TWENTY-FOUR
WILLOW
To my surprise, it’s not anyone from The Council.
It’s a woman, petite with ash-brown skin. Her dark brown hair is thick and coily, and she wears a gray dress with a white apron.
In her hand is a silver tray topped with a white towel and two oval chunks. One of the chunks is black and the other is brown.
“Hello, I’m Sylvie. I am here to serve you tonight.” She gives me a warm smile, but I’m still wary. I lower into the water but, despite the steam, it does nothing to hide my body. “Would you like Vanorian Blossom or Luxor Spice for your choice of soap?”
I soften at the reminder of Vanorian Blossoms, thinking about that night in Caz’s childhood cabin. The first night we had sex and the very one that sealed our bond.
“Vanorian, please.”
Sylvie gives me a wink. “Wise choice.” She removes the brown soap from the tray. “Would you like me to wash you?”
“No, that’s okay,” I say, sticking my hand out. “I’ll just take it.”
Sylvie gives me a funny look, as if I’m the crazy one for denying a wash from a stranger, but she hands it to me anyway.
“As for your hair, I have something for that. Our hair is unique so it has to be treated as such. When you’re done, I can show you our oils and help you style it if you’d like.”
All of this is so unexpected. I can’t help wondering if Killian is getting the same treatment. God help the servant who sneaks up on him. Hopefully they’re not dead already.
“Are these the garments you’ve selected?” Sylvie asks, studying the outfit laid out on one of the chairs.
“They are.”
“Oh, absolutely not . This will not do.” She tuts as she shakes her head. “Once you’re done, I’ll show you the better clothes. A woman of your status shouldn’t be caught dead in this.”
She snatches up the clothes and tosses them into a deep bin in the corner. Then she busies herself with towels on a rack that are already folded while I give my body a quick wash.
Sylvie offers me a bottle of shampoo, and I wash my locs, grateful to get rid of the dirty smell of that prisoner cell. When she sees I’m done with a towel wrapped around my head, she offers me a black robe.
“May I ask you a question?” she asks once I’ve slipped my arms into it.
“Depends on what it is.” I side-eye her as I tie the robe at my waist.
“Is it true you’re the Lady Monarch of Blackwater?”
I face her full on to study her up close. She’s shorter than me with dark brown freckles on the apples of her cheeks and bridge of her nose. Her eyes are warm brown, her lashes full, lips supple.
She’s older than me, judging by the wrinkles on her neck and the crows’ feet around her eyes, but there’s still a youthful energy to her.
As much as I want to answer her question, I don’t. For one, I’m sure she already knows the answer. And two, ever since choosing to stay in Vakeeli, Caz has constantly warned me not to tell strangers who I am…even if I suspect they’re aware.
“I only ask because I find it inspiring,” Sylvie goes on with a hopeful smile. “I’ve served many people but never a woman like me. With our skin, being a darkie and all, well…you know how it is. We are not as respected as the others.” Her eyes drop, and her smile collapses.
Oh. I see . I take a step closer to her. “I’m not the Lady Monarch yet. But I will be one day. Perhaps that’ll change things, but in the meantime, please don’t call yourself a darkie. That’s such an ugly term, and you’re much more than that.”
She gasps, eyes lighting up. “It is so very bold of you to become Lady Monarch.”
My head tilts. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it makes you more of a target. Not only for being Monarch Harlow’s wife but for being one of us .”
I frown—not at her, but the statement.
“I—I’m sorry,” she adds hurriedly. “I don’t mean to say any of this to scare you.”
“I’m not scared,” I return.
“No,” she says with a faint smile. “You’re not. And I don’t think you ever should be. I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard many stories about Monarch Harlow.”
“They’re awful, I’m sure.”
“So bloody awful,” Sylvie laughs. “But he treats his people well. His territory. Any monarch who takes care of their people instead of taking advantage of them is a winner in my book.” She presses a gentle hand on my upper arm. “Come with me, dear. I know you don’t feel safe in this castle, but I promise you’re safe with me.”
For some reason, I believe her.
I walk with her, remembering the clothes she tossed. “By the way, I chose that outfit to be discreet,” I inform her. “I don’t trust The Council, but there is one of them in particular that I don’t want to reveal more of myself to than I have to. Honestly, if I could hide my face, I would.”
Sylvie’s eyes widen as we near a section of the bathroom where a wooden vanity with a mirror is placed. “I see,” she says. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll keep your attire modest.”
“Thank you.” I smile at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She picks up a bottle of gold oil and stands behind me, pouring some into the palm of her hand.
“May I?” She gestures to the towel on my head.
“Sure.” I remove the towel, and my locs swim to my shoulders.
She works her fingers through them, applying the oil to my scalp and kneading gently.
I sigh. It feels really good.
As she does it, I notice the smile on her lips, as if she’s done this to many people before and has enjoyed it every single time. Then I realize what it is about her that’s so comforting.
She reminds me of Della, Caz’s former house maiden.
I drop my gaze and study my lap. An intense feeling takes over me. It’s completely overwhelming, so much so that my hands begin to shake.
My vision blurs as I think of all the losses and death that has happened because of me .
If I’d never come here, Della would still be alive.
My brother would still be alive too.
My heart hurts even more when I think about my twin. I didn’t even get to tell him goodbye. He’s gone, sucked away by this savage world. He didn’t deserve that.
“Oh, my dear. Are you okay? Am I being too rough on your hair?” Sylvie asks, lowering to a squat next to me.
“No, no.” I try blinking my tears away, but that makes it worse. Days ago, I was muted and could hardly feel any emotion.
Now I feel everything —the raw ache inside me, the longing to hold my brother one last time, to laugh with him, to share a milkshake with him and see him smile.
I squeeze my eyes shut and release a sob, drowning in all the pain, hurt, and loss. My face drops to my palms, and I lean forward, wanting this agony to end, but it doesn’t. It’s only just started.
“Willow?” a deep voice echoes around us. “What have you done? Did you hurt her?” Kilian demands, his steps thundering through the bath house.
“Of course not!” Sylvie cries. “I would never hurt anyone.”
A hand presses to my upper back, and I feel the warmth of a body next to me. “Willow, are you all right?” Killian asks in a softer voice. Well, as soft as he can manage.
“It’s all my fault,” I cry. “If I hadn’t gone after him—if I’d just stayed away, he wouldn’t be…” I suck in a wet breath. “He was my brother , Killian. He was the only true family I had left and now he’s gone too. This is how my life goes every single time—everything just falls apart. Everyone either leaves or dies, and it’s not fair. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, but it’s just…it’s not fair.”
“Whoa. Hey. Okay.” Killian holds my wrist, trying to get me to lower my hands. I don’t. I don’t want him or Sylvie to see me like this. “What happened to your brother?”
“Caz said he’s dead now. Hassha and Korah had to…kill him.” I finally peel my hands from my face to look into his eyes, which are wide and confused. He glances at Sylvie, who watches us both.
“I’ll fetch an outfit for you,” Sylvie says, turning away before she completes her sentence.
“I don’t understand,” Killian says, head shaking. “I thought The Regals were helping him. Why would they kill him?”
“Caz said it was because he turned into some kind of creature. He said it happened because of Decius. I don’t know the full extent of it, but I do know he’s gone now.”
“When did Caz see The Regals?” he probes.
“Milandra, one of the guards, came the same night The Council came for us. He transported to Kessel for about an hour and came back.”
Killian releases my wrist and swallows, rising to a stand again. “None of this makes any sense,” he mutters, pacing the edge of the bath.
“No,” I mumble. “It doesn’t.”
Killian stops pacing to look at me sideways. “I’m sorry about your brother, Willow. I’m sure you wanted the best for him. You didn’t know this could happen.”
“I promised to get him help—Caz and I did. We trusted them.” I sniffle. “I just hoped he’d make it back to me. That he’d stay in the manor with us or close by at least.” I swipe my face with the back of my hands. “All I know is I will never forgive Hassha and Korah for this. They said they’d help him and protect him. This was happening the whole time—for weeks —and they said nothing, Killian. Nothing .” I curl my hands into fists. “Caz was right. The Regals can’t be trusted.”