Page 33 of His Dark Delights
“None of that. It’s my job to see to you now, and I’m going to do so. I won’t be the one to disappoint His Majesty. Not today.”
The commanding older woman didn’t give me the opportunity to reply. She stripped me of my clothes and promptly dunked me into a tub of steaming water. With a washcloth lathered in citrus and floral scented soap, she scrubbed my skin nearly raw. Then she dried me off before applying lotions to my skin I didn’t want to consider the cost of.
“Mrs. Gibbons?” I began.
“Yes, dearie?” she replied, half paying attention while pulling fabric from the wardrobe.
“Why is this room connected to Ren—uh—His Majesty’s room?”
Her cheeks flushed red as she faltered. Collecting herself, she stuttered out, “Well, historically, this room is the Queen’s chambers. If His Majesty has a king’s appetite as his father did, then I suppose he wanted easy access.”
My brows arched as I blinked owlishly at her. “A king’s appetite?”
“Forgive my saying it, dearie. I don’t know why you’re here, and it’s not my place to speculate. Now let’s get you dressed.”
Mrs. Gibbons maneuvered me like a doll, and she was playing dress up. She didn’t even give me the chance to pick my dress for the evening. Instead, she stood me upright and tied a gown of white and blue onto my frame; a heavy garment of finer quality than anything I’d ever worn before. She slipped stockings onto my legs and tied them with ribbons above the knee. Then shoes—gods, above—I hated the confining contraptions they called heels. I wouldn’t be able to feel the earth beneath my toes if they were cramped together.
“Oh, you’re quite a lovely thing now, aren’t you?” Mrs. Gibbons said as she tightened the laces down my spine. “Now we’ve got to do something about your hair, dearie. Such a gorgeous color, and these curls… I could pin it up.”
“No,” I blurted. Catching her stunned reflection in the mirror “I prefer wearing it down is all.”
“Aye, dearie. Perhaps just a few pins to keep the stray bits out of your face at dinner?” She caught a curl at my temple and pulled it back.
“Yes, that’s alright.”
I’d feel a great deal more comfortable if my hairhid my ears. I needed to remain prepared and on guard without knowing what I might walk into. Even a private dinner with the king would be a battle, and I wasn’t on my home field. Soren had the upper hand here. He’d already won a battle that morning and was well on his way to winning the war.
I leashed those thoughts and stomped them down.
The only war Soren wanted to win was his feud against the fae. He would murder every one of them if he had his way. I refused to be one of his victories. I refused to be another butchered head trailing after the king on his bloody battlefield.
Soren Carnifex claimed to want my heart. Well, I wanted him to end the war.
An idea sparked, bright and explosive, in my head. A dangerous, foolish idea from the mind of a farm girl. But perhaps one I was the only person capable of attempting. Maybe I could do something about the state of the kingdom entrenched in war, do something about the bloodshed between mortal and fae—my two halves.
That sparked an idea. A dangerous, hair brained, stupid idea that a farm girl shouldn’t take on alone. But perhaps I was the only person able to do something about the state of the kingdom and the savagery between man and fae.
As conflicted as my emotions were, it wouldn’t be difficult to let him into my bed again. Convincing the king to turn from his hatred might be the hardest part of my scheme.
If I leaned into Soren’s touch, pressed myself into his heart, could I alter his feelings on magical beings? Would the Butcher listen if I whispered in his ear? Could I sway his mind from beneath the sheets? And couldI live with myself if I willingly gave him my flesh in exchange?
I lacked a courtesans training in seduction and the elegance of a noblewoman. Women in the capital played by different rules than simple village girls. But I’d have to learn the game and become a player.
Could someone so inexperienced seduce a butcher into putting down his blade?
“There we are,” Mrs. Gibbons trilled, snatching me out of my convoluted musing. “You look like a proper lady now. Absolutely stunning you are. Perfect to dine with His Majesty and the Grand Duchess tonight.”
“Oh, gods,” I croaked. The king was one thing, but a Grand Duchess was another obstacle.
With Soren, I didn’t need to pretend to be anything other than a farm girl. But now I’d have to wear a mask poorly stretched over my frame. One that could cost my life with a single misstep.
Chapter Twelve
Lilly
Mrs. Gibbons provided a brief rundown on dinner etiquette during the winding march through the elaborate palace halls. Each new piece of information seemed trivial and downright silly. Why did it matter which spoon I used for the soup or which fork during each course?
My father taught me as much about polite behavior and good manners as he could without telling me where he learned them from. He knew more about rules of conduct and decorum than the average farmer, yet never divulged who taught him. I hadn’t had the mind to ask until it was too late.
