Chapter 16
I wake to sandalwood and frankincense. An oil lamp burns the fragrances atop a short table to my left. Light floods in from two tall, rounded windows framed with heavy velvet curtains, which have been pushed aside and pinned behind hooks jutting from the stone walls.
My hands extend to either side of me, reaching for the ends of the bed.
But it’s too wide and my fingers never find the edges.
Was the prince’s bed this huge? I hadn’t studied it long, but it must be of a similar size.
Soft, warm, and accommodating enough that none of my limbs drip off the edges.
So unlike the beds I’m used to. The mats in the servants’ quarters are more like mine in Nwatalith.
But something is off. And it isn’t the way I notice every fold of fabric from the duvet brushing against my bare skin.
I slide the thin covers off and place my feet on the cold floor, but before I can take a step, the door to the room creaks open and the old maid peers in.
Her expression remains neutral, as though she’s used to walking in on strangers in the nude.
I mirror her complete lack of surprise with as level an expression as I can manage.
“My apologies for disorienting you, Ether. Ramiel would’ve wanted you to rest where you’d be undisturbed,” she says, stepping the rest of the way into the room. A fresh set of clothing drapes over her crooked elbow. Her smile is polite and warm.
“I’ll thank him when he returns, then,” I mumble, though I don’t feel as grateful as I probably should.
I’m accustomed to sleeping on hard ground.
The special treatment is nice, but doesn’t it raise too much suspicion?
Especially if others are to believe I’m here as a maid.
“But I’m feeling better now. How can I be of help today? ”
“That is wonderful to hear. Today, please familiarize yourself with the castle and its servants. It is what all new maids are expected to do when they arrive. If you’re called to complete a task, you should know where everything is.
” She reaches forward and offers me the clothes.
As she turns to leave, she says something so soft, human ears might not be able to detect it.
I’m glad the now-human shape of my ears hasn’t impacted my hearing.
“And if you come across anything…unpleasant, do remember to keep it to yourself. Not for my sake or for the sake of this kingdom, but for your own.”
She disappears behind the door, and it scrapes into place.
A cryptic silence fills the room.
I shouldn’t think too long about what she might mean, what she might know. The tremor that rattles my spine sends a twitch through my shoulders and reinforces the grave warning in her words.
I wonder if other maids receive the same warning. Bernadette had said she wouldn’t treat me any differently. Then again, sleeping in such a fancy room, even for one night, doesn’t feel like ordinary care.
It feels like the doting of a prince.
I step hurriedly into the new clothes, finding them to be breezier than the ones she’d previously given me.
I test the fabric by twisting my torso, then kicking my legs one at a time as high as I can lift them—toe to ceiling.
Not a single area seems to chafe, nor does any part of the material wrinkle or restrict my movement.
Surprising, considering the corset and braies I’d worn before looked just like these.
“It would seem the clothing I selected fits you nicely,” a voice chuckles from the door.
It’s Marchus, the older guard assigned to me while Ramiel is gone. He had been wearing chainmail when I first saw him, and now he’s dressed in an off-white tunic that hugs his waist beneath a cinched brown leather belt and trousers. His graying hair swirls in the air, styled by paste to stay stiff.
I release an exasperated breath. Why has he chosen my clothing? Isn’t that inappropriate?
“You have the physique of a hard-trained mercenary. Do you take bounties when you’re not cleaning the dishes?” He finishes with a flourished bow, as though this is his formal introduction, then studies me with a strange, half-bent smile. “I’m complimenting you. I do hope you don’t think me rude.”
The corner of my mouth lifts, and I force my breathing steady.
Is he suspicious of me? Then again, his strangeness doesn’t seem hostile, but instead curious.
“You have a keen eye, Sir Marchus. But if you honestly think me capable of harming someone in my free time, would you continue to be this square about your interrogation? We’ve hardly had a conversation before today. ”
He straightens himself, his smile now maddeningly wide. “Let’s say you’re simply one talented maid, then, and leave it at that. If you’d like, though, I can give you a proper tour of the training grounds later. If it interests you.”
A hand goes to my hip. His offer would be tempting if I hadn’t already visited the lackluster grounds. But this might be a test. He serves the king, after all. And his captain is a fairy. Somehow I feel the latter is worse.
Does Marchus know of this unfortunate fact?
I study him once more. Beneath his tunic, he is all muscle and sinew.
His jaw is sharp and cleft at the chin. His eyes are similar to Ronan’s, but they’re more reddish brown.
A sword is sheathed at his belt. Three braided cords loop around his neck and reach near his middle.
One green, the other two white. Nothing is noticeably off about him, but the slant of his leg and the casualness in the way his shoulders roll back scream untrustworthy.
Luckily for him, I don’t plan on trusting him with anything.
“I’ve been instructed to explore the castle grounds and acquaint myself with other servants, so once I’ve done that, I’ll accept your offer,” I say, keeping my tone flat.
With that smile still stuck to his face, he turns to leave, beckoning me to follow. But I don’t forget myself. I bend over the bed and tuck the sheets into place, roll the duvet to the top near the pillows, and smooth any wrinkles. Just as Bernadette taught me. Just as a maid ought to do.
When I finally join Marchus, his smile has disappeared. It’s like he wanted to catch me making a simple mistake, and he’s frustrated now that he hasn’t.
I hide a smile as a small chorus cheers within me, victorious. But I know this won’t be the last time he will try to figure me out. If he thinks I have something to hide, he doesn’t seem the type to accept defeat after one attempt.
And there are plenty of mistakes I could make under his supervision.
We don’t make it far down the hall before a door two rooms down bursts open and a crowd of women pours out, pulling each other’s hair and clothing. They’re of noble status. If their shiny, curled hair and silky, revealing dresses don’t make it obvious, the squeals of disgust do.
In the hall, sconces light the way between rows of gilded portraits of past kings. The bleating women tumble to the floor, and the small flames shiver from their scuffle.
Marchus seems wholly unbothered, however. He moves forward, ready to step on or over the women battling on the stone floor instead of acknowledging them. But as he makes his way past, a pale arm shoots from the mass and snags his trousers.
“Unhand me,” he growls, but his voice trills as the force of the woman’s grip pulls him down to his knees.
I listen for any recognizable words in the bickering, but it’s fairly difficult to discern the arguments echoing down the hall. I’m sure I hear Ramiel’s name a few times, though. And that must mean something has happened.
I curse myself for the interest bubbling in my throat.
With great effort, Marchus rips himself from the woman, then rights himself with a huff. He opens his mouth to speak, but a sharp voice beats him to it.
“You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” The timbre is familiar, but the harshness is not. Bernadette’s demeanor has miraculously changed, sharpened in the face of these women. And her cutting tone seems to work. They immediately untangle themselves and straighten.
Marchus reaches for my elbow and tugs me back.
I nearly snarl at him for the force he uses, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
Instead, he focuses on the head maid and the gaggle of women standing awkwardly outside a room filled with candles and incense.
The smell of burning patchouli wafts from the room in a wispy haze of smoke.
“What is the meaning of this?” Bernadette blazes, lifting an indignant hand to the door. She gestures to the women, who begin to shift uncomfortably now that they have a furious audience. “If you are still occupying that room, should I take it to mean Prince Ramiel has accepted you into his harem?”
Harem? My eyes widen. I taste bile.
A brunette in the line flicks her gaze to Bernadette, and her eyes fill with fake tears.
In my years serving Nwatalith, I had my fair share of rough, tired nights.
I’d spend those nights at a tavern near the Separation, draining pint after pint of ale.
Unlike visitors to Aldorin, I can hold my liquor.
But some women routinely visited and often pretended to waste themselves on half a pint so they could use theatrics to woo men.
And too often, their tactics worked. Big tears would bubble to their chins, and their exposed skin would find every opportunity to glint under the light, as if saying, I’ve been ravaged and I need a savior. Could that be you tonight?
This scene is no different.
A blonde at the front of the pack sniffs, then sticks her nose in the air as if she’s smelled something foul. “If you already know, why even bother asking, maid ?”
Bernadette’s extended hand reaches across her body, then cracks like a whip across the woman’s face. The slap! that echoes after leaves everyone in absolute shock.
“How dare y?—”
Smack!