Page 41 of Born for Silk

I wonder what Iris will think…

“It’s okay,” she says straightaway, thankfully, because I don’t know how to answer her. If they are anything like Iris, Lavender, or Ivy, then I am not ready to meet them.

She guides me back to the door. “I will see you after your meal and take you to your forever room.”

I force myself to nod, and she opens the door for me.

The girls look up as I slowly walk in.

“I’ve seen you in the garden!” the pregnant one says, bouncing to her feet as though she isn’t carrying a boulder under her silk dress. “You’re feeling better then?”

I stare at Iris as she pales to behold me. “That’s your ghost girl?” Iris startles. “That’s the girl you keep seeing?”

“Yes,” she agrees. Taking my hand, she says, “Come with me,” guiding me to sit at the table beside her. “A full set. I am so excited. I’ve waited for this day. My lord, whoever he is, could not stop himself from starting early. I wonder who has that kind of hubris to just initiate my rite before a full set is even in The Estate.” She lifts an eyebrow, her message clear—she believes she carries the heir.

I believe so, too.

She is the most beautiful girl in here.

Even compared to Iris.

I try to hide my face as a sinking feeling in my stomach takes over. Our moment—the king’s and mine—in the tank comes to me in strange, curt images; his hand on my face, covering the mask; his eyes drilling me in place, intense to a tangible level; his desire for me, pressing at my backside?—

“I thought you were locked away,” Iris blurts out, before shovelling a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. “Finally gone completely mad. She has imaginary friends, you know.”

Ignoring her, I look around the table, and a few of the others smile softly, wary but kind, each saying a little hello.

“Locked away…” A blonde girl says. “For what exactly?”

I look at her.

“She is very petite,” a curvier girl adds quickly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. Only it is rare now to see a girl under five-foot-five. How tall are you? What are you measurements?”

Umm.

“Do you not speak?” the blonde presses before I can answer either of them.

“I speak,” I finally get in. “My tongue is healing, and it takes a bit of effort to speak.” I withhold the truth about not having many friends or knowing how to chitchat. Except with a mutated bird… I am a witty conversationalist with him.

The blonde stares. “What is wrong with it?”

Uncertain, I sit down, and they all follow me with their eyes—all four beautiful creatures.

I blink at them, reading. My bully gauge is broken, I can’t tell whether she is taunting me or merely asking a question.

I pick up the spoon beside the oatmeal, steamy ribbons carry exotic spices and honey up my nostrils. I wonder how they came to find such rich fragrances.

“I have a small, erm—” I look at Iris. She is staring at her meal as though her appetite has vanished. “My tongue has a small wound, and it feels a little awkward to speak at the moment. The more I talk, the easier it becomes.”

The curvier one, with lovely rosy cheeks and auburn hair that matches, straightens. “Oooh, can I see your tongue?”

“You can’t just ask her that,” Iris deflects.

“No, that’s okay.” I stick out my tongue, and they take a big breath in.

“Cool,” the curvy girl says. “I’m Blossom. You’re lucky, we were served honey and oatmeal today. Usually, it’s fruit, toast, and eggs. Sometimes soup. I don’t really like eggs, especially because I know where they come from, but they are good for us, so I do eat them.”

The blonde smiles. “I’m Daisy. I’m so glad we are a complete set now, and all so different. That is by design.”

---