Her arms were soft but firm, clinging to me like I might vanish if she let go.
I pushed lightly against her shoulders, my voice stumbling out.
"No...no, no, no. I'm not Ioana. I don't even know an Ioana! My name is Liana Davis. Li-a-na. Davis. I'm a doctor...or I was, but now I'm a chef...and I have a flight to Paris in seven days. So if you'll excuse me, I'll just… go?"
I tried to peel myself out of her embrace, my heart hammering like a runaway drum. But she only looked at me with tear-bright eyes, her lips trembling as if my protests were… nonsense.
Behind her, one of the maids whispered urgently in that strange, broken tongue.
"Your Grace… methinks the Princess hath lost her wits."
Another added, voice hushed and quivering. "Aye… her tongue we comprehend not. Perchance her fall hath shaken her mind."
I gawked at them. "Lost my...? I didn't lose my wits! I'm telling you, I'm not...!"
The Queen turned her head slightly, listening. Her back stiffened, just for a second. Then she looked at me again.
Her gaze softened, warmer than before. As if my frantic protests had only convinced her of one thing: that I was broken.
Her fingers brushed over my cheek, feather-light. "Fret not, mine Ioana. Thy mother is here. Thou art safe now."
I blinked hard, my jaw practically on the floor. "Did you not hear me? I'm not your daughter! Look, I'm sorry if she's missing or..."
But my words dissolved into the cavernous room, meaningless to ears that didn't understand.
The Queen straightened, her composure sliding neatly back into place. Her voice was steady, commanding, though it carried a tremor of emotion.
"Attend her," she said to the maids. "Bathe her, robe her. The hour of supper draweth nigh."
Immediately, the girls scrambled to their feet, bobbing hurried curtsies.
"Y-yes, Your Grace."
Before I could process, hands were already tugging at my arms, guiding me off the massive bed.
"Wait...wait! What are you doing? I said I'm not...!"
But no one listened.
They were already bustling, pulling me toward a tall carved screen in the corner.
One maid began filling a golden basin with steaming water, another laying out layers of silken fabric.
And the Queen? She only watched, her eyes lingering on me like a mother reunited with her child.
My stomach flipped.
I wasn't Ioana. I wasn't anyone's princess.
So why… why did her gaze almost make me believe it?
Two pairs of hands tugged me toward the carved screen, ignoring my squeaks and protests.
"Okay, wait, hold on...what exactly is happening here?" I said, stumbling as the thick carpet dragged against my bare feet.
"You can't just strip people down like...HEY!"
Cold air slapped against my skin as one of them yanked the nightgown I hadn't even realized I was wearing clean over my head.
I shrieked, covering myself with both arms. "EXCUSE ME?! Boundaries? Ever heard of them?"
The girls looked blankly at me, their big doe eyes blinking like I'd just started reciting algebra.
Then, one gave a polite, awkward smile and muttered something soft and old-fashioned.
"Forgive, princess… but thou must be cleansed."
"Cleansed?" I repeated. "I am not joining a cult, thank you very much."
Before I could wriggle away, they pushed me gently...too gently to be threatening, but too firmly to be ignored...toward the steaming basin.
Golden, ridiculously ornate, and filled with water that smelled faintly of rose petals.
I dipped a toe in by accident. My brain short-circuited. "Wait… that's actually nice."
They exchanged glances. Then one pushed me right in.
The water was warm silk against my skin. I should have been relaxing. But no...
My arms crossed over my chest as I shot them my sharpest glare. "You know, back in America, people say please before manhandling strangers into medieval spa baths."
They ignored me.
Instead, they attacked.
Scrubbing brushes, sponges, oils, things that smelled like lavender, rosemary, and something else I couldn't place.
They lathered, scrubbed, rinsed, hummed old songs under their breath while I sat like a fuming rubber duck in a golden tub.
"Do you mind? I can wash myself, thank you!" I yelped as one scrubbed behind my ears. "I'm a grown woman!"
No one stopped.
By the time they were done, my skin smelled like a garden threw up on me.
And then came the worst part.
The clothes.
They laid them out on a cushioned bench: layers of silk and velvet, each heavier than the last. Gowns with corsets that looked like medieval torture devices. Ribbons, laces, jeweled collars.
My heart dropped. "Oh, no. No way. Not happening. Absolutely not. I'll take my jeans and hoodie, thanks."
The smallest maid tilted her head, smiling sweetly. "The princess shall look most radiant."
I groaned. "My lady shall suffocate."
It didn't matter. They laced me in. Tight.
So tight my ribs cried for mercy.
"Breathe… can't… breathe," I wheezed as they pulled the strings mercilessly.
"'Tis most comely," one said, stepping back to admire her handiwork.
I staggered to the mirror, nearly tripping on the ridiculous skirt. My reflection stared back.
I didn't recognize her.
A young woman, wrapped in crimson velvet, golden embroidery catching every flicker of candlelight. Hair braided and pinned with pearls. Skin glowing, like I'd been born into luxury.
A princess.
I swallowed hard. "Okay… okay. I look like I belong on a Netflix period drama. But if anyone asks, I still want my hoodie back."
The door creaked open.
One of the older maids bowed low. "The hour approacheth, my lady. The King awaiteth."
The King.
My stomach twisted into knots.
I wasn't Ioana.
I wasn't their princess.
But dressed like this, smelling like a walking herb garden, and laced into this gown...I looked the part.
And now I was about to meet the rest of the family.