Chapter 11
A gritty sponge scrapes along my bare back, up and down, down and up, repeatedly.
I stare at the sudsy gray water undulating with the curve of my spine, in search of my reflection.
Maybe if I see how putrid I look, I’ll understand why such force is being used to clean me.
Any protest I’ve made to wash myself has been met with disapproving glares and harsher scrubbing.
So I’ve since kept any complaints to myself.
The ashy surface of the bath reflects my rounded ears, magic altering them to resemble a human’s. My teeth grind together. Even my fangs have been shaved to a flat arch.
I’ve been tricked.
I’d had the smallest hope that Ramiel was a truthful man, but in the end, he’s just like any other rotten royal.
My lips curl in on themselves as I continue to stare into the opaque bathwater, thoughts swimming in my head but never surfacing into anything coherent.
What am I supposed to think about this situation?
Do I run?
Do I use the last of my magic to express the anger raging in my heart?
No matter what I decide, my conscience won’t let me stay here, not when so much is at stake. It isn’t only my life at risk anymore. I’ve also condemned my people by revealing my village and identity to this strange, disarming maid.
She takes a break from scrubbing as if she can hear my thoughts. “Ether, dear, is everything alright? You’re giving the bathwater a rather nasty look.”
No, everything is not alright. I curse this thought, because I also don’t wish to talk about it.
She likely thinks I’m upset about Xavelor’s death.
After all, I’d broken after hearing that proclamation.
But no, I’m not sad about the life of some prince whose face remained a mystery during his entire life.
I’d never grieve the loss of a royal human bastard who sought to destroy all kingdoms around us with a scrap of magical freedom still left in them.
“You may grieve, dear. Loss is never easy for anyone,” the maid says softly, confirming my suspicions. I can tell she’s a kind woman by the way she smiles with her eyes. But she sorely misunderstands.
“It’s not that,” I say, but I’m not sure she hears it.
Her warm hand rests on my small shoulder. “You don’t need my permission to grieve, my dear.”
She continues scrubbing, lathering my back every few seconds with a balmy soap.
I bite my lip to keep from lashing out at an innocent woman. I’ve been lied to. Lured in by a deceptively charming prince. I’m furious . But will she understand that?
Her fingers brush over the wounds in my shoulder from the man who’d dug his fingers in, but she says nothing.
Her fingers run along my scalp, pulling at the woven strands as she goes down—the rewarding and relieving feeling of unraveling the braids overshadows the soreness now stretching across my shoulders. If the grime settling atop the water’s surface disgusts her, she doesn’t express it.
She fills a small bucket with bathwater and dumps it slowly on my back to wash away the soap. Her hands move my hair between my shoulder blades and she begins wringing it. “Ether, did you know Ramiel existed before today?”
As a matter of fact... no . It never struck me that a second prince even existed. Xavelor’s name has always been broadcast, despite his face remaining unknown. I shake my head subtly, allowing her to continue.
Her hands find the knots at the ends of my braids, and she continues untangling them with her fingers.
Pluto usually helped with my hair, complaining about how much of it I have.
He’d tell me how ugly the pale yellow color is, that I should color it with pitch and ground jagua.
I’ve dyed it ever since, out of habit. And the scent of jagua reminds me of my parents somehow.
The maid pauses. “My dear, are you crying?”
Tears pang into the water’s surface, making small ripples. My heart aches. The tears ruin something in me, twisting my anger into a violent longing for everything I’ve left behind.
She drops my hair and wraps her arms around my shoulders.
Soap from her wrinkly fingers drips down my arms as she speaks confidently into my ear.
“It’s going to be all right.” She releases me, then continues to brush carefully through knots and tangles.
A moment later, she resumes talking about the phony prince.
Her next words are rushed, as though she’s practiced them for exactly this moment: “Ramiel is a good man. He studies well, respects nobility, and obeys the king’s orders.
” Her voice stiffens. “His mother was an amazing woman.
Feeble, obedient, and kind. She kept his existence a secret from the kingdom due to her… position.
“Despite this, I think he was rather happy living here in the castle, without the heavy burden of princeship. He’d been given little to no royal guidance and hardly had a reputation to uphold.
He was content to rot away without a legacy or marry a neighboring kingdom’s princess if it meant maintaining peace at our borders, the poor boy.
But with Xavelor’s sudden and unexpected death, he’s obligated to pick up the pieces.
” She sniffs and gulps, then brushes my hair once more.
“But he’s told you as much, I’m certain.
Your opinion of him is sour. Did something happen between you? ”
“No. Ramiel is just weak. And I don’t find company among the weak,” I say matter-of-factly, watching my blurry reflection in the water.
My hair swirls around me, unbound and rinsed, like the soft tendrils of algae that rush over smooth rocks of an abundant stream.
The jagua is gone, leaving soft, white-yellow strands behind.
“Not usually, anyway. But that’s why he brought me here, isn’t it? ”
The maid stands. An expression of disappointment flickers over her wrinkly face, and her bottom lip quivers. “You may have intense emotional tethers, but you’re wrong about him. Ramiel is strong. He’s been through too much for a stranger to assume he’s already revealed all of his cards.”
A stranger . She isn’t wrong. But the word is alienating.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say curtly. How strong can an impulsive liar be?
The maid’s eyebrows angle in over her small gray eyes, offended.
“I know it’s hard to trust others when your entire life has been a tangle of horrors.
I have secrets of my own, you know.” She sniffs.
I hold her gaze, and she does not waver.
A knowingness in her irises grounds me. She’s spoken with my kind.
She understands, even though she’s human.
Her chest heaves a breath. “I have no intention of treating you differently, miss. Even though we’ve been ordered to simply maintain appearances, you are one of my maids, first and foremost. I don’t care that you’re an elf, and I don’t care that you’re Rami’s master. I want to make this clear.”
I catch the nickname, and the bathwater goes cold. It reminds me of the names Pluto and I call each other. This woman, while not his birth mother, considers him her son. The pain is burned into her eyes.
My jaw tightens.
She is not my enemy. In fact, she could be one of the few humans who bears no ill will toward me. There is comfort in the way she angles her stare, as though she is looking into the eyes of an old, dear friend.
She stands over the spacious stone tub, a long towel tight in her hand. “I will do what I can, but you also mustn’t let others know of your identity. I’m afraid they won’t react as kindly as we have.”
My thoughts flash to the men outside the castle and their brutal way of confirming my consciousness, their grins of amusement widening as I’d gasped in pain.
The negative energy wafting from Ramiel’s servant as he ignored the abuse I’d suffered.
The lack of decorum when Ronan dealt me a secretive blow, the prince either none the wiser or willingly ignorant.
Either way, this we the maid speaks of doesn’t exist. It is only she who has shown me a drop of genuine kindness.
I tighten my fists under the water and try to react peacefully to her comment.
After my fingers unfurl, I pull my hands from the water and grab the towel.
She helps me from the basin and begins tucking the towel gingerly around my small frame, careful not to touch my skin.
She’s skilled at this, averting eye contact as she works.
I bet she’s wrapped many a noble, many a prince.
My face heats.
“Thank you,” I mutter. She flicks her head toward me, surprised by my gratitude. A small smile awakens her eyes, and she nods.
“You will be safe,” she promises, drawing away to observe me. Her smile is still there, hovering naturally above the wrinkles in her chin. “Though I wish you were here to assist me earnestly. I’m getting old and could use the extra hands.”
I simply nod at her. Maybe in another life, I’d be able to help a human maid. But there’s no sense thinking that now.
“I’ll do my best,” I say weakly. The maid wipes her brow and sighs.