Elowen's Pov
They came quietly, two handmaidens with lowered eyes and careful steps, as if the stone floor itself might report them. One of them curtsied, and the other followed a heartbeat later.
"My princess," the taller one said softly. "Prince Cassian sent us. For your needs."
Of course he did.
I nodded, unsure what expression belonged on my face now. Wife. Guest. Possession. They gestured for me to follow, and I allowed myself to be led through a side door I had not noticed before, away from the bed, away from the weight of what waited there.
The bath chamber took my breath from me.
Steam curled lazily through the air, carrying the scent of roses so rich it almost tasted sweet on my tongue.
Candles lined the stone ledges and clustered near the bath itself, their flames reflected in the surface of the water until the room seemed full of quiet stars.
The bath was carved from pale marble, wide and deep, already filled. Rose petals floated on the surface, drifting slowly as if unbothered by time.
"He has taste," I thought before I could stop myself. "Or at least he knows how to pretend he does."
As they helped me undress, my mind betrayed me by returning to the chamber. To his voice. To the way his eyes had looked through me, not at me.
My body was here, warming under candlelight, but part of me was still standing in that room, heart in my throat.
The water was warm when I stepped in. Soothing muscles I had not realized were aching. One maid poured rose water slowly over my shoulders while the other worked scented oil into my arms. Their hands were gentle, practised.
I tried to ground myself in the moment. In the warmth. In the simple fact of being cared for.
"What are your names?" I asked, my voice echoing softly off the stone.
"I am Lysa," the taller one said. "This is Brenna."
"And your ages?"
"Seventeen," Brenna replied. "Nineteen," said Lysa.
"Are either of you married?"
They exchanged a quick glance before shaking their heads.
I hesitated, then asked the question that had been pressing against my ribs since the hall. "What is he like?"
Silence answered me.
Their hands stilled, just for a moment, before resuming their work with renewed focus.
"I see," I said quietly. "You are afraid."
Lysa swallowed. Brenna's eyes stayed fixed on the water.
"You belong to me now," I said, surprising myself with the steadiness of my tone. "Whatever you say here remains here."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"There are things said of him," Lysa began slowly.
"Things whispered."
"Hobbies?" I asked, attempting a lightness I did not feel.
She hesitated. "His hobbies are best known to him, my princess," she said, then faltered, as if unsure whether to stop.
"Except?" I pressed.
Brenna inhaled sharply.
"Forgive me, my princess," Lysa said at last. "We believe he enjoys the presence of Sylvia."
The name struck harder this time.
Sylvia.
The rest of the bath passed in silence. Even the candles seemed to burn more quietly. My thoughts tangled, looping back on themselves. Warm expression. Red gown. He enjoys her presence.
Afterward, they helped me from the bath and wrapped me in soft linens, blotting water from my skin with careful reverence. When my hair was brushed and my skin scented faintly of rose, they laid out a pale silk nightgown on the bed.
"I want red," I said.
They froze.
"My princess," Brenna began, "Lady Sylvia ordered that no other maiden was allowed to wear red night dresses."
"And Prince Cassian has affirmed the order," Lysa added quickly.
I lifted my chin. "I am not known to say things twice."
The words felt powerful on my tongue. Borrowed. Claimed.
They hurried out and returned moments later with a red silk nightdress, folded neatly, trembling hands betraying their fear.
"Leave me," I said once it was laid out.
They curtsied and withdrew, closing the door behind them.
Alone again, I exhaled.