Page 39 of Detonation
I think back to when Anshar disappeared into this realm. The need to run after Ash had consumed me, my thoughts fixated on saving my mate. I question if I would do things differently, knowing what I know now, having given this path a shot.
Love is a fierce feeling, but it is also blinding. It can lead you down a path that you feel with every fiber of your being is the correct way, but in reality, it's the path to devastation.
Without a doubt, I know I wouldn’t change a thing. Even if I can’t coerce Ash out from wherever Anshar has locked him away, at least I can sleep with the peace that I’m close to my stolen mate. My men have each other to rely on but Ash is the one who needs me right now.
I wonder how it is that a heart so broken, so shattered, can cut you deep enough to bleed but you never see the evidence of that wound. My heart is fucked up but my loved ones glued all the jagged pieces back together. In this life and in the last, my family has always given everything for me. It’s my turn to do the same.
I know I can be selfish but, fuck, I'm working on being a better person every day, to be worthy of my mates’ love. That’s why I can do this. That’s why I can take anything Anshar throws at me—to make my family whole again.
The door opens and a rustle of a skirt alerts to a woman’s presence. I stay sitting on the floor, uncaring of who it is, what they want, or how weak I look.Can’t a girl have a moment of reflection alone?
“Hello, dear. I’m your handmaid. He sent me to get you cleaned and dressed properly,” she says. “We’re going to get your measurements taken from the seamstress and have a few gowns made for you as well.”
I guess if I have to act the part, I better look it too. I’ll be the living evidence that ‘beauty is pain’ and wear my pain well. My life will serve as the reminder that there is beauty even in damage—just like Grammie said.
“I’m not wearing pink. I refuse to look like Pepto-Bismol,” I announce from my cozy spot on the floor.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear. Lord Anshar has only picked out the finest black and red silks for your gowns to be made from. Are you done holding the floor in place? I need you to come with me to your bath now.”
Did she just crack a joke?“I suppose the floor will be fine without me. I’d like to get this grime washed off.”
She claps her hands. “Excellent. You can continue your moping as soon as you’re in the bath. Believe me, it’s a cozy place for a pity party.”
I sit up and look towards her, wanting to know exactly who this woman is that’s bantering with me and calling me out as if we’re friends.
A short, curvy woman, appearing to be in her mid-thirties, waits for me with a hand on her hip and a face that shows that, while she’ll humor me, she isn’t going to put up with my antics. She’s wearing a plain, light green dress with an A-line flare to the body of it and three-quarter length sleeves, and, over the outfit, a white apron. Her white-blonde hair flows down to her ass. I look into her brown eyes, searching for a memory of who she is but I don’t recognize her.
Abandoning my cause, I get up off the floor, grumbling the whole way about no peace to mope.
She walks over and pops me on the back of the head before dusting my clothes off. “You need to keep your wits about you in this place or you’ll never make it. Is that what you want? To die? Then what happens to your people who slave under these wretched dark fae?”
I stay silent. I know that motherly tone. If I interrupt her lecture, all I’ll get is another pop on the back of the head.
She turns my head to her, forcing me to meet her stern eyes, forcing me to acknowledge the pain there. “Forty years ago, I lived in your kingdom and watched you from afar as you ruled over your people. When the war ended and you fell, I was captured as a slave to run their kingdom. I’ve seen too many perish here at his hands, too many choose the reprieve of death to this horror, to let you ruin this opportunity to free us once and for all. Pull it together, because we’ve been waiting for far too long for you to just fall apart now.”
I gape at her as I process the words. I didn’t even know I needed that slap to reality until she dealt it. When I smile at her, the lines of her face relax. “Thank you. I needed to hear that. You’re very strong for making it here for this long.”
A hint of pride flashes across her face but she clears it. Gesturing towards the hall, she grins. “Shall we get you ready for war?”
I hold my head up high and smile back at her. “We shall.”
Chapter Twelve
Lana
I feel like she’s rubbed me hard enough with that body scrubber to take off several layers of skin. I feel like a reptile once it’s shed.
Once she’s satisfied that I’m clean, I’m pulled out of the bath and pushed onto a pedestal. The evil seamstress picks and prods at me, pricking me with countless pins in the process. When she takes my measurements for a high-necked dress, she clinches her measuring tape around my neck so tight, my eyes almost bulge out.
Satisfied with her torture, the seamstress leaves and my handmaid, Liviana, takes her place in front of me. It feels like I’m getting cross-eyed with all the bustling activity of this day. It’s enough to drive me bonkers.
Liviana interlocks our arms and drags me behind her to my chambers so she can do my hair and makeup. I stumble to catch up, nervous that she’ll rip my arm from its socket if I don’t keep up.
She shoves me onto a chair in front of the white vanity and begins to turn me into artwork, painting my face with brushes. I stay stock-still, half in shock at the turn that this day has taken as she curls the final strands of my hair.
“I don’t quite see why all of this is necessary,” I say. “Even if I had shit smeared on me, Anshar would still want me.”
Liviana clucks like a mother hen. “If you blind him with your beauty, he’s less likely to see through your guise.”
