When the queen left, Ian shifted uncomfortably on his feet, his eyes finally settling on the servant who still stood by the bath with her hands folded neatly in front of her. He cleared his throat, more to break the silence than anything else, and asked, "What's your name?"
The girl hesitated for a heartbeat, then lifted her head. "My name is Lyra, my lord," she said softly.
"Lyra…" Ian repeated, testing the sound of it. "Well, Lyra, I'm not used to all this. Back home, I bathe myself. I don't need anyone hovering around me."
She bowed her head slightly. "I understand, my lord. But the Queen has given me strict instructions. I am to attend to you in all matters. To disobey her command would be breaking an oath I swore."
Ian sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "So, I don't get a say in this, huh?"
Her eyes flickered with the faintest trace of sympathy. "Not while her orders remain, my lord."
