*Maddy*
I didn’t sleep much that night. I tossed and turned until the sky beyond the frosted windows turned a deep purple, and the sun began to appear on the horizon. Now, I sit at the edge of my bed watching the sun rise and cast the back garden in a pale pinkish glow.
It must be very early in the morning. No one has come to fetch me yet. I haven’t seen Ella or Hannah–or Isaac.
The thought of Isaac makes my stomach twist into a tight, unforgiving knot. I curl my hands over the thick, cream colored comforter and grip it tightly, closing my eyes.
Not his breeder. Not a maid or a servant.
Ella says I’m a guest, but what exactly does that mean? Where could I possibly go after this? Home to Celestoria? The thought makes me queasy, and I remember with a start that I haven’t eaten anything since… well, I can’t even remember the last time I had something to eat or drink.
I walk around the room, running my fingertips over the fine furniture. I add a few logs to the dying fire and let the heat from the fresh flames waft over my skin, my fingers prickling with warmth. The silken pajamas Hannah laid out for me the night before don’t do much against the chill in the air, but the room warms quickly, and now I’m feeling more awake.
Which means the crushing reality of my situation has room to twist through my mind and fester like a wound.
I rifle through the closet and pull out a thick flannel robe. I shrug it on, sniffling soundlessly as I contemplate my situation and try to figure out what I can possibly do now. Sure, I’m safe from Reginald… I think. What if he has spies in this very castle? Hard to believe, but possible.
As I step out of the closet, the sudde appearance of a young, unfamiliar woman tiptoeing into the room with a laundry basket has me frozen in place for a moment. Once I’m able to move, I step back into the closet and stand perfectly still in a shadow as she sets the basket down. She looks toward the bed, her forehead wrinkling in surprise.
But then she notices the bathroom door is closed and soft light is streaming from beneath the door. Her hand flys over her chest as she lets out her breath, chuckles to herself, and promptly leaves the room.
What was that all about?
I pat myself on the back for my forethought in turning on the bathroom light last night. Being afraid of the dark is a childish thing, but I can’t help it, especially not in an expansive room like this one. All night, I felt like I was laying out in the open, vulnerable and scared, wondering if someone or something would come in at any moment to torment and torture me.
I wait for the maid to close the door behind her before darting to the laundry basket.
“Oh.” I pull a pair of jeans from a stack of clothing, holding them up so I can see them with only the pale light of dawn illuminating the room. I set them down on my bed and continue going through the basket–clothes. Just clothes. Shirts, pants, socks, and… underwear.
I purse my lips and take a few steps away from the bed. Everything looks like it would fit me perfectly. A heavy, heartbreaking feeling sweeps through my chest as I look down at the clothes. To anyone else, this would be a trivial thing. I needed to wear clothes. I couldn’t just walk around naked.
But whoever picked these out…
I close my eyes and bury my face in my hands.
“Olive said you were awake–oh!”
I whirl around to find Hannah standing in the doorway, her eyes wide in the rays of sunlight drifting over her face. She lays whatever she’s been carrying on a table by the door and rushes over to me, taking me by the shoulders as she looks me up and down. Meeting my eyes with a look of marked concern on her face, she asks, “Are you okay?”
Each word is slow and careful, like she had to go over every syllable in her mind before saying them. Another wave of sadness rips through me. How can I possibly explain what I feel right now?
“Who’s Olive?”
“Maid,” Hannah smiles, patting my upper arms. “Sad?”
“No,” I lie, shaking my head and blinking back tears.
Can I trust this woman? Would she even understand what I said if I told her the truth?
“I’m used to taking care of everyone else. It’s been a long time since someone has–since someone has taken care of me. I can’t remember the last time anyone cared if I was okay.” I gaze at her through tear-filled eyes, but her brow is furrowed in confusion. She gives me an apologetic look and motions toward the clothes, mumbling something to herself that I can’t understand.
It’s obvious she wants to help me dress. I oblige her, dropping my robe and stepping out of my pajamas. The fire warmed air still holds a pinch of a chill, and my skin ripples with gooseflesh. She turns around as I strip off the pajamas and put on a bra and underwhere. Then, she pulls a thick, blue sweater over my head and shoulders. The jeans are next, and I find myself slightly amused that she believes I’ve never put on a pair of jeans before. Celestoria must seem like a world of its own, something lost to time, in the minds of those who grew up surrounded by the modernity of this kingdom.
To be fair, the last time I ever put on a pair of jeans, I was probably nine or ten. It’s been nothing but rags for me since then. Other people in my land wear them though. Just not me.
“Great,” she smiles, clapping her hands, once I have on socks and shoes. “Food?”
I nod my head and follow her out of the room.
We proceed down the hallway in near silence until we reach a dining area, and she gestures for me to take a seat amongst a group of people I believe must be maids and butlers. Staff bustles around the room, bringing dishes, and everyone is speaking to one another in polite, cheerful voices. I fix my plate, my stomach growling, wondering what is going on around me.
I kind of hate that I can’t talk to anyone but Princess Ella and King Isaac. No one else, save for the few words Hannah has picked up, can understand me, and I sure as hell can’t understand them. She sits down beside me and starts to eat, but then she’s called away, and I feel completely lost.
But over the course of the early breakfast in a dining area meant for the numerous maids and butlers who live in the mansion of the Alpha King full time, I pick up a few new phrases.
“What time is it?”
“I’m going to be late.”
“Ella was up wandering the halls again last night.”
“Who drank all of the coffee?”
Despite my being a total stranger, no one seems to mind that I'm here. In fact, people are more than curious about me, trying to get me to speak and teaching me new words in return.
Two young men, who I assume work in the kitchen in some capacity, get their ears cuffed by a stout older woman covered in flour from this morning's baking for teaching me a wide variety of what I can only assume are swear words.
Full of both food and pleasant attention, I feel much better than I had when I woke up this morning, but that fleeting contentment flickers away in an instant when everyone around me rises, bows or bobs their heads, and quickly excuses themselves from the room.
“So formal all the time,” Ella says as she enters the small dining room with a frown. “Especially the new hires. I don’t know most of them, to be honest. I stayed with my parents in Maatua most of the winter.”
The tightness in my chest loosens as I turn to face her. I’d thought it was King Isaac walking into the room, not the princess.
“I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to be here. Hannah brought me to the kitchen for breakfast, but was called away, and then the cook sat me down here–”
Ella cuts me off with a short wave, smiling as she plucks a pastry off a serving platter in the center of the table. “You can do whatever you want. Speaking of which, what are you up to today?”
I stare at her, blinking dumbly. What am I doing today? “What am I supposed to be doing?”
She takes a bite of the pastry, shrugging. “Hell if I know. Isaac didn’t come to talk to you last night, did he?”
I shake my head, a growing sense of unease settling in my stomach.
“Well,” she says between bites. “I guess you’re stuck with me. Come on.” Still muching on the pastry, she turns on a heel and walks out of the room. I follow behind her, wondering where we are going.
We walk down a maze of hallways, and I’m lost within a couple of minutes, but she knows exactly where she is going. Eventually, Ella opens the door and steps into a room completely cast in darkness. She runs into something in her haste to find a light switch, a small crash filling the space mingled with her whispered curses. The smell of parchment and paint hits me before light spreads through the room, illuminating at least a half dozen easels, stacks of blank canvases, and tables piled high with tubes of paint and paper.
A look out the window tells me all those hallways and staircases we were weaving in and out of have led us to the very top floor of the castle.
“Wow.” It’s all I can think to say as I step further into the room and look around, then up, gasping as the room spirals upwards toward a pitched ceiling. This tower is the highest point of the castle. I’d seen it from the ground-level many times as we approached the castle.. A rickety wooden staircase curves along the wall to the highest reaches of the room, the topmost windows firmly shuttered.
Ella beams with pride as she skirts toward the far wall and pulls the heavy curtains open. Sprays of golden light spill over the room, dancing off the portraits and landscapes painstakingly created by her hand.
“Do you like it?” She turns to me, her cheeks going pink, but her smile doesn’t fade. “Isaac says I’m a pack rat. It really ticks him off that I won’t let the maids in here. Whenever they clean, I can’t find a damn thing!”
I’m too stunned to reply. My eyes graze over the paintings–dozens of them–many of them leaning against each other along the walls. “You did all of this?”
“Yes. It’s my favorite thing to do.”
“You are…” I trail off, unable to find the words. “Incredible.” Just incredible. I start walking from easel to easel, examining what appears to be several works in progress. One of which is a portrait of Isaac in full regalia, a crown atop his head. Her brush strokes are so fine and exact that I feel like I’m looking at a picture of him instead.
“That’s going to be his official portrait. It’s taken me years, honestly. In my defense, I spent about a year in Maatua after he became king. Painting there is a bit tedious. The light isn’t quite right and sand gets on everything.” She waves a hand in dismissal and moves on, tearing through a basket on the other side of the room. Tubes of paint and brushes scatter out behind me, but my eyes are locked on Isaac’s portrait.
He’s gorgeous. It’s almost unbelievable how gorgeous he is. Like something out of a dream.
“I’m going to paint you. You’ll have to model for me for a little while so I can map out your face and get the paint colors for your skin tone right. I think that would be a fine use of your time since my brother has no plans for you whatsoever.” Her words become slightly clipped as she grumbles them.
I turn to find Ella surrounded by small piles of painting accoutrements, her hands deftly flipping through a sketchbook.
“New pencils, that’s what I need. Oh!” She turns her back to me and begins looking through another pile of things, murmuring to herself. I glance at Isaac’s portrait once more before I walk toward her, peeking over her shoulder.
Beyond a wooden work table splattered with paint, brushes, and discarded papers full of sketches lay several canvases, all of them black and dusted with stars. I step past her, perplexed, as I round the table and peer at one of the canvases propped on an easel. It’s unfinished, the work she’s done on it so far is impeccable.
The night sky is painted in stunning detail. Stars speckle the canvas–alight against a brilliant deep purple haze.
But in the center of the canvas is a figure, their body blurred and distorted by a reddish glow that makes it impossible to see their face.
“I paint my dreams,” Ella says somewhere in the room, her voice dropping an octave. I turn, looking for her. She’s not in the same place I left her. She pops up from behind a different table, looking flustered and pink in the cheeks from excretion as she holds up a trio of charcoal pencils. “Found them!”
“You dreamt this?” I ask, turning back to the painting. I want to run my fingers over it but refrain, suddenly afraid touching it would cause me to slip through time and space altogether. That’s how real it looks. “Who is it?”
“My mate,” she says so casually I snap my head back in her direction. She gives me a little shrug, chuckling. “At least I think so. I started having them when I turned twenty-one… just the night sky blooming with stars. But then there’s that guy–” She points to the figure. “He’s always there, but I can’t hear him, and I can barely see him. He’s always just out of reach.” She sits down at one of the tables with her sketchbook and pats the stool next to her. “Come sit down. This won’t take long.”
A strange feeling sweeps over me as I glance back at the painting once more before walking in her direction.
I have so many questions, but the next hour is spent sitting still while Ella sketches my face, sometimes talking, but mostly not.
“Here, what do you think?” She passes me her sketchbook.
I gasp when I take in her work. “Like looking in the mirror.”
“What’s going on here?” Isaac’s voice fills the room, cold and questioning.
I meet his eyes and flinch, but he doesn’t hold my gaze. He says something sharp to Ella that makes her frown before extending his hand toward me, motioning to me.
“Come. We need to talk.”