Betrothed (8 page)

His flat words sounded so final. A frightened whimper slid past her teeth. “I want to go home.”

His polite, cold smile never faltered. “You
are
home.”

~~* * * ~~

Seri woke up the next morning to a very different room than before.

As Lady Mila’s least-favored servant, she’d been allowed to sleep on a hard hay pallet on the floor of the room of the other servingmaids, in the same corner that the women tossed their dirty laundry. It had been meant to humiliate and degrade, and waking up from a deep sleep when a woman tossed her soiled pantaloons on her was not exactly endearing, but it had all been suffered as part of the deal. She’d wanted the three
dru
more than she’d wanted a good night of sleep.

But this—this was frightening. Seri sat up slowly in the bed, looking around her with a mixture of awe and trepidation. It had been too late last night to bother with a candle, and she’d been too worn—mentally and physically—to think about where she was sleeping. That made the shock of waking up this morning that much more powerful.

The bed she slept in was arguably as large as her room in her father’s cottage. A grand silvery-blue canopy swept overhead, and the entire thing was carved from thick, heavy wood. Four spiraling, carved posters kept the canopy high overhead, and the coverlets were made of matching embroidered blankets, all richer than anything she’d ever owned. She touched one corner wonderingly, then winced when even that gentle touch left a fingerprint of gold on the expensive fabric. Underneath her thighs, a real feather mattress—and a feathered pillow for her head. She wanted to giggle with the insanity of it and wondered if she’d find one of Josdi’s silly feather pillows in this room.

Guilt surged through her at the thought of her sister and her father waiting in the tiny cottage for her return. Rilen had promised to check on them, and she had to hold fast to the promise he’d made her. They’d be safe as long as he made sure they had enough to eat and tended the chickens. Still, she should see about getting home today and taking care of them.

Seri swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet dangling inches from the tiled floor. She slid out of bed reluctantly, noticing that she still wore the slight costume from last night and that the fabric had become wrinkled and stained with gold. Her hair stuck in her face, a mess of feathers and waves, and she shoved out of the way in irritation.

The floor underneath her feet was icy, and Seri padded a few steps cautiously, wondering what she should do now. Had they brought her things to her room? Would she get her three
dru
now?

Light was pouring into the massive chamber, and Seri automatically turned her head toward it. A new set of the expensive windows covered one wall here—not in the colored fragments of glass like she had seen in the downstairs halls, but a clear, bubbly glass that allowed the sunlight in and made her long to be outside. Thick carpets were tossed over the beautiful tiles on the floor, and scattered throughout the room were small tables and chairs and mirrors, as if one were supposed to loiter in this massive chamber.

Was that what noble women did with their time, Seri wondered? Lie about in their bedrooms and fix their hair? She knew that Lady Mila had certainly not extended herself beyond this, but she had thought her a lazy exception to the rule, not the rule itself.

No wonder they were all so hateful, Seri thought with a wry twist of her mouth. She’d be bored silly in a sevenday and imagined she’d be just as unpleasant to be around. Still, she couldn’t help but look in the mirror and grimace at her rumpled hair and clothing.

“I see you’re awake, my lady.”

The cheerful voice made Seri spin around abruptly, dropping her hands from her gold-smeared face like a guilty child. She hadn’t realized she was not alone in this monstrous chamber. A woman stood there, dressed in the typical gray robes of the servants, a warm smile on her face. She carried a tray in her hands, and the scent of warm bread caught Seri’s nostrils. She set the tray down on one of the spindly sitting tables and gestured for Seri to sit. “Break your fast, my lady, and then we can begin our day.”

Seri dropped into the seat, cramming one of the sugared biscuits into her mouth. Delicate and fluffy, they weren’t the fare that servants were offered—honey was too expensive. The first one melted away on her tongue too fast, it seemed, and she stuffed another into her mouth, watching the woman as she puttered around the room, humming. She pulled on a cord in the corner, then turned back to Seri, smiling and waiting.

Swallowing hard to clear out her mouth, Seri reached for another biscuit despite herself. “Begin… our day?” she asked. “Is there something I’m supposed to do?”

“Goodness me, yes.” The woman looked surprised at Seri’s question. “We’ve got a lot to do. Once you’ve taken your bath, we’ll get you dressed in one of the gowns that Prince Graeme sent for you. Then we must get you fitted for the official betrothal ceremony in the next few days. Then you must have your midday feast with the Prince to go over your schedule for the rest of the week—”

Mid-bite into her third sugar-biscuit, Seri lost her appetite. The sweet stuck to the roof of her mouth like glue, and she had to use her tongue to pry it off the roof of her mouth. “Wait,” she managed around her full mouth. “When do I get my money?”

The servingwoman’s mouth puckered. “I’m afraid that I don’t deal with details like that.”

Seri crossed her arms, mulish anger taking over. This was getting ridiculous. Part of her began to dread that she wouldn’t receive the money at all, and that wouldn’t do. She hadn’t gone through all this to return home empty-handed. A deal was a deal. She focused on the woman in front of her. “Then take me to someone that does.”

The woman stared as if not believing Seri’s bad manners. “But, my lady,” she said, then stopped when the door opened. Both of them turned as servants trooped in with buckets, and one carried a beaten copper tub on his back. One of the washerwomen carried in a set of fluffy towels. “Won’t you bathe and dress properly first, at least?”

Well, she supposed she could do that. Somewhat mollified, Seri nodded and watched as they filled the copper tub. She’d never had a hot bath before.

It turned out to be a lovely, relaxing experience, marred only by the overwhelming presence of the sticky gold powder that got on everything, and the fact that she had to dress in the clothes brought for her after she was done with her bath.

Athoni clothes were a torture not to be borne
, Seri thought to herself as the woman laced her into a stiff contraption that hung around her waist awkwardly. She hadn’t paid much attention to Lady Mila’s clothing, her mind assessing it as “foreign” and leaving it at that. But now this servingwoman was determined to dress her in layer after layer of clothing. First came a thin, gauzy gown made out of a fabric softer than anything she’d ever worn. Next came a pair of puffy short-pants that the servant indicated were to be worn underneath the gown to cover her privates. Seri giggled to herself as she thrust her legs through the appropriate holes and hitched the garment around her waist—silly Athonites. As if covering your body with layers hid what was truly underneath.

Next came the hideous stiff garment that she was being laced into now, and on the corner of the bed, she could see another gauzy skirt and a dress made of a thick, deep-blue material.

“Stand straight,” the woman said, and that was all the warning that Seri got. In the next moment, she tugged on the laces and the breath was sucked out of Seri’s lungs. She groaned in protest and tried to jerk away, but the woman had her trapped and continued to lace the cage of fabric around her body, tighter and tighter as Seri struggled to catch her breath. “What is this thing?”

“It’s a corset. It will keep your waist small so you can fit in the dress that Prince Graeme has provided to you.”

Seri sucked in a shallow breath—not as easy as it once was. “Is this truly necessary?”

The woman made no response other than a satisfied grunt, then finished the laces with one final jerk. “Now for the dress,” she said and tossed the thick swath of dark fabric over Seri’s head.

After a modicum of primping and fussing and more of the wretched laces, the woman released Seri with a cluck. “It’ll do. I’m afraid you’re quite a bit taller than the previous owner of this dress, but it’ll have to work until your garments are made for you.” She eyed Seri’s form critically. “Indecent, the amount of ankle it shows.”

Seri glanced down, then shrugged. It hung below her calves, which made it the longest dress she owned. She was more concerned with the corset and how it constricted the very breathing she took for granted—that, and it made her breasts rather prominent and noticeable. Odd, given the high neckline of the dress and the nearly choke-tight collar that wrapped around her neck. She felt swathed in blankets, not dressed in elegant finery. “Can I go?” She couldn’t help the impatience in her voice—if she had to stand here another moment to be poked and prodded into what Athonites considered “acceptable attire,” she was going to scream.

“Your hair,” the woman sniffed. “It’s wet. You’ll ruin the dress if you leave it down. Wait for it to dry.” She offered Seri a towel, which was promptly ignored.

They compromised a few minutes later; Seri’s wet hair was done up in a thick braid and knotted at the back of her head, which was irritating, but at least the servingwoman was nodding instead of frowning. “Very well,” she said. “I shall go and find the prince’s vizier and let him know your complaints.”

From the delicate stool in front of the mirror, Seri frowned at the reflection that stared back at her, noting that when she scowled, at least it still looked like herself—the rest looked like a stranger. “What do you mean, vizier? I want to see the prince—or Lady Mila. Whichever is going to pay me.”

“You cannot see the prince,” the woman snapped, giving Seri yet another look of disgust. “You will have to settle for his vizier. I am told Lady Mila has retired to her apartments and will see no one.”

No doubt in a dramatic snit over Seri’s unfortunate luck, Seri thought with a scowl. “Fine,” she said, clasping her hands on her knees and trying to look patient. “I’ll wait here and concentrate on trying to breathe.”

The servant harrumphed and turned on her heel, exiting the room in a swirl of gray skirts. Seri waited a scant minute, then stood, tiptoeing to the door. A quick check of the hallway revealed that it was empty. Good.

Now to find the prince and give him an earful.

~~* * * ~~

Seri’s bare feet slapped on the cold stone tiles, making more noise than she would have preferred. Still, for a busy castle, the massive halls were surprisingly devoid of passersby. She saw one gray-garbed servant at the far end of the hall, but when the woman noticed Seri, she turned quickly in the other direction and left. Uneasy, Seri wondered if the woman had run off to inform her waiting woman that she’d escaped.

A multitude of doors stretched out before her down the long corridor, and she knew that more waited just around the bend. The castle was absurdly large given the fact that it was designed primarily as a residence for the prince. He could be behind any of the doors, she thought with a sigh—or none of them. This was just one wing in the massive castle, and she knew Lady Mila’s apartments to be on the far end of an opposite wing.

Feeling a sense of urgency, Seri put her ear to one door. Silence. She padded down to the next door and listened, her ear brushing against the heavy wood. The murmur of a woman’s voice. Again, not what she wanted. She continued down the hall, glancing behind her to check for the nosy servant.

It didn’t take long for the woman to reappear. A quick glance over her shoulder showed that the woman was wringing her apron in her hands and nodding at Seri’s crouched form. A guard stood at her side, dressed in the somber livery that marked him as Athoni. “There she is,” the servant called in a trembling voice. “She’s escaped out of her chambers.”

When the man started toward Seri, she picked up the long, limb-tangling skirts and ran. Down the long hall, past the curve that led into another equally long hall, toward what, she didn’t know. All she knew was that the guard was running behind her, his booted feet smacking against the tile with great force, and she was running out of options if she was going to find the prince.

The hall she’d turned down was a dead end she realized about two moments before slamming into the heavy double doors that covered the far end of the hallway instead of the turn she had been hoping for. An ornate gilt handle jabbed into her stomach, and she wrapped her hands around it, jerking on the handle and opening the heavy door just enough to slip through into the room inside.

Twenty faces stared at her as she entered, flushed and breathing hard, one hand still holding her skirts bunched above her knees.

The candlelit room was a dining room, Seri realized to her dismay. Faces lined the long dining table, forks perched delicately above the tableware. One man held a fluted glass of dark wine to his lips, paused mid-drink.

Seated at the front of the room was the prince himself, his beautiful pale face stony, lips drawn into a thin, colorless line. The quiet chatter of the room fell silent; a fork clanked against a plate, echoing in the stillness.

Seri was unable to take her eyes off the prince. She froze in place by the door, wondering if she had just galloped into even more trouble than before. She’d imagined confronting the prince, of course, but never in front of a full court of nobles, all of whom were regarding her as they might a stray dog.

“Ah,” she began, uncertain what to say. Greet them? Apologize? She struck that idea as quickly as it came to her—she’d never apologize to their kind. Still, leaving seemed like another form of retreat. She glanced at the door as the silence continued, unwilling to be the first one to break.

The guard shoved his way through the door, eyes focused on Seri’s stock-still form, and abruptly halted as well when he realized what he was interrupting. He bent at the waist in a deep, albeit sketchy, bow. “A thousand pardons, good saers. A thousand pardons, Prince. I did not realize you were in here.” His gaze shot to Seri, and he grabbed her arm. “I will escort her back to her chambers—”