Chapter 31
Corsets
Much like at Blackwood Inn, Jasmeen has taken to pacing manically before me. This time though, she is the one who has lost the ability to speak.
“Please say something,” I beg after an immeasurable eternity.
“Princess?” she squeaks. I want to laugh at the parallels but fear she may slap me. I nod instead.
Her pacing halts and I raise the lush bed covers in alarm, as though they’ll shield me when she decides to throttle me.
“You…” she starts, squinting hard. “You mean to tell me that you… you used Yield. On the king?”
“Yes. I committed treason. I suppose that’s the type of trouble that would attract a shadow hag?
” I hiss. Her eyes bulge and I continue, “You must understand—I have been imprisoned in that castle for years. Mother died and my father never allowed me to leave the grounds. I know—knew—nothing of the outside world. I was suffocating—I’m destined to become queen of a realm I know nothing of—I do not want it.
I cannot be a queen. Mavick offered to help me, no strings attached—”
“Swear you did not know it was Yield,” she demands.
“I swear it,” I breathe. “I had no fucking clue. What does it matter though? I still drugged him.”
Jasmeen shakes her head, her eyes unblinking.
“Makes Mavick look like a real saint, doesn’t it?” I ask bitterly. “All I wanted was to get out for a day—to go to Aston. For fuck’s sake—I committed treason to—to go shopping. And they want me to be a queen?”
Maybe it’s the day’s long journey, my exhaustion, the absurdity of it all crashing down on me, but I release a deluded, acrid laugh.
“I wasted so much time trying to locate Mavick when I arrived in Mayhem—I should have asked you that first day, when you identified the vials. I’m so stupid.
The second you told me it was Yield, I knew I had to get back.
Who knows what has happened in my absence—with my father in that state—with time bending here.
A war could be raging, and I wouldn’t be the wiser. And it’s all my fault.”
Jasmeen sits on the edge of the bed with a deflated huff, and I crawl to her side.
“Well…” she starts, fighting hard to keep her voice steady. “There would be little chance of getting back to the mortal realm without Vir’s favor. It’s smart that you befriended him.”
“I know,” I confess. “But it’s why I’ve put off telling him—and now I’ve put it off too long. He will hate me. He will never forgive me. But he is my only route back.”
Jasmeen frowns slightly, thoughtful. “So… it’s all an act?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, despite knowing full well what she means.
Her eyes bore into mine, and I know she knows what I can’t bring myself to say aloud.
She sighs and drapes her arm over my shoulder.
I lean into her, resting my forehead against her neck.
My heart aches. “I should have told him at the inn. It’s why I was so upset.
I wasn’t angry at him, not truly. I was angry at myself.
He hid his title from me because he wanted me to get to know him—the real him, without all the pressure.
He said he was selfish—he has no idea how pure he is.
I hid mine because I despise it. Because I want nothing to do with it.
He’s so determined to serve his kingdom and I am—I’m lacking. I’m awful.”
She lets out a small chuckle and rests her cheek against the top of my head. “I get it now… the riddle. ‘You put your prized trust in what exactly you fear.’ I thought maybe you feared the fae. Or feared falling for him.”
“I wish it was that simple,” I say with a sad sigh. “Fate is a real bitch, isn’t it?”
“Well, fuck the fates,” Jasmeen says. She stands, leads me back to my side of the bed, and tucks me in like a child. I do not object. She retreats to the other side and slides under the covers next to me. “I’ve never been one for being told what I must be, either.”
The weight of my secrets, now shared with Jasmeen, is half as heavy. Somehow, sleep takes me within seconds.
We are woken to the sound and sight of two maids ripping open the guest chamber curtains at what feels like the crack of dawn.
Once I recover from the initial shock of being blinded awake, I take in how high in the sky that orange orb has risen and realize it must be at least noon.
The distinct clop of the maids’ hooves on the marble floor tells me they’re satyrs.
“Good day, humans!” the closest says cheerily as she whips the comforter off us in one fell swoop.
Her top half is human. She has rich cedar skin, with dark hair pulled back into a low bun, and kind, light eyes.
The other, who struggles to tie back the massive curtain, has blonde, curly hair.
She’s also human on top, with a light coat of sandy fur all the way up to her chin.
Finally successful with the curtain, the fair one clops over to Jasmeen and hands her a note. She scans it before handing it to me. I recognize Glo’s handwriting at once:
There will be a party tonight to celebrate Vir’s return and our “esteemed guests” — that’s you guys. Vir says he’s already warned Thea, but I’ll go ahead and say SORRY now. The maids will get you ready. A healer will be by to check on your wounds, too.
See you at dusk. - Glo
“He did warn me,” I say, my voice heavy from sleep. I’m wary of saying more in front of our maids. Once they’ve left the room to draw our baths, I continue, “He said it’s our best chance at gaining a quick meeting with the High Mage—to discuss breaking a deal.”
Jasmeen’s brow rises. “He’s agreed to break the deal with you?”
“I mean… if it can be done,” I say. “Would you want to find Mavick knowing what you know now?”
Thankfully, the huge washroom has a bath for each of us.
Jasmeen—no longer shy as we have both exposed far more than our naked bodies—takes off her undergarments and slides into her tub unceremoniously.
I follow suit into my own bath. They’ve added mystery herbs to the water, green bits of leaves and petals dancing on the surface.
Whatever it is smells minty and makes my skin tingle. It soothes my soreness within seconds.
I spend the next half hour divulging everything to Jasmeen in a hushed and hurried whisper.
I omit nothing. Whether this is wise or reckless, I do not know.
But I was right: trust is a cliff, a precipice.
Once you choose to leap, once you plummet toward the ground, little can stop you. I have no choice but to be all-in.
It feels like I am unraveling.
“He gave you his true name?” she hisses. She sits so low in her bath that all I see over its porcelain edge are her owlish eyes, popping with incredulity. I chuckle. “Thea, he may be in love with you.”
I scoff but cannot fight how my cheeks flush. “Doubtful—he needed to gain my trust. He’s desperate to find his mother, too.”
She shakes her head and it’s clear she thinks I’m dense. But I must set aside my confusing feelings for Brynn if I am to right my wrongs. She does not push. Instead, she changes the subject.
“I did hear the rumors—about Vir. It makes a lot of sense. I can believe that King Kerron would lie by manipulating a dead language for their common names… and that he would cover up who the true heir is with more blood…” She lets out a shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature of her bathwater.
“You don’t see pure-blooded Asan walking the streets and mingling with commoners. ”
Realization dawns. Brynn’s job. The reason he knows a dozen or so languages—he must be a political liaison of some sort.
With his charm, he probably brokers deals of commerce or the like with common folk.
Or perhaps he serves as a peacekeeper of sorts, building and maintaining relations between the royal family and Sanctuarians. I should ask.
“And,” Jasmeen continues, her brow creasing, “you’ll see what I mean tonight, I suppose. Asan and Vir couldn’t be more… dissimilar.”
I cannot explain the unease that washes over me at this. We do not speak for several minutes, rinsing out our hair in silence.
“Thea?” I meet Jasmeen’s gaze over the tub’s edge.
Her wet hair is slicked back, accentuating the roundness of her features.
She chews her bottom lip as she mulls over her thoughts.
“I know you know Mavick far better than I do—and have known them for a long time, too. I know the Yield—well, I know it looks bad. But… I feel like a piece of the puzzle is missing. They’re a Gatekeeper.
Fae don’t take that duty lightly. I know that your father is the more pressing issue right now—but… I wouldn’t give up on Mavick just yet.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” I sigh. “But let’s focus on this massive mistake first. If I don’t fix it, and sooner rather than later, there may be nothing left for Mavick to return to keeping.”
If they’re not dead already.
I dunk once more into the water to drown out the mounting dread.
I thought perhaps I had escaped the horror of corsets by coming to Sanctuary. I was mistaken. Though Mavick teased me for always being dressed in them, it appears they are not just a popular mortal fashion. The fae wear pretty torture devices, too.
After our baths, the palace healer, a lofty elf, checked in on us. He gave Jasmeen an ointment to help with scarring and commented that I am lucky—why do all healers think this word soothing—to have only bruised my ribs.
Now, our satyr maids insist on helping us dress.
We receive clean, new undergarments and I am grateful.
I am, however, ungrateful to be bound back into a corset while still so tender.
The healer applied a salve that relieved the pain significantly, but with each tug of my ties, I fear my ribs might yet break.
I huff as Farra, the blonde satyr, pulls tighter.
Admittedly, the dress is pretty. It’s a silver, icy gray that complements my pale skin and eyes. Delicate gold-threaded vines—reminiscent of the palace pillars—wrap up the billowing sleeves.
Jasmeen suffers under the deft hands of Diro, our brunette satyr maid. Her dress is a lovely green gown that brings out her eyes. She pants, red-faced, as Diro finishes with her laces.
“You wear these regularly?” she gasps at me.
“Against my will, most days,” I admit.
My dark curls, pulled back to expose my bare collarbones and corset-enhanced bust, are loosely braided into a pretty knot style I’ve never seen.
Farra braids the shorter front pieces in the same fashion, pinning them together at the back of my head.
I can’t help but notice how demure I appear—and how much the whole getup unfortunately reminds me of the day I betrayed my father.
After being put through hell by her corset, Jasmeen refuses Diro’s help with her hair, as though she blames the maid personally for choosing the dress. Her wavy hair is short anyway, and she compromises by letting Farra pull one side back instead, secured with a pretty gold pin shaped like a leaf.
When Diro approaches with blush, Jasmeen’s distaste is plain.
But perhaps she feels guilty for snapping at the maid, since she allows it.
Diro dabs at my cheeks next. Finally, Farra presents us with shoes.
Thank goodness they are plain and comfortable.
I do not believe Jasmeen could tolerate any more unnecessary stress for the sake of fashion.
Finished prepping us, Farra and Diro leave without further instructions.
It’s likely dinner time, and with an angry rumble from my stomach, I realize we haven’t eaten today.
Jasmeen throws me a moody glance as I cross the room to stare out the window.
Our quarters face the rolling hills. It’s pretty, but I long to see the city view.
Hunger finally draws us out. It’s at least an hour until dusk, but we are losing our wits from the lack of food and the tightness of our dresses.
I open the door to lead the way and smack into a muscular chest. At first, I think it’s Brynn, but once I step back, I find myself staring up into the face of someone who I can only assume is Asan.
Striking as their similarities are, the half-brothers’ differences are what truly define them.
Asan’s build, height, cheekbones, nose, and jawline are all shared with his brother.
But if Brynn is the sun, warm and golden, Asan is the moon, cold and dark.
He is pale—a ghost in comparison to Brynn—with raven-colored locks and matching eyes of the blackest black.
They remind me of the way the shadow hag blotted out my vision in the Blackwoods.
I am close enough to spot that unmistakable glittery sheen. He has glamoured something away. Whether that is for vanity or for our sake, I have no idea.
“I heard we were having a party for my dear brother’s mortal pets, and I was dying to meet them. I couldn’t wait any longer,” he says coolly. His voice is velvet smooth, but glacial. Not to mention pompous as fuck.
At my side, Jasmeen bows and I follow her lead.
“Your Royal Highness,” she says to his chest as she rises. “My name is Jasmeen. This is Thea. It is an honor to make your acquaintance. We were hoping to find some dinner before—”
“My brother didn’t ensure you were well fed?” Asan asks, scandalized. I do not particularly like the way he says my brother. When neither of us respond, he tsks.
At that very moment, a winded Brynn and Glo slide into view over Asan’s shoulder.
“Ah, brother,” Brynn says, not bothering to hide the venom in his breathless voice. “I see you’ve intruded on my friends.”
“I wouldn’t call it intruding, Vir. Just checking in on them—did you forget to feed your pretty pets? They’re quite hungry.”
A fury unlike anything I’ve ever seen grips Brynn. Glo inches closer, preparing to step between them once they lunge for each other’s throats. They don’t. Instead, Brynn lets out a derisive bark of a laugh.
“Actually, we were coming to escort them to dinner. Do you mind fucking off?”
Brynn does not wait for Asan to answer. He sidesteps him into the room and holds out a hand to me, which I gladly take. With my free hand, I take Jasmeen’s, too. Asan moves away from the door, allowing us to pass without a word.
I glance back over my shoulder, noting the odd smirk Asan wears as we leave him standing alone in the deserted corridor.