Chapter 3: A difficult afternoon
After a rather unpleasant hour, in which Annalise had to explain no less than three times to her personal guards, the captain of the palace guards, and then the captain of the city guards what had happened, she was finally escorted back to the castle.
Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking, although they’d slowed enough that while she still didn’t dare pick up her embroidery, she was more than capable of working on her loom while Priscilla drew her bath. The repetitive work helped to banish the last of the shakes and clear her mind and she was almost calm by the time Priscilla re-entered the room and declared her bath ready.
As was their custom, Priscilla unlaced Annalise’s gown, then moved aside to let her step out of her dress. The stone floor was smooth and cold to her feet, and she shivered. The bathroom window was open to allow light in, but a large brazier was placed in front to help ward off the cold. Priscilla had taken great care to keep the brazier away from the plants next to the windowsill; they were Annalise’s personal collection of herbs–small pots of lavender, rosemary, sage, and a miniature rose that was a gift from a foreign ambassador passing through Dovea on his way to a larger country to the north. The plants helped to keep the bathroom fresh, filter the air, and provided an attractive splash of green amongst all the stone and wood. Annalise undid her undergarments and folded them neatly on a chair before stepping into the hot bath, which Priscilla had sprinkled with dried rose petals and rosemary.
“You spoil me, Priscilla. Thank you,” Annalise said as she pushed one petal below the surface of the water and watched it float back to the top.
“It’s the least I can do, Your Highness, after the day you’ve had.” Priscilla paused, one foot out of the room. “Would you like me to wash your hair?”
For any other lady in her father’s court, it wouldn’t have been a question. They were frequently pampered by their maids; their hair and feet washed and hands, neck, and shoulders massaged daily, but before Priscilla even had the chance to shift her weight onto her other leg, Annalise was shaking her head and sliding further into the water.
“No, you know the rules.”
“Are you sure? If it’s just your wet hair, surely there’s no harm? I can wear gloves, just in case.”
Annalise shook her head again, thankful that at least she didn’t have to wear the mask in her quarters, so Priscilla could see the determination on her face. “Not today.”
With a curtsy and a dip of her head, Priscilla left Annalise to her bath, no doubt busying herself setting out Annalise’s dress and accessories for dinner and tidying the outer chambers.
Once the bathroom door was shut, Annalise allowed herself a moment’s peace. She trailed her fingers through the water of the bronze tub and watched the water ripple outward, the floating flower petals like sinking boats, before she set to washing her hair and her body. As she lathered and rinsed, she reflected that in some ways, she and the dandelions she picked earlier were quite similar. While they were used as medicinal plants or even as food for the particularly destitute, no one picked dandelion flowers for their beauty or cared for them for anything other than survival. Likewise, no matter how well she played her role as dutiful princess and helped the people of her kingdom, nothing would change the fact that her father only tolerated her because he had no better option, leaving her unwanted and unloved by those at court.
It hadn’t always been that way. When she was a young girl, she was the darling of the entire kingdom. The only child of the King of Dovea and his foreign queen, Annalise lacked for nothing growing up.
How far she’d fallen. Even though she was the sole heir to the Dovean crown, her curse rendered her unable to be touched and thus unable to bear a heir. There were no other male descendants of her father’s line—his older brother had died tragically in a hunting accident in his youth, and his younger sister had so far only born two girls. Without her curse, Annalise’s hand in marriage would have been a prize fought over by any eligible bachelor. With it, she was about as useful in matters of succession as a hairless sheep. With minimal protection from her father, and no protection from anyone else—her mother’s people had never reached out after her death and her paternal aunt was already gathering support around her uncursed daughters, Annalise’s position in court was tenuous at best.
She prayed every night that the Goddess would cure her, and woke disappointed every morning when nothing changed.
A knock on the door had her rushing to finish. She hurriedly stepped out of the bath and dried off, then donned her plain undergarments and braided her long blond hair into a simple braid before wrapping it into a low bun. Once she was ready, she opened the door, and Pricilla rushed in, arms full of fabric. It was the work of a moment for Annalise to step into the gown, and several more minutes for Priscilla to lace up the back. As she waited, Annalise smoothed her hands over the fabric. “This is beautiful, Priscilla.”
The dress was russet brown like an autumn forest, with gold edging along the sleeves and gold thread stitched into oak leaves on the bodice. The sleeves were long enough they covered her hands, which would be hidden away behind long gloves as soon as her hands fully dried.
“I had it specially made for you from the fabric I saw you eyeing in the market the last time we were there.”
Annalise’s heart skipped a beat. “The fabric at the new merchant?” She remembered perusing the new stock on market day the month before and admiring how the woolen fabrics were so soft she almost mistook them for silk. “But, Priscilla, I told you that fabric was far too expensive.”
“You are only child of your father, the man who, if rumors are true, plans to unite four kingdoms and now calls himself the Serpent King behind closed doors. How can he be a king if his daughter and heir dresses like a commoner?”
“My wardrobe isn’t that bad.” Annalise frowned.
Priscilla finished lacing the back of her dress and walked around to the front, giving the fabric a tug here or there to straighten it to her satisfaction. “Your wardrobe isn’t bad, but that’s something entirely different from being good. You’re a beautiful woman. Aren’t you tired of hiding your light from the others?”
“It’s not like anyone will see my face, anyway.”
“Then the rest of you should make up for what your mask hides. What jewels do you want for the evening, Your Highness?”
“None.”
Priscilla raised an eyebrow but didn’t otherwise move, and after a short staring contest, Annalise allowed her shoulders to slump and waved a hand at her vanity. “The gold cuff necklace, if you insist.”
“Excellent choice, Your Highness.” Priscilla fastened the hammered gold necklace around Annalise’s neck, then added a golden brooch and a golden tiara to match.
“Surely this is too much for a regular evening meal,” Annalise protested.
Priscilla clucked as she set the tiara on top of Annalise’s head. “This is the simplest of your jewelry. We don’t know when the Rhinneans will appear, and if they see you like you normally dress, they may mistake you for the wife of a simple backwoods noble.”
“That seems rather unlikely to me. I doubt anyone for several weeks’ ride hasn’t heard of the poor cursed princess whose touch is death, doomed to hide behind a mask for the rest of her life.”
“You don’t have to eat with the others tonight; say the word and I’ll tell the head butler that you’re ill and will not be attending. Considering the events of the day, no one would fault you for staying in this evening.”
Annalise stared at herself in the mirror, and her ivory mask stared back. It was a thing of beauty, with its delicate lines and designs covering her entire face, with only two round openings through which her blue eyes peered through.
She hated it and what it represented with every fiber of her being.
“No, I should go. I’m sure there are already rumors enough and I don’t want my father thinking I’m shirking my duty to play.”
“If you’re quite sure, Your Highness.”
“I am. If I don’t go, I fear he’ll quiz me about what happened tomorrow during court, and I’d much rather answer questions tonight when there is a much greater chance that the lords and ladies are deep in their tankards and goblets and less likely to remember the details.”
“I understand.” Priscilla stepped back and surveyed Annalise, then nodded. “You are ready.”
“Thank you, Priscilla. I’ll be out in a moment.” Annalise inhaled deeply to steady herself, imagining that with each exhale she was breathing out her anxieties. Tomorrow was a court day and many noble families were visiting for the start of the winter social season. No matter how perturbed she was, she must be wary and ready for anything.
She was the cursed daughter of King Evert, the man who fancied himself the Serpent King. She was loved by no one, feared by many, and as much as she hated her father and his court, she must do her duty and accept the role that only she could play.