Page 46 of Lady of the Drowned Empire
I folded my arms across my chest, staring at my bare feet on the ground. “No. I’ve done this before.”
He turned toward me, reaching for my hand. I recoiled, seeing some of my blood on him. Why didn’t he care? Why wasn’t he upset?
Rhyan nodded. “I know you have. And I know,” he squeezed my fingers in his, “I know we’re not…defined right now…or, um, not quite where we’re seeing each other naked.” His lips quirked. “At least, not completely naked. But I can stay and help, you know, or go out there.” He sounded nervous. “I just,” he exhaled sharply, “I just wanted you to know—whatever you need, whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
“My dress,” I said pathetically.
“I’ll clean it, too,” he offered quickly then gave me a piercing look. “Or if you don’t want it…?”
“I don’t want it.” I didn’t want anything associated with Arianna taking power or the memory of the Imperator pressing his leg into mine.
“Consider it gone. Should I…?” He gestured at the door.
I nodded. “I’ll be okay. Thank you.”
“Take your time.” He squeezed my hand again and leaned forward, kissing me on the cheek before he closed the door behind him.
I tore open the dress, let it slide to the ground, threw off my undergarments until I was naked, and stepped inside the hot spray of the shower.
The relief I felt at washing the blood from my legs was palpable, as was the sensation of heat against the cramps in my stomach. I let the water blast against me, soothing my belly. I felt the tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying in my shoulders soften. But after standing there a few minutes with my mind no longer occupied, the day began to catch up to me.
I touched my scalp, feeling the grooves where my pins had gone, tracing the line of the chain of my destroyed diadem to the center of my forehead.
I felt the Imperator pressing his thigh against mine and remembered Tristan kissing and holding Naria, the look on Arianna’s face as she wore the laurel, and the sight of my father falling….
I slid against the wall to the floor and curled my knees to my chest while the water sprayed down on my head. Then I cried. Heaving, sobbing wails shook my entire body. I clutched my knees, watching the water droplets slide down my legs and pool at my feet before slipping down the drain. More droplets fell, slipping down the wall, some keeping their perfect teardrop shapes, others stretching into rivers. Each descending droplet gave me something to concentrate on until my fingers pruned.
I sat there several more minutes, letting the water soothe my belly, my skin flushing red from the hot water, before I stood. I used Rhyan’s shampoo, which smelled like pine, to wash my hair, then scrubbed his soap over my body until I was raw.
I didn’t want to get out of the shower. It seemed like one of the few places I could safely fall apart. Grieve. Acknowledge the nightmare that had happened before I had to put my mask back on, become Lady Lyriana who was okay, who was fine, who supported this regime change.
But the water was getting cold.
As I turned off the shower, I realized I was going to need some supplies.
There was a knock on the bathroom door at once, like Rhyan had been ready and waiting for me to turn off the water. “Lyr?”
“I’m done,” I called out. “But I need clothes and something to catch the blood.”
He opened the door a crack. “I have clothes for you,” he said, thrusting forth a pile of folded sweats. There was a pair of gray sleep pants, a white long-sleeved shirt, and something very small and black folded neatly on top. He shifted inside, averting his gaze and carefully laying the clothing on a shelf before backing to the doorway again. “What else do you need?”
I remained in the shower behind the curtain. “There’s pads that….”
He nodded vigorously. “Are they at your apartment?”
“In my bathroom. Under the sink basin.”
He nodded again, and before I could offer any more instructions, he said, “One second,” and vanished.
Half a minute passed before he reappeared in the doorway, breathing heavily, looking slightly pale and winded. He clutched a black bag full of the pads I needed.
“Um,” I bit my lip, still feeling embarrassed. “Underwear?”
Now he looked embarrassed, coughed, and cleared his throat. “Those are yours.” He pointed to the pile of clothing. “You…um…left them. Last time. They’re clean.”
My cheeks reddened. The morning we’d kissed, I’d lost my underwear in his sheets. By the Gods. He still had them. He’d washed them!
“Okay,” I said, voice high.
