Chapter 4
Carys
“Oh, all your suitors will just swoon when they see you in this dress. Teal compliments you,” Lowri gushes.
“The rust-colored dress was better,” Ellynne says. “It brings out the amber of your eyes.”
My servants are all giggles and grins, but I am not amused by these ridiculous excuses for dresses. They’re a bloody bore.
I sigh and smooth out the exaggerated flared skirt of the teal dress I’m currently wearing. Shades of green flatter me but this … this is rubbish. Before I turn away, I glimpse at my reflection. “Unlace me.”
The women exchange expressions and Ellynne unlaces the bodice. My lungs can finally expand again, and I take a deep breath. As soon as the stays are fully unfastened, I pull them away from my body and fling them aside. The bodice lands on the purple velvet cushion of the ornately carved armchair.
“Ellynne, tell me the dressmaker sent something more inspired.” I glance over my shoulder at the redhead behind me.
“No … ” She finishes unbuttoning the rest of the dress.
I can’t step out of it fast enough. “Magdin’s freezing tits,” I mumble. “Of all the dressmakers in this godsforsaken kingdom, I have to get stuck with the incompetent ones.” This is the third dressmaker I’ve had in just three months. There will be a fourth.
I huff and march off in my chemise, dropping onto the bed with a grunt.
“Lowri, pour the princess a glass of wine.”
Thank the gods for Ellynne.
I groan with annoyance into my silk sheets.
The bed depresses and I feel Ellynne’s familiar touch as she strokes my hair. Her fingers catch on a few knots, and I wince.
“You have the hair of a princess, but the heart of a warrior.” The amusement in Ellynne’s voice provokes laughter from me. I press my cheek against the sheet, turning to face her.
“A warrior sounds so much more intriguing. At least then I wouldn’t have to go to this bloody Feast.” Hells, the bloody Feast wouldn’t even exist if not for the necessity of my marriage.
“It’s nearly time for you to visit Her Majesty,” Ellynne reminds me. As though I can possibly forget. “Let’s get you looking more presentable.”
“Fine.” I sigh, sitting up.
“Tomorrow we’ll try on more dresses for the Feast. How does that sound?” She’s speaking in that ridiculous, soothing tone.
“You’re patronizing me.”
Ellynne responds with a knowing smile. She’s lucky I’m fond of her in all her cheeky glory.
I push myself off the bed and follow her to the wooden vanity, my dark hair swinging well below my backside. Try as I may, I can’t help but pout like a petulant toddler as I plop into the vanity chair. “My hair looks awful, doesn’t it?” I turn to Lowri as the slight woman hands me a goblet of wine.
“N-no, Your Highness.”
I roll my eyes, and I swear Ellynne does as well.
Lowri is relatively new to my service after my last lady eloped with another servant, and she’s nothing like her sister.
Not even in appearance. For what Lowri lacks in curves, Ellynne has it all and more.
Long lashes frame Lowri’s big blue eyes, giving her the illusion of wearing kohl.
Ellynne’s eyes are olive green with a perpetual sparkle as fiery as the hair on her head.
I seize the goblet from Lowri and chug the wine before handing it back.
The brunette skitters off while I glower at my reflection.
Golden strands of hair shine through my black tresses—a physical trait from the grandmother who died before my birth.
I’ve seen paintings of her, with stunning raven hair, golden-streaked like mine, and warm brown eyes like my mother’s.
Thanks to many sleepless nights, dark semicircles draw attention to my amber eyes, the freckles scattered across my nose and cheekbones stark against my ivory complexion.
“Why are you scowling at yourself like that?” Ellynne asks as she lifts my brush from the vanity and begins carefully running it through my hair.
I allow silence to fill the space. Now and then, Ellynne tugs harder on the brush, pulling a hiss from me each time. “Should I cut it?” I ask.
“It’s up to you.” She smiles at me in the mirror’s reflection as she continues detangling the knots. “I would miss styling it, though.”
I shrug. Perhaps severing myself from my defining feature could also cut away my faults.
Ellynne plaits a small portion on each side, pulling the braids into a halo around my head and securing them with little hairpins.
The lower portion of my hair is left loose to cascade down my back.
She finishes the look with my favorite diadem—a delicate headpiece of gold, twisted into an intricate design that dips into a V against my forehead.
A ruby gem at the center of the V matches the amulet that rests against my chest.
“There.” She beams with pride. “Do you like it?”
I turn my head from side to side, admiring my hair from different angles. It’s perfect, as is to be expected from Ellynne’s gifted hands. “It’s lovely,” I say, the corner of my lips twitching up into a small smile. I stand and my tresses drop down to the backs of my thighs.
Lowri comes running toward me, a bodice and a sage green gown in hand.
Both women help me into the garments, lacing, cinching, and buttoning it all before slipping my favorite heeled shoes onto my feet.
The buckle of this pair is adorned with tiny iridescent gems that match any dress I wear.
I appear more than presentable, but I am tardy.
As usual. I set off with purpose toward my door and Ellynne calls out to me.
“Carys, don’t forget your book.”
Right. How could I forget that? I halt in my tracks and turn as Ellynne approaches with a leather-bound tome in hand.
The cover is nondescript save for a few abstract swirls bordering it.
The original cover had the book’s title, Erleyan Folklore and Fairytales, branded into the leather.
Unfortunately, when my book began falling apart last year, my mother had it rebound with this bizarrely dull cover.
I gratefully take the heavy book from her. “What would I do without you?”
She smirks. “You’d be a mess, of course.”
“I’m still a mess. Utter chaos, in fact.” My cheek twitches, a smile threatening to break my resolve. Right now, however, I need to be the ice princess again.
I turn on my heels and open the door before sweeping out of the chamber and nearly colliding with a solid mass.
My personal guard, Sir Callum Ferrer, is broad-shouldered, the top of his head not far beneath the top of the doorway.
I’m taller than average, but he makes everyone look short.
Excitement prickles at my skin as I gaze up at those piercing blue eyes beneath his cropped ashy blond hair.
He’s a dream to look at, but I’ve seen what he can do with that sword on his hip.
Gods be damned, I’ve seen what he can do with those hips too.
“Good morning.” A slow smile spreads across his lips.
I take a deep breath and vanquish any lustful thoughts as I tear my gaze away from his mouth.
Giggles sound behind me as the sisters exit the bedchamber.
Lowri holds her hand over her mouth to contain more giggles, and Ellynne winks at me.
I roll my eyes though I’m unable to stop the small smirk that slips past my stony exterior.
Both women curtsy before dashing away, and my attention snaps back to Callum.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks.
“No, but let’s do this.”
Understanding crosses his face.
Visits to my mother’s chamber have been increasingly gloomy lately. I look forward to reading with her—or more likely to her. As much as it pains me having to face her, it’s always refreshing to escape into this book of fairytales where sprites and merrow exist.
Callum extends his hand away from me, as if introducing me to the large corridor.
We follow the winding passageway, my heels clacking against the tiles as we walk beneath high stone arches.
The hallway opens into the busy concourse where numerous nobles and servants mill about.
Ornate stone columns support a massive archway and a foreboding double door leading to the royal chambers.
I lift my chin and throw back my shoulders, plowing on across the concourse, acknowledging each greeting with a curt nod.
Just once, I would like to walk these halls without having to interact with others. Without anything being expected of me.
The guards let us through the double door, allowing us into a private hallway.
It’s another trek through several winding corridors before we arrive at an immense carved door at the very end.
Two pairs of guards stand watch, all dressed in maroon.
Each wears a black sash with gold embroidery of the sun eclipsing a crown turned on its side.
Queen’s Guards. All four bow to me before two stand aside while one of the other two opens the door.
As Callum and I enter my mother’s bedchamber, I’m hit with the stench of tonic herbs and an odor I can’t describe.
It seems like hundreds of candles fill the great space, their flames swaying eerily against the floral designs painted on the walls.
The fireplace crackles, exuding a suffocating heat in addition to all the candles.
“Good morning, Princess,” says Iywan.
I turn my attention to my royal advisor—the queen’s friend and right hand.
Iywan is tall and slender, with grey hair slicked back and braided at the nape of his neck.
His umber skin is a map of wrinkles, and his dark brown eyes are steady and wiser than his sixty years.
Once upon a time, he’d been like a second father to me, but we grew apart over this past year.
The sight of him makes my stomach sink. He bows, and I frown at him.
“Why are there so many bloody candles in here? It’s hotter than Lugda’s balls.”
I swear his eye twitches.
Language, I remind myself.
“We’re hoping to sweat the sickness out,” Iywan says. “Briony has informed me that it’s a simple yet effective cure.”
“Who’s Byney?”
A thin young woman with icy blue eyes and a small, upturned nose stands from my mother’s bed. Sandy brown hair frames her long face. I’ve never seen her before. A porcelain bowl against her chest catches my attention.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” she says. Her voice is quiet, but not at all timid. “I’m the new healer’s apprentice.”
Alys didn’t tell me anything about a new apprentice. I wave my hand. “You can go now.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” The healer’s apprentice curtsies and strides past Callum with sure steps.
My mother is asleep in an enormous four-poster bed with heavy canopies of deep maroon draped all around her.
She’s covered up to her neck in quilted fabric and even her pallor is flushed, her skin beaded with sweat.
My heart tugs painfully. Even her once golden hair is rapidly turning silver, as if her sickness is leeching the pigment.
I sit beside her and place the book on my lap. “Good day, Mother.”
The healers have already informed us that whatever is ailing her is not contagious, so I lean over to kiss her sweaty brow. She doesn’t even stir. A dull ache settles in my chest, but I force myself to take a breath. I need to be brave. For her.
“I’ve brought our favorite book. What shall we read today?”
Still no response. It’s bizarre. Normally she wakes, if even for just one tale. Why in Rhianu’s name is she not waking up?
I glance toward Iywan who’s standing aside respectfully. “What was in that bowl?” There’s no hiding the blame in my voice.
“I requested that Briony give her valbane. Your mother was in a great deal of pain.”
Valbane—with the right dosage, it’s strong enough to keep a man unconscious through an amputation. Heat floods my veins and I frown. Now he tells me.
“You couldn’t have waited a damn moment longer until I got a chance to see her?”
“My sincerest apologies, Your Highness. Please know that I had your mother’s best interest at heart.”
“That best interest should’ve included letting her be awake long enough to see her only surviving child. She looks forward to these moments.” We both do.
He inhales to respond but I hold up my hand, intercepting him.
He knows he’s wrong. I turn my attention back to my mother and brush back damp strands of silver hair from her forehead.
“And could you put out some of those bloody candles? She’s sweating like a glassblower’s arse!
” I stand and heavily place the book onto the small decorative table beside the bed before tugging a layer of sheets off my mother. “How long will the valbane last?”
“A few hours, Princess. Shall I summon you when Her Majesty is awake?”
“Of course.”
“And what of Audience, Your Highness?”
I freeze, annoyance nipping at me. The last thing I want to do right now is sit in the throne room and listen to people complain about things I cannot control. “You may hold Audience in my stead.”
“Very well, Princess.”
I turn away from Iywan, rolling my eyes before pressing one last kiss to my mother’s brow. “Have her ladies give her a sponge bath with rose oil.” My voice trembles and I feel as though I’ve swallowed fire.
This is not how I expected this visit to go—I’d looked forward to reading with her, to musing over the world that I wish we lived in.
A world where magic can do wonders, illnesses can be cured, and happily ever after is possible.
I want to scream, cry, smash a few things.
Something inside of me entertains the notion of cathartic destruction, but Alys’s voice of reason is in my head, reminding me to step back from the situation and evaluate it.
Is this worth my rage?
My mother would hate for me to lose my temper just because Iywan was trying to alleviate her pain. Even though it did leave her unconscious before my visit.
I collect my book, and Callum opens the door for me to storm out of the chamber, my dress and hair swishing around me.