Chapter 27
The Pools
By evening the soreness from the afternoon’s sparring has begun to take hold.
At first it lingers only as a dull heaviness in my shoulders, the sort of ache that feels almost pleasant after exertion.
But as the palace lamps are lit and the day’s noise fades into the quieter murmur of evening, the ache deepens until even lifting my arms makes me wince.
Maridale notices immediately. “You are injured?”
“Only overzealous,” I say, attempting to stretch my shoulder and stopping when it protests.
She smiles faintly. “Most people who spar with Prince Colsar do not survive the experience well enough to complain afterward.”
I roll my shoulder again, testing the pull of muscle. “Maridale,” I ask after a moment, “where are the healing pools?”
Her brows lift in surprise. “You wish to use them?”
“Yes.”
“They are in the lower baths,” she explains. “The royal wing has private ones, but the larger pools are open to the court in the evenings.”
I hesitate only a moment.
“I would like to see them.”
Maridale studies me briefly, then nods. “I will bring you a robe.”
The baths lie deep beneath the palace, where the walls are warm and the air carries a faint mineral scent.
Steam drifts through the chamber, blurring the lamps over a wide marble basin.
No one else is there, and the quiet is a relief.
I slip into the water slowly, letting the heat close around me as the ache in my muscles begins to fade.
It reaches deeper than I thought, loosening tension I had not realized I carried.
For a while I simply remain there, drifting in the quiet.
I have never done this before. At the Baron’s house the baths were not meant for someone like me. Eventually the heaviness in my limbs fades to something pleasant and languid. When I rise, water trails down my skin and dampens the robe Maridale left folded beside the pool.
I tie the sash loosely at my waist and step out into the corridor.
The air beyond the baths feels cooler, though it still carries the mineral warmth of the springs.
Across the corridor the doors to the men’s baths stand partially open.
Steam drifts from within, and I hear the faint echo of water somewhere deeper in the chamber.
I glance at the doors only briefly before turning toward the stairs. My muscles feel loose now, pleasantly heavy, the ache from the afternoon’s sparring easing into something almost languid. A small smile touches my mouth. I now understand why people stay in these pools for hours.
I take only a few steps down the corridor before a hand closes around my arm.
The movement is sudden enough that I make a startled sound as I am pulled sideways into the narrow recess between the bathing chambers.
My back hits the wall as Colsar steps in front of me.
He releases my arm at once, though the heat of his hand lingers where his fingers had wrapped around my wrist.
For a moment neither of us speaks. Steam drifts slowly through the hall behind him, and water still darkens the pale strands of his hair.
His shirt hangs open at the throat as though he had dressed without finishing the task, the fabric parted just enough to reveal the lines of his chest and the pale scars that cross it.
His eyes move slowly over me, taking in the damp fall of my hair and the thin robe clinging to my skin where the water has not yet dried. The fabric is light enough that it hides very little, and I feel the moment his attention lingers there before his eyes return to my face.
Then his mouth tightens. “Why are you here?”
“I came to use the healing pools.”
“You cannot be here.”
The certainty in his voice makes me blink. “Why not?”
“Because you are the Princess.”
“And?”
His jaw shifts as if he is grinding the words between his teeth. “And no one should see you without clothes except your husband.”
A quiet laugh escapes me. “Yet you do not wish to see me without clothes, Colsar,” I say softly. “You had the chance and you chose someone else instead.”
My hand lifts before I can think better of it.
My finger traces the line of one pale scar that runs across his chest, following the ridge where the skin healed unevenly.
The heat beneath my touch sends a strange tremor through me.
“I am certain the royal marriage chambers must have private pools,” I murmur. “Designed for husband and wife.”
His breathing changes slightly.
“My rooms are small,” I continue. “There is only a washroom and a tub. I do not mind, but today I wished to indulge.” The words feel more vulnerable than I intend, and I look away briefly.
“I have never visited healing pools before,” I admit quietly.
“I always wanted to try. At the Baron’s house I was forbidden. ”
Silence stretches between us.
I lift my eyes again. “Am I forbidden now?”
His expression darkens. “You signed a contract,” he says. “Do you remember it?”
“Yes.”
“That contract does not permit you to wander the palace half naked in front of strangers.”
“The contract says nothing about healing pools.”
His eyes narrow. “Do not try to twist my words, whore’s daughter.”
Whatever quiet understanding had existed between us earlier is clearly gone. Fine then.
Instead of retreating, I lean closer. “Why not?” The closeness between us feels suddenly dangerous. I can smell mineral water and soap on his skin and feel the heat of him even through the thin fabric of my robe.
For a moment it seems as though he might step back. Instead he moves closer. His hand lifts slightly as if drawn there without permission, hovering near my face. His mismatched eyes darken, the pale one brightening with a strange cold intensity.
“You should not look like this,” he mutters.
“Like what?”
His voice lowers. “Like something I want.”
The words fall between us, rough and unwilling.
Then he leans closer still, close enough that his breath brushes my cheek. “Like something I intend to keep.” His hand rises the last inch and pauses at my jaw, close enough that the warmth of his fingers ghosts along my skin. Briefly, it feels as though he might kiss me.
Then something in his expression twists. The intensity in his eyes turns wild, something darker breaking through whatever restraint he had been holding. His fist slams into the wall beside my head, the impact echoing through the corridor.
I flinch.
Colsar’s chest rises and falls too quickly now, his attention fixed somewhere past my shoulder as though he is forcing himself not to look at me again. “You should not be here,” he says hoarsely.
“I told you why I came.”
“That is not what I meant.” His eyes return to me despite himself, lingering on the damp line of my hair and the robe clinging to my skin. “Go back to your rooms,” he says finally, his voice turning cold again.
By the time I return to my rooms the warmth of the baths has faded, leaving only the ache from the afternoon’s sparring and a restless energy that refuses to quiet.
Maridale has left a small tray near the window.
Bread, roasted vegetables, and a slice of fish arranged with quiet care.
I eat slowly while evening gathers beyond the glass.
Tomorrow night the court will fill the Baron’s ballroom.
King Sevrin had made it clear that I will attend.
I have never stood inside a royal ball before.
As a child I watched them from shadowed balconies and half-open corridors, listening to music drift through the palace while women in silk descended the staircases below.
I used to wonder what it might feel like to stand among them instead of hidden behind doors meant to keep me out of sight.
The wedding had been spectacle, a ceremony arranged for the court to witness.
Tomorrow will be something different.
When the tray is empty, I move to the center of my chamber and smooth my skirts.
I close my eyes and picture the lessons I once watched through the crack of the door.
Yvara had a dance master twice a week. Musicians played while he guided her across the floor, correcting every turn of her shoulders and every placement of her hands.
I was never invited inside, instead I lingered in the corridor, watching whenever the door opened wide enough to steal another glimpse.
I begin carefully, one step, then another.
My arms rise and I turn slowly across the room, skirts brushing the floor as memory guides the movement.
At first the steps feel uncertain, then easier.
I turn again, nearly losing my balance before catching myself with a quiet smile.
I know my dancing ability to be adequate, but tomorrow I wish for it to be exceptional.
Eventually the room grows dim and I let the practice fade away, the quiet of the palace gathering around me as the last of the light slips from the windows. Sevrin’s words return unbidden, firm and impossible to ignore. He will attend. And so will you.
Tomorrow the court will watch my every move.
Even now the palace hums with quiet speculation.
Somewhere in the murmuring corridors another rumor still moves through the halls.
It is one I have heard often enough already, that Colsar intends to attend the ball with Jessamy instead of his wife.
It should not matter, yet the thought lingers longer than I expect, turning slowly through my mind as I draw the blankets around myself and surrender to sleep.