I sank in the rest of the way until it reached my neck.
Vera stood behind me, collecting my hair in hand. Without wasting time, she began to scoop water onto my head, lathering the bar of soap into my hair carefully. I sighed, leaning back into the scalp rubs.
How lovely it felt to be clean.
Though it was another reason to be cautious. There was no possible way they had doused Cassiel with water, and now I was being bathed, without a reason.
The council plotted something.
Vera finished rubbing my scalp and began to lather my hair, then scoop water over it.
I pulled away and slid down until I was fully submerged.
My hearing became muffled, and I let myself float underwater for a few beats.
I broke through the surface, startling Vera into dropping the soap into the tub.
Our hands collided as we reached for it at the same time.
Before she could withdraw, I caught her.
Her eyes widened, but she kept her head down.
I squeezed her hand and released the soap. The pulse in her neck jumped.
She stepped back and placed the bar of soap on the little tray to the side of the bath. I kept one arm across my chest, and since my back was to the officer, I smiled.
Vera’s hands trembled around a washcloth she picked up to hand to me.
I turned my back to her and rubbed the soapy cloth against every inch of my body until a layer of skin had all but peeled off.
Removing the bloomers left me completely bare.
I tossed them over the lip of the tub. Then I reached for the little plug in the middle of the tub that kept the water from draining and pulled.
The officer continued watching me in the tub, so I gave him my back and stood up, facing Vera.
She already had a towel spread out for me.
I stepped out of the tub, needing to pull myself up just a bit to get out.
Fortunately, it was nowhere near the size of Cassiel’s. Vera wrapped the towel around my torso.
While I dried myself, she collected fresh bloomers and tossed a crimson dress over her other arm. She handed me the bloomers while I scrunched my hair until it was dry. I dressed quickly and tugged the dress over my breasts. She stepped behind me and laced up the straps.
According to Hester, none of them had been allowed to leave the feeder wing. Wait, Hester! Did they think Hester was gone? Was that why she seemed so upset?
“What is this gown for?” I kept my tone icy and abrupt.
Vera stepped back, her frame huddled into herself. What had they done to instill such fear in her?
“There is a wedding celebration you are to attend, my lady.”
I hummed. “And will His Highness be present?”
“I do not know, my lady—”
“No speaking,” the officer snapped.
Vera snapped her mouth shut and curtsied.
I whirled, the skirt of the gown swishing around me. “How am I to be prepared?” I asked, piercing him with a glare.
“You will be serving the council alongside the feeders. That is all you need to know,” he answered. His hard gaze continued to drop to my breasts where they swelled over the edge of the corset.
I took a moment to study this officer who took pleasure in ordering us. His hair was cropped close to his skull, his features were arrogant, and he looked down at me as if I had a disease.
“Here are your slippers, my lady,” Vera murmured, interrupting the heavy silence.
I slid my feet into the silk slippers and stepped on something stiff and long. Vera slightly shook her head, and I kept still. What had she slipped into my shoe?
“You. Return to the west banquet hall,” he ordered Vera.
She dipped her head and shuffled past him, avoiding nearing him as much as possible. His lips twitched into a smirk. I fixed him with a flat look while he watched her leave. The door swung shut behind her.
“What of my hair?” I said, lifting my chin. “I must have assistance to pin it up.”
He approached so slowly that I knew he was attempting to be intimidating.
After Cassiel, nothing could force me into cowering.
He was half Cassiel’s size, but based on how he carried himself—chest puffed and smiling—he believed he was much more.
The item inside my shoe made itself known.
Was it a weapon of some sort? It could not be a blade unless she had sheathed it within a protective barrier.
I kept my spine straight, not blinking at his lean forward.
“Why is she so frightened of you?” I asked unimpressed.
He pulled back a bit, visibly taken aback by my challenge. This was not a good man. He was the epitome of how many entitled bluebloods behaved.
The door swung open.
The blond officer stood at the entrance. He frowned, taking in how close he stood and how I shrunk away from him.
“Has she finished, Officer Devin?” he asked, nothing of note in his tone.
Officer Devin leveled a hateful look at me. I did not twitch, and by the narrowing of his eyes, he did not like that.
“Yes,” he said, extending an arm.
I stepped past him, taking my time. My damp hair moved around my shoulders, touching the bare skin. The blond man said nothing as I stepped out. Drusilla waited there, and I came to a halt.
She appraised me from gown to hair. Her lip curled with disgust.
“It will do,” she announced and looked at the blond. “Let us go, Officer Brandt.”
She turned her back on me. I had a clear shot of her back. Easily, I could spring forward. Officer Brandt cleared his throat and studied me through squinted eyes. If I attacked Drusilla, I might not have a chance to work alongside Al.
I ground my teeth and fell into step behind her.
“You will stand aside, as you have in the past, and serve alongside the other feeders.” She spoke as she walked us through the council wing, past the ascending steps to the Archives. Taking me to a section I had yet to see. “You will follow the feeder waiting for you at the entrance.”
Another pair of officers stood at an open entrance of a hall half the size of the one hosting Cassiel’s throne, yet it was more elaborate—the west banquet hall. Gold sconces lined the top of the wall, holding the flames alive.
I slowed even as Drusilla continued inside, passing Branwen.
Officer Brandt left my side to approach the other officers at the door. I continued forward to Branwen.
She curtsied.
“My lady, you will be personally serving Lord Vaner. Ensure his wineglass is full. Come and I will hand you the pitcher.”
She matched her stride with mine as we entered.
The polished floors were ivory with gold embedded within the reflective stone.
Upon entering, chatter and clinking glass assaulted my senses.
Along the long table were various council members dressed in beautiful clothes.
Velvet coats and trousers in various ivory shades.
The women sitting beside each of the men were notably younger, all in pale dresses.
“Vera told me,” Branwen whispered, and the chatter became a hum in the background. I kept my reaction under wraps and followed her to a corner where there were two pitchers. She handed me one, and her fingertips touched mine, lingering pointedly.
I faintly nodded.
Vaner sat at the head of the table, and right beside him was Cassiel dressed in a black silk tunic that angled tighter in a manner that said it was tucked into trousers.
Thick cuffs bound his wrists together, chained to matching iron around his ankles.
Hollow dips indented his cheeks. Veins had become more visible along his temples; black lines beneath the surface.
I had not realized how malnourished he had become.
Drusilla sat beside Cassiel, cooing over him. She held a glass full of blue liquid to his lips. He sneered, drawing straighter.
“You promised to behave, son,” she tsked, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
“I never believed I would see a Warlord collared like a dog.” One of the council members who sat opposite Cassiel laughed.
“Because you have always been a pessimist, Lord Dillon,” Drusilla chimed in, turning to look at Cassiel who seemed to find the ivory cloth covering the table fascinating. “And he is my son. Show some respect,” she chided.
Why was Cassiel so still? Why had he not fought this? Despite the line of officers behind Vaner, they would not overpower him . . . I followed his attention. Beside the entrance, against the corner stood Egan. In his hand was the effigy.
Branwen led me around the long table, crossing past Ida who stood with her back flush to the wall. She did not seem as bothered; instead, smiling as if holding secrets. I focused my attention on the chill seeping through the glass into my palm.
“In all my centuries on this realm, I did not think we would ever allow another redblood to fully Awaken.” Another man sitting on the other side of the woman beside Lord Dillon added, his skin a deep brown shade. A shade often seen in Southern Sycarious, where I hailed.
“Enough about the Elysian Pair. We are here to celebrate Lord Cedric’s marriage. It is the first step in his ascension,” Drusilla added. “Since Lord Tagon is choosing not to join us for another cycle.”
A bald man clapped Lord Cedric on the shoulder.
“My son will be much more suited to take my spot on the council,” he said in a low, gruff voice.
‘Take his spot being a cunt.’
Cassiel’s silky voice filled my head. I staggered, and a small bit of wine dripped onto my fingertips.
In my whirl to look at Cassiel, I collided with a familiar pair of blue eyes.
Miriam sat beside Lord Cedric dressed in an ivory gown with jewels spanning the bodice.
The dress was different from the one I watched her be fitted in for her wedding to Viscount Lancet.
I ripped my head forward as the swell of grief ravaged my insides.
I collected myself and continued my uneven stride to stand beside Branwen where she held the other pitcher.
My arm brushed against hers, and she leaned closer to me.
I could tell questions bubbled behind her eyes, but she exhaled slowly and returned her focus forward. Customarily, this positioning at an event was purely for redbloods. I was used to serving and remaining as close to the wall as I possibly could, but Branwen was an Elite.
“More for Lord Cedric,” Drusilla snapped her fingers at Branwen, and she scurried forward to pour wine into the glass he held up.
“Lord Cedric will be the next to join the council. His wedding is the first step in receiving his host,” Vaner added, holding up a wineglass.
Whatever Vera had slipped into my shoe seemed to shout at me. Drusilla’s hair was coiffed into an updo, leaving her neck bare. The image of her snapping Piper’s neck burned behind my eyelids every time I blinked.
She had murdered so easily. Now she sat beside Cassiel, rubbing the top of his hand and smiling.
I squeezed the pitcher tighter. If I slammed it upon the ground, it could provide a shard large enough for me to slice it across her throat. Pressure swelled in my throat. Murder was something so foreign to me before I was brought to the Kingdom of Sycarious, and now I mused over it.
But she was at fault for ripping me asunder. The ‘Amara’ before me was fragmented, and I was left over.
‘Amara.’ Cassiel’s voice pulled me from my violent musings.
Vaner had leaned forward and looked back at me with a raised eyebrow. I approached, forcing my stride to remain slow.
“Is she touched?” Lord Dillon asked, genuine concern in his tone. I would have believed it if he had not had the look of a man who found himself humorous.
“Perhaps she’s been broken enough by the Warlord,” Lord Cedric interjected. He scooted his seat back and patted his thigh. Ida slipped onto his lap. “There has to be some damage to her head. I heard about His Highness fucking her until he broke her.” Admiration filled his tone.
He continued going on about how impressed he was, fully groping Ida as she fawned all over him. I tilted the pitcher to pour wine into Vaner’s empty glass, feeling the weight of his stare.
“She has simply learned her lesson,” Drusilla interjected.
“That she has,” Vaner said. “Stay.”
I stopped retreating, glaring at the woman who took Piper from me.
“Oh-ho! Look at the rage in her eyes.” Lord Dillon chortled.
“I do believe she wants to kill you, Drusilla,” Vaner added.
I did. Desperately.