Chapter 12
Twelve
Delicious wafts of sizzling sausage and steeping tea drift over me. The bed is buttery soft under my fingertips. I sit up, wiping drool from the corner of my mouth and crust from my eyes. My head pounds from sleeping with the circlet still pressing into my skull.
With a shock, I remember.
Phyrne’s revelation.
The boot on my back.
Everything that turned my world upside down in a single night and led me to wake up in this strange place. I throw off the blankets and furs.
Morning light floods the royal suite, illuminating tabletops littered with books and chairs piled haphazardly with scrolls.
Rolling blackboards with maps taped to them take up space by the bright windows.
Gilded oil paintings adorn every wall, adding to the charming, disheveled atmosphere of the private chambers that belonged to the father I’ll never know.
“You’re awake!” a young lady chirps from behind the food cart near the doorway, half-chewing something. “Oh, you don’t look so good.” She peers over a silver lid, the steam enveloping her face.
I grunt and rub at my temples. “It wasn’t an easy night.”
“Night? You’ve been asleep for two whole days.”
My stomach drops. Two days?
The neckline of my ruined ceremony gown digs into my skin, itching up my chest and neck. I want nothing more than to be out of it.
“They tried to put you in a fresh nightgown, but you wouldn’t stop fighting the maids. You even gave one girl a nasty bite!”
Leaping to my feet, I sprint across the room to the dressing table. My muscles and limbs ache, but my ankle is no longer injured. I can’t help but wonder if the circlet healed it in my sleep.
The three-paneled mirror halts me. A stranger looks back through the glass.
My glow is gone.
The ordinary woman staring back isn’t ugly.
She has all the same features as I do, but the luminescence from the Rite of Allurement has vanished.
Gone are my effortlessly sleek, waist-length spirals; my hair is now frizzy and oversized, with wild curls and knotted loops.
The rich brown color has become less vibrant, and the strands no longer shine with golden undertones as they once did.
Rather, my hair is mousy brown—pale and dull.
My fingers run over the torn chiffon of my gown. I shake my head and unhook the back of the dress, quickly wondering how I could persuade the Spirit-Fae Cathedral to grant me the Rite without participating in the Bidding Ceremony.
“Whatever are you doing?” the young woman exclaims as she returns through the chamber doorway.
“The dressing maids have been informed that you’ve awoken.
They’re fetching hot water for a bath now.
” She looks no older than seventeen, with freckles covering every inch of her face and arms. She wears a gown of fine black satin, which seems out of place with her straight strawberry-blonde hair.
“You’re supposed to let them undress you. ”
“I know that, but I can’t stay in this any longer.” I slip out of what remains of my dress. A chill ripples through me as I stand there naked, down to my wiggling toes. Only then can I exhale and bitterly think about how I will never again wear a ceremony gown.
My cheeks warm, and I look around for a dressing robe or any linen to drape over myself, but there is nothing but the bed coverings. Sheepishly, I cover my body with my long hair.
A maid enters, and my companion calmly requests that she light a larger fire.
While the blaze is stoked, the rest of the uniformed maids file into the chamber carrying steaming buckets of water and place the copper tub in front of the fireplace’s crackling warmth.
“I suggest you eat something before you get in,” the girl says, smelling of roses and soap. My nose wrinkles. After the fight with Balor, the scent makes me sick.
She shoves a hot roll into my hand with a pointed look. Taking her advice, I nibble on the buttery morsel, but it tastes like sawdust on my tongue. Hunger is the last thing on my mind, especially with the Alexandrian Chronicle lying spread out on the morning table.
Hear ye, hear ye! His Royal Grace, King Xander Metalla III, has passed into the Otherworld.
Long live the Queen! Her Royal Highness Tabitha Rilea Metalla, lost princess and former High Lady Courtesan, will ascend the throne upon the king’s dying request. All hail Queen Tabitha, first of her name, rightful heir to the kingdom! More details on the next page…
I drop the roll back on the plate.
The girl puts her hands on her hips and asks, “How warm do you prefer your bath? Because if you don’t tell them now, they’ll scald you.”
There’s a layer of grime on my skin that I doubt will ever wash away. Water temperature is the least of my worries. I murmur, “Hot is fine.”
I run my fingertips through my scalp and quickly become entangled in the snarled knots. The maids swat at my hands and attack with boar-bristle brushes and smooth jade combs.
My companion winces while watching. “It might help to soak first.”
Being yanked on reminds me of Balor, and it becomes increasingly difficult to hold my position. The maids gasp as I pull away from them, breathing hard.
“Your Grace… is everything all right?”
Beyond the point of caring that I’m still naked, I grab the scissors from the dressing table and cut my hair in as straight a line as I can manage, shedding over half of its weight.
Watching the tendrils fall to the ground brings back a flash of memory of my hair being used as a rope.
I untangle the circlet and hold it in my hands, the Alexra humming through my palms.
A kind-looking maid slips a dressing robe over my shoulders, causing my cheeks to burn. Changing and bathing in the open is commonplace in the courtesan dormitories, but I don’t know how they perceive it here—now I wish I’d been more patient.
“My father was right about you,” the young lady admits, eyeing me from the side as she helps the maids stay organized while they prepare the bath with dried flowers and beauty oils.
“You are going to turn this kingdom upside down, for better or worse! But I have a feeling it’ll be of the better category.
” Her tresses tumble over her face when she bends to pick up a dropped towel.
I already know the answer, but ask in a squeaky voice, “Who is your father?”
“General Metalla, of course.”
My stomach flips.
Princess Klara Metalla—the king’s niece and my… cousin. Two nights ago, she was the heir to the throne, groomed from birth to rule. Now I’ve ripped away that birthright—upending her world, the same as mine.
“Why don’t you get in the tub? I’ll come back later to discuss what happens next.”
I guiltily blurt, “I didn’t want any of this.”
“Most wouldn’t if they knew what it entailed.” The princess seems to pity me, her lips downturned.
“Aren’t you furious?” I remember her father’s seething face.
“What good would that do? I won’t lie; it’ll be an adjustment, but there are other reasons to be glad for it.”
“So you’re happy?”
“They awoke me when it happened, and I paced my room, thinking it through all night until morning. Then you slept and wouldn’t wake up, giving me even more time to think.
The strangest part of my revelation was the relief—not at being removed from the heirdom, but relief that I won’t be alone anymore.
” Klara folds a fresh towel over her arm, eyes glassy.
“Even my governess has abandoned me. She left for her family’s country estate two months ago and hasn’t returned.
It seems my lot in life is to stay while others go. ”
I bite my tongue, not knowing if I should inform her of my wish to eventually abdicate. She shines with such youthful, sweet hope that I withhold the information. There is no sense in ruining the girl’s afternoon, and in any case, I want her to stay content and cooperative.
I grab her slender hand. “I’m glad too then.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” She gives me a shy smile and backs away.
“You’re welcome to remain here if you’d like to keep talking. Courtesans often sit together while bathing.” And truth be told, I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts.
Her eyes light up, and she nods before heading to get more towels.
Dropping my dressing robe, I submerge myself in the soothing tub.
When I reappear above the water, Klara is already sitting on a three-legged stool next to me.
If she’s willing to be friendly, I can’t think of a better person to help me transition into castle life. She’s probably a trove of information.
I let the hot liquid relax my muscles and quiet my thoughts. That is, until I notice a beautiful face staring at me from a gilded portrait. I suck in a breath.
There she is—Theodora, the Courtesan Queen, painted in all her splendor.
Her deep auburn hair rests in waves around her face and she wears a delicate tiara.
It arches and swoops to a center point, cradling an enormous oval-cut jewel in its filigree.
The gem glitters with iridescent rainbows—somehow, the artist conveyed the millions of light specks dancing across the dim chamber walls in the painting’s background.
I study Theodora’s face closely.
It’s different from my own. Hers is soft, with a swooping nose. Mine is sharper, and I have a small bump on the bridge. My irises are gray like iron, while hers are so light they almost look silver. The truth is that I have no features resembling hers or the king’s.
The whispers creep around the edge of my mind. I gaze at the circlet resting on the dressing table, then quickly turn away.
I’m not ready for this.
“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Princess Klara hands me a sea sponge.
I want to change the subject and ask her about her own mother, but I decide against it.
General Metalla’s wife, the Duchess of Alexandria, went mad ten years ago.
She was removed from the castle after she deliberately set a large fire.
Those cruel depictions in the scandal papers will forever stay in my mind.
I can only imagine what it must have been like for a seven-year-old girl to lose her mother in that way.
“I don’t know how I feel.” A half-lie. I’m too scared to admit I might be sick from the anxiety of it all.
She hands me an oval bar of lavender-scented soap. “There’s no point in worrying over the things we can’t change, especially when we need to prepare ourselves for a busy day.”
Those are the exact words passed between courtesans many times over, and now I receive them here too. Unease squeezes my heart before I ask, “Prepare for what exactly?”
“Uncle Xander’s Pyre Ceremony—it’s today,” she explains, frowning. “And after the press broke the news yesterday, a crowd has gathered at the castle gates waiting. I believe they want to watch us start the procession and maybe get a glimpse of you.”
I remember the king’s lifeless eyes and shut my own to block them out. “I bet the papers are flying off the stands with how they twist things. I don’t want to know what they’re printing about me now.”
“I know, right? The absolute nerve of them.” When she sees me staring curiously at her, she admits, “I used to read about you over the years. Even when they wrote that the Chancellor might bid on someone else, I always rooted for you. It made my tutor furious when I couldn’t focus on my calligraphy lessons. ”
Her forwardness catches me off guard. I blink. “May I ask you a question?”
She nods eagerly.
“I thought no one could open the monarch’s chambers if they were locked. How did you and the servants get in?”
“There’s a fail-safe in case of emergency. The heir can always access this room. And since you don’t have any children, I’m your heir. I unlocked it when you wouldn’t answer the maid’s knocking.” She smiles and pats my hand. “Is there anything else you would like to know?”
“Do you… do you have powers?”
Her lips scrunch. “No. Not yet… but they were teaching me what to expect when the circlet became mine. Now I’ll only inherit my father’s wrist cuffs, but that’s okay because it gives me more time to prepare.”
It is beyond my comprehension how she so easily adapts to life’s changes with such an upbeat attitude.
A seamstress enters with an assortment of black gowns and places them at the foot of the bed.
“Since we’re getting comfortable asking each other questions, I would like to ask you something too—” A sharp rap on the chamber door cuts the princess off.
Without thinking, I call out, “Come in,” as if I were at the Bidding House.
Captain Finn Wellcrest, dressed in a black mourning cape over his silver armor, enters, his eyelids puffy. He nods to his betrothed, then turns toward me and gives a quick bow, his long braids falling forward. Princess Klara shoots up from her stool, her face turning crimson.
I scoot lower into the water, wishing I could disappear entirely. But instead, I force a polite nod. “Yes?”
Wellcrest maintains eye contact as he states, “The procession starts in an hour. I suggest you arrive at the front gates in thirty minutes.” He turns around and leaves without a backward glance.
With a quick flutter of her blonde eyelashes, the princess surveys what the captain might have seen of me. She sighs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and begins to sort through the gowns on the bed.
With the door firmly shut, I stand up from the water, putting my dressing gown back on.
She holds a piece of black lace, inspecting it in the light.
“Princess,” I softly remind her, “was there something you wanted to say before we were interrupted?”
A pinkish hue remains across her delicate nose and cheeks. “I know we’ve only just met, but let’s treat one another as true family and call each other by our first names. We should forgo titles and formalities and simply be Tabitha and Klara. I can tell we’ll be fast friends.”
I shoot her a genuine smile. “I would like that very much.”