Chapter 7
I scurried down to the cellars as quickly as my feet could take me, my cheeks aching from the wide smile that was plastered across my face.
I skipped down the servants’ stairs, not even bothering to tiptoe past Mrs. Cathers’s door like I normally would.
Niamh’s excited squeals greeted me as I burst triumphantly into the bedchamber.
“How’d it go?” she asked, clapping her hands together.
I sighed, collapsing onto my bed. “You won’t believe me when I tell you.”
She giggled. “Then don’t delay!”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “The King wants me to join his council.”
The shock that radiated off of her practically bowled me over. “He what?”
“And he wants to escort me to the Winter Solstice ball.”
“I beg your finest pardon?” came a voice from the door.
I shot up to sitting. I hadn’t realized that Maxence had been lurking by the door. “What are you doing here?” I demanded as he slinked into the bedchamber, pulling the door shut in his wake.
“Keeping an eye on my staff, of course.”
He lingered awkwardly at the foot of Niamh’s bed. I raised my brows at my friend, whose cheeks burned bright pink. “She’s not staff,” Niamh pointed out. “Not anymore.”
By now her shock had faded to the pleasant tingle of surprise mingled with the faintest whiff of an emotion with a sharper edge to it. As I turned to Maxence, I was able to identify it.
“You know, Maxence,” I said. “Now that my secret is out, I’m happy to inform you that I can sense your emotions.” I waved my hand in a circle in his direction. “And you are positively bursting with envy.”
The apprentice harrumphed. “I’m not envious of you.”
I chuckled. “Yes, you are.”
“Fine then. How on earth did you manage it?” he asked indignantly. “You’re an Outlander.”
Niamh batted his arm. “So what? I’m sure plenty of Outlanders have sat on the king’s council over the centuries.”
“No,” he replied flatly. “They haven’t. I’ve worked my tail off for years under Lord Carraway, but you do one silly magic trick and get elevated from maid to noblewoman in the blink of an eye.”
An image of Ewan, freed of his larynx, flashed behind my eyes. “If you’d prefer to take my place, you’ll also have to accept my concussion and years of trauma.”
Niamh chuckled. My gaze flicked between the two of them. They were only separated by a few inches, the air between them charged. It appeared their attraction was equally matched. I suppressed a grin. Who would’ve thought?
I supposed if she was willing to accept his courtship, it was best to make peace.
“You’re not even thirty years of age,” I said to the apprentice. “You have plenty of time to rise to greatness.”
He harrumphed.
“Speaking of,” I continued, “apparently I’m going to live to eight hundred years old.”
Niamh clapped a hand to her mouth. Beside her, Maxence lifted a shoulder. “I think I read that in a book once.”
“Did you?” I asked, raising my brows.
“Well it makes sense, doesn’t it?” he reasoned. “Vampires have all sorts of supernatural abilities, and they live for a millennium. Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because she’s human,” Niamh pointed out.
“Not in a traditional sense,” he replied. “I always knew there was something off about you, by the way.”
I scowled.
“People are going to talk, you realize,” he warned. “It’s not every day a chambermaid is named to the council.”
I shrugged. “Let them.”
The following evening, a pair of guards arrived in the kitchens to escort me upstairs.
Mrs. Cathers nearly barred them entry like an agitated guard dog as Niamh pulled me into a quick hug.
As we exited the kitchens, a chambermaid we often referred to as “Loud Nathalie” leaned toward a tow-headed valet.
“I heard she bewitched His Majesty,” she said, making no effort to lower her voice. “That’s the only explanation.”
I rolled my eyes as we rounded the corner. In just two days I had been discovered practicing magic, rescued from certain death by the King himself, and promoted to a station I’d never even dreamed of. I wasn’t about to let a bit of gossip ruin my night.
The suite the King had reserved for me was bigger than my family’s entire cottage in Wealdstone.
In the middle sat a four-poster bed garnished with violet sheets and plump pillows stuffed with down.
There was a sitting area beside the large, paned windows that looked out onto the foothills to the west. They were bathed periwinkle in the light of the setting sun.
The room had an adjoining washroom with its own bathtub.
I was far more used to standing in a mildewy wooden bucket in the communal washroom in the cellars, shivering as I bathed myself with water from a pitcher, or simply diving into the deepest part of the creek behind our cottage in Wealdstone.
But this was a proper tub, made of porcelain and filled to the brim with bubbly rosewater.
I practically melted into it, the grime of my former station dissolving into the sudsy water.
I flexed my fingers, the soapsuds pooling around my brittle fingernails.
Only two days ago, I was scraping dirt from between the castle flagstones.
I would have never imagined then that the King of Valen would ask me to join his council or be his personal guest at the Winter Solstice ball.
I sank further into the water until only my face was uncovered. It was all too good to be true.
When my skin had turned pink and my fingertips pruny, I wrapped myself in a fluffy robe, exited the washroom, and sank onto the bed losing myself to sleep.
The next day flew by in a blur with visits from seamstresses and trips back and forth moving my things into my new room.
Late in the afternoon I came back into the chamber to find that a beautiful gown the same shade as a goblet of red wine had been laid out on the coverlet.
I ran my fingers along the fabric, my eyes tracing the shape of it.
It would hang off the shoulders, with a plunging neckline that almost made me blush.
It was tight at the waist, with a bodice that tied in the back.
After I had bathed again—I was unused to such luxury—a knock at the door alerted me that Niamh had arrived.
She had enlisted herself to help me prepare as she was, in her words, concerned that I had no idea what I was doing.
“Letlas save me,” she said, eyes wide as she took in the room. “All this for you?”
I smiled, showing her to the seating area where a tray of cold meats, cheeses, and figs had been laid out. “I can’t eat all this by myself,” I insisted as my stomach gurgled nervously.
“You won’t catch me complaining,” she giggled, popping a cube of cheese into her mouth. “This is unbelievable.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “It’s too good to be true, right?”
Her smile softened. “Don’t say that. You deserve this.”
I dropped into the seat opposite her, tucking my feet beneath me. “Thanks, but do I?”
“So what do we have to work with?” she asked, ignoring my question as she poured herself a healthy serving of wine.
I gestured at the bed. “Gods!” she said, coming to her feet. “This is exquisite.” She ran her finger gingerly along the fabric as if afraid it might fall apart at her touch.
“It’s too fine,” I said, running a hand through my damp hair. “I’m going to dirty it somehow.”
She cast a disapproving look in my direction. “Not unless you get so nervous that you decide to run away from the King. Seriously, you have to calm down.” She handed me her cup, which I accepted, gratefully. “Drink. Now.”
I relented, watching her over the rim of the glass. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the gown and me. “I think this is going to fit perfectly,” she said. “Did he have your measurements?”
I nodded. “His seamstresses measured me this afternoon.”
“They have exquisite taste,” she said with an approving nod. “Come.”
I stepped into the gown, Niamh guiding it over my waist before she set about cinching the bodice. I gasped as she tightened the laces, clasping my hand to my breast as her giggles filled the air. “Beautiful,” she said finally, panting slightly from the effort.
I turned toward the mirror, my jaw slackening.
I hardly recognized the girl who stared back at me.
For years I had worn only my gray, shapeless, scratchy uniform.
But the gown, well, it appeared that it had worked its own kind of magic.
It hung delicately off of my hips, creating a smooth, hourglass silhouette.
It even accentuated the few curves I had above my waist.
“It’s too much,” I whispered, sliding my hands down the steep neckline.
“I see the courtiers wearing this style all the time,” she insisted. “You look positively appetizing.”
She squealed as I jabbed her in the side. “You’re on your own for hair. I’m afraid I have no idea what to do with that texture.” She pointed to her ringlets, the opposite of my bone-straight tresses.
I grinned as she settled into a chaise longue, pouring herself another goblet of wine.
Watching myself carefully in the mirror, I pulled back a section of my hair at the crown and braided it before twisting the braid into a bun, leaving a few strands loose to frame my face in a fashion I’d seen on some of the plainer courtiers.
Staring blankly at the array of cosmetics that sat at the vanity, I uncovered a small pot of waxy red balm that smelled of dirt. “Ugh,” I exclaimed. “What is this?”
Niamh snorted. “Beetroot, probably. It goes on your lips.”
I nodded, patting it onto my lips. My lashes fluttered as I brushed a shimmering powder over my eyelids and cheekbones, the delicate bristles of the brush caressing my skin.
“Oh Finn,” said Niamh, our gazes colliding in the looking glass. “Attending the solstice ball with the King himself. I can hardly believe it.”
I reached for her and squeezed her hand. “Neither can I.”
“Well, make sure you do,” she ordered in her mother’s voice. “You’re one of his lot now, I suppose.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll always be one of our lot. Never forget that.”