Foxglove leads us through hall after hall, stair after stair. Orb-like lights hover above sconces along the walls, some strange sort of fae lighting. Oil, perhaps? They look nothing like the oil lamps back home. I make a mental note to investigate later before I remind myself I don’t care about any of this. Returning my attention to our path ahead, I attempt to keep track of all the turns and twists. While it’s impossible to gather my bearings completely, I get the sense we’re winding deeper and higher into the palace.
By the time we come to a stop, I’m nearly out of breath. I try to keep my panting to a minimum while Foxglove approaches a set of double doors and pushes them open. He waves us forward, and Amelie and I step inside.
We enter a room in the same warm hues as the rest of the palace. An enormous bed lines the far wall, a wardrobe spans half the length of another wall, and a desk, dressing table, and dressing screen stand in a corner. In the middle of the room is a magnificent citrine tub. Wafts of steam curl up from the water inside.
“First things first,” Foxglove says. “The two of you need to bathe before you meet your future husbands. You may either take turns or share the bath.”
I didn’t expect such a luxury to await me. In fact, I’m not sure what I expected, but it was supposed to be more terrifying than this.
“I will tell the king and prince you are here and arrange a meeting,” Foxglove says. “Is there anything else you will require in the meantime? Lorelei can help you undress and wash—”
“No,” I say. “We would like to bathe alone.”
Lorelei shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
“She’ll be on the other side of the door if you need anything.” Foxglove gives a bow of his head, then hurries to add, “Please don’t plot murder or anything.”
I frown at his back as he and Lorelei leave, closing the doors behind them.
Amelie finally lets go of my hand and looks around the room with mournful eyes. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”
I sigh, wishing I’d wake up from this beautiful nightmare. But it isn’t going anywhere, and it’s only just begun. “Unfortunately, it really is.”
Chapter Nine
The warmth of the bath soothes my muscles and calms my frazzled nerves. I know it’s nothing more than a false sense of security, but the comfort lulls me into a feeling of safety. I wish I could stay in the bath all night.
Amelie sits across from me in the tub, playing with a sprig of rosemary. Other herbs and marigold blooms float on the water’s surface, filling my senses with an intoxicating aroma. An aroma that reminds me of home. Of the apothecary kitchen. Of Mother.
“At least they’ve given us this room together,” Amelie says, her frown flickering into a weak smile.
I don’t want to crush her hope by telling her we’ll likely be separated once our marriages take place, so I do nothing but nod.
“And this bath is nice,” she says. “How do you think they keep the water warm?”
I don’t have an answer to that and have been trying my best to tamp down any fascination with the palace or the fae. But I can’t deny I am stimulated with all the questions brimming in the back of my mind. We must have been in the tub for an hour by now, and the water is still as warm as when we entered it. There’s no drain, no visible plumbing, no heating element.
“It’s magic, isn’t it?” Amelie asks.
I shake my head. “You know I don’t believe in magic.”
“Even after all of this?” she says, waving her hand to indicate the room around us. “How else are those orbs of light staying lit? How else was a palace this big constructed?” She lifts her rowan berry necklace from her neck, the length of it trailing behind her to keep from soaking in the tub. “How else do magic talismans work against the fae?”
“It isn’t magic. There’s a perfectly logical—”
“—explanation for all of it,” she finishes with me. “I know, but you don’t have the slightest idea what that explanation could be, do you?”
“Actually, I know exactly how rowan works against the fae. You see—”
She splashes me, leaving me sputtering and blinking water from my eyes. When Amelie’s face comes back into view, she’s grinning mischievously.
I splash her back. “How dare you interrupt my scientific explications!”
She squeals, then launches more water at me. We fall into fits of laughter, and for a moment, it’s like we’re little girls again, sharing the tub while Mother scrubs our backs. The thought sobers me, and I’m again reminded of our situation.
Amelie seems to feel the same, her smile slipping back into a frown. Finally, she stands and reaches for one of the blanket-like towels on the floor. “I’m going to explore the wardrobe.”
“Of course you are.” Classic Amelie behavior. Solve all problems with clothes. The bath doesn’t feel nearly as friendly now that I’m alone, so I follow suit. I step out of the tub and grab the towel, releasing a sigh as its warmth envelops me.
Amelie gasps, making me jump. My eyes locate my pile of discarded clothing. I’m ready to dive for my dagger buried beneath them when she gasps again, then turns toward me with a wide smile. She holds a shimmering pink dress up to herself, swishing the hem of the fabric back and forth. “Evie, can you even believe your eyes?”
I let out a sigh of relief and join her at the wardrobe to examine the gown. Its fabric is thin and gauzy, like Lorelei’s, but the skirt is constructed of numerous layers, making it look like petals of a flower. Dresses may not be my favorite, but I must admit it’s pretty.
She puts it back and pulls out another, this one in a seafoam green. Again, she holds it up to her body. “Each is more stunning than the last. Have you ever seen anything like this? What are you going to wear?”
I look back at my pile of clothes. “I’ll probably wear my trousers.”
Amelie’s mouth falls open aghast. “No. How could you when you have all this at your disposal?”
A feeling of unease ties my stomach in knots. I feel oddly betrayed by Amelie’s excitement over the dresses. Aren’t we supposed to be angry about all of this? Still, I can’t bring myself to dampen her sudden joy.
She replaces the seafoam dress, then takes out another, purple this time. The skirt is made of shimmering silk decorated with tiny, amethyst jewels. The top is made from a similar silk in shades of purple, constructed of tiny, overlapping pieces of the cloth, making it look like scales. “Oh, I am definitely wearing this one.”
“What if these are supposed to be formal dresses?”
She shrugs, letting the towel fall to the floor as she puts the dress over her head. “Who cares? If I’m going to get eaten by a fae king, at least I’ll look good before I die.”
I’m stuck between a gasp and a laugh, then that sense of unease returns. Again, I feel betrayed by how well Amelie seems to be adapting. How could she feel so lighthearted after spending the best part of our ride here sulking and crying? She’s out of her wits. I’m being the sensible one. Aren’t I?
A knock sounds on the other side of the door, and Amelie suppresses a shriek. She hurries to pull the dress the rest of the way down, succeeding just as Lorelei steps inside.