Chapter 33
We returned to Her Majesty's study. She placed her hand upon the door handle and offered me a smug glance. "That was positively arousing. Enjoy the rest of your day. Duty calls."
I pinched a small part of her cloak between my fingers. "C-could we… might we share a kiss within the study?"
She turned her face away from mine, and I noticed how tightly her hand gripped the doorknob. I released her cloak at once and stepped back. Of course. She was busy, and I had selfishly asked her to place her work aside for me. That was unkind of me.
"Please forgive me, Your Majesty," I said quickly, lowering my head. "I shall not keep you. I ought to have considered your responsibilities. I apologize."
I hesitated, then added, "I greatly enjoyed our time this morning." But being queen must be a burden, and I wished for her to truly know that I had been glad to please her.
I returned to my chamber. When night came, I lay in bed thinking only of the morrow. Nerissea would return.
---
I skipped breakfast. Instead, I paced the drawing room endlessly, the one that overlooked the grand entrance to the main palace. Today, Nerissea was to return.
By the ninth hour, a royal carriage drew in through the gates. I rushed onto the balcony and placed my hands upon the cold railing.
A woman emerged slowly. Pale pink hair and black cloak.
Nerissea.
A guard leaned close and said something to her. She lifted her head and found me. She smiled, soft as ever.
But there was nothing to smile about.
Even from where I stood, I could see dark bruises trailing along the slender line of her neck, one large and cruelly vivid at the corner of her mouth.
She took a step toward me. No. She limped toward me.
"I shall come to you," she called out, her voice hoarse. Far too hoarse.
My fingers trembled against the railing.
She turned away, beginning her slow ascent toward the entrance. Her steps were unsteady and painful to watch. Two guards followed.
I turned and fled back into the drawing room, skirts clutched high in both hands as I ran down the corridor in haste, heedless of any pretense of grace. My chest ached, each breath tight. I descended the grand staircase and saw her, having only just crossed the threshold. She must have struggled even with the few steps outside.
I was not the only one rushing to her. Aenira appeared from the left corridor, running toward her with equal desperation. We reached her at the same moment.
Now, face to face, I could see her fully, and I nearly collapsed. She looked worse than before. Far worse. My vision blurred with tears.
Aenira, her own eyes glistening, wrapped an arm gently about Nerissea's waist. "Come now. Let us get you to your chamber," she said, though her voice cracked.
I moved to Nerissea's other side, keeping close, my hand hovering near her back. "You were with the Duchess, were you not?" I asked, wiping my tears with the back of my hand.
"Yes. I was," she answered with a smile.
"Do not smile," I choked, a sob escaping. "Your smile looks so terribly sad."
"Would you like me to carry you, Nerissea?" one of the guards trailing behind asked. "Might be easier than walking."
She glanced at him and replied with calm grace, "Thank you, Sir Wilsan. I am not hurt. I can walk."
Her words stung me. Her voice was faltering, rasping more with each breath. "Stop lying. You are hurt."
"I am well, I promise you."
"Nerissea, you already served her. What is happening?"
"It is not a one-time thing."
"W-what do you mean…?"
"Lady Naevia," Aenira interjected gently, "she will not say it, but I can tell… speaking is painful. She must rest her voice."
Guilt surged through me. I quickly only nodded.
"Aenira tends to overstate things," Nerissea whispered faintly.
"Shh," Aenira and I hushed her together.
As we ascended the grand staircase, I found my gaze drawn to her neck. Amid the scattered bruises, one mark stood out more. A handprint. I pressed my lips together, swallowing the cry that rose within me. The Duchess had choked her.
Not halfway up, Nerissea's pace began to slow. She said nothing, pretending all was well, yet beads of sweat gathered upon her delicate face. Aenira and I exchanged a worried glance, then turned to Sir Wilsan, the young guard following behind. He exhaled deeply and shook his head, powerless.
At last, we reached Nerissea's chamber. Her face had turned ghostly white. The guards remained outside while Aenira and I guided her in. When I drew back her cloak, I froze.
She was bare. Entirely bare, save for the heels still upon her feet.
Bruises marred her flesh in countless places. Bite marks upon her shoulders. Across her back and thighs, angry traces of whip lashes covered her back cheeks. From between her legs, a thin line of blood trailed downward.
Tears welled anew in my eyes, and Aenira's too. They streamed freely down her cheeks as she helped Nerissea onto the bed. "Lie on your side, darling," she whispered. "And do not speak."
Aenira then took my hands and led me toward the door. "I must tend to her wounds. It will not be easy to watch. Go back for now, and come again tomorrow."
"W-will she be given the magic healing pill?"
Aenira nodded. "It has already been prepared. Magister Malvior should arrive shortly."
"W-why is Her Majesty not here?"
"She is in the throne room with the ministers. No doubt she will come at once when she is able. Now go, dear," she said, opening the door for me.
I looked once more at Nerissea then nodded to Aenira and quietly withdrew.
---
I sat before my vanity, fingers twisting one another in my lap, clad in a thin white robe. My left toes fiddled with the ring upon my right. I wished to see Nerissea, more than anything. Yet, as ever, the maids busied themselves with ceaseless prattle over which garter belt best suited my stockings.
"No one shall see them," I murmured.
They fell silent. Even the one drying my hair froze in place.
"No one shall see them," I repeated, my shoulders curling inward. "And no one shall care about my hair. It need not be styled."
"A lady must always appear perfect," came the voice of the eldest maid, flat and without warmth, a woman well past her sixtieth year.
"I am not a lady…" I whispered beneath my breath.
Still, I was made to endure the ritual. I was not permitted to forgo breakfast, having skipped it the day before. I ate with no grace. I chewed hastily, swallowed too fast, wishing only for it to end. When at last they declared I had eaten sufficiently, I donned my cloak and made haste toward Nerissea's chamber.
Two maids loitered outside her door, laughing and whispering amongst themselves. They did not see me at first. When I drew near, they straightened at once and dipped into bows.
"Good morning, Lady Naevia," they said, far too loud.
Unease bloomed in my chest immediately. Without delay, I opened the door. And then I could not move.
Nerissea was kneeling low upon the floor. Before her sat a bowl, her palms rested on either side, and her face was in the bowl.
The maid before her straightened in a flash, the wicked smile vanishing from her lips as soon as she caught sight of me.
"What…" I breathed. "What is this?"
"L-Lady Naevia," the maid stammered, stepping back from Nerissea.
Nerissea, in contrast, looked utterly unbothered. She sat up calmly and adjusted herself with quiet dignity, even as she wiped her food-stained face with the sleeve of her nightgown. She smiled at me softly.
From here, I could see she looked far improved from the day before. I ought to have felt relief that healing pill had done its work, but all I could feel was horror. She had been made to eat like a beast. And yet she remained composed as though this humiliation were nothing at all.
"Good morning, Lady Naevia," came Nerissea's gentle voice.
I stepped toward her, the weight in my chest nearly unbearable.
"Why?" I asked, lowering myself to the floor beside her.
I looked at the bowl before her. A mixture of overripe scraps and spoiled remnants. The stench alone told me they were well past freshness. My hand trembled as I reached for it.
I lifted my eyes from the bowl to the maid standing nearby. Her expression faltered.
"Why?" I asked her now.
"S-she requested that meal, Lady Naevia," the maid answered, clasping her hands tightly in her lap, looking away. But fear clung to her face.
"This is wrong," I said, my tone a gentle rebuke. "You need not hold affection for every soul, but that does not permit you to treat them with cruelty."
I glanced toward the door. The two maids stationed there looked just as scared.
My gaze shifted to the hearth. It lay cold and lifeless.
Oh, Nerissea…
She was still enduring the aftermath of what the Duchess had done to her, and now the staff had taken it upon themselves to prolong her misery. And she had said that her time with the Duchess was not a singular occurrence. I had been so foolish to think it had ended. It had only just begun.
I set the bowl aside and crossed the chamber. I knelt before the hearth and reached for the small tin of Lucifers. Taking one between my fingers, I struck it against the stone. It flared with a sharp hiss. Turning to the stack of kindling papers, I drew a few from the top. The sheets were untouched by ink. That surprised me. Most would use discarded newsprint or scraps no longer of use. Yet here, clean paper had been left for burning. I brought the flame to the edge. It caught swiftly, curling with eager hunger. I placed the burning sheet beneath the firewood and watched as the fire began to stir, a soft crackle rising in the silence.
I fed the flame again and again, caring little for waste. Nerissea's warmth mattered far more to me than the cost of paper. The chamber must be made warm, and quickly.
I repeated the act until the blaze grew strong, until heat began to gather once more in the chamber.
I rose and turned to the maid, my thoughts in turmoil, for conflicting emotions waged silent war within both my mind and heart.
She would not meet my eyes.
A sudden grumble sounded, drawing my gaze to Nerissea. The sound was unmistakable. It came from her stomach.
She began to reach for the bowl, and I moved swiftly, intercepting her hand. I seized the wretched thing and handed it to the maid. I turned back to Nerissea, knelt, and met her eyes.
"No," I said firmly, giving her shoulder a few gentle taps before sliding my arms around her waist. I helped her from the floor and walked her carefully to the bed.
"I shall make you a proper breakfast," I said, forcing cheer into my voice, though the ache in my chest remained. The air in the room had grown too heavy, too bitter. She could not heal in such darkness. Her surroundings must be warm, full of light, even if I had to fake it for her sake.
"I shall wait, then," she murmured.
As I helped Nerissea lie on the bed, the lingering presence of the maids caught the edge of my vision. I frowned.
"Why are they still here…" I mumbled.
"They await your command," Nerissea whispered.
"I beg your pardon?" I looked to her, puzzled, as I pulled the blanket up to her shoulder.
"Come closer," she said, even more softly.
I leaned down until our faces were but inches apart.
"They were caught," she said, her voice barely audible. "They know they are in trouble. They dare not leave, fearing what you may say or do once they are gone." Her hand emerged from beneath the blanket. With the lightest touch, she tucked a fallen lock of my hair behind my ear. Her smile then was truly genuine. "You are a highborn lady, after all."
"Speaking of that…" I narrowed my eyes, the thought returning to me for the hundredth time. "I was a Sister when I arrived, yet somehow, I am now a Lady. Nerissea, do not tell Her Majesty, but these gowns are dreadfully uncomfortable. The heels are cruel. Being a lady is terribly hard."
She laughed, though quietly, and tucked her arm back beneath the blanket. "The gowns and heels are unbearable to me as well."
"You are made to wear them too? I thought you liked them."
"I do not."
"What do you prefer, then?" I asked, most eager to know.
"A simple blouse… a plain skirt… a pair of flats."
I smiled. "I prefer my habit. And flat shoes."
"You must miss your habit…"
I sighed, a long breath from the chest. "It is truly admirable that Her Majesty has such a devotion to fashion, but she need not impose it upon us," I said, though a small smile found its way to my lips, for if Her Majesty chose to dress us, then we must be fashioned according to her taste.
"Lady Naevia," came the cautious voice of one of the maids.
I froze. I had quite forgotten they were still present. A memory struck me then. Nerissea had told me once that she did not wish to be saved by anyone. Yet… had I not already intervened? Had I not spared her from eating that bowl of spoiled food? Would that not, in some small measure, be called saving?
I drew back a little, unease blooming in my chest.
"Um… Nerissea," I murmured, my fingers nervously entwining with one another. "Forgive me. I only acted because, when I saw you reach for that food… I could not bear it. I moved without thinking."
"Do not apologize," she said with a gentle smile. "You are most kind."
Relief swept through me. I cast a glance toward the maids, then leaned close to her once more. "May I deal with them?" I whispered.
"A noble lady need not a slave's permission."
"Nerissea, do not say it like that…"
"It is the truth, Naevia. You must own your place. Use what power you possess."
"So… is that a yes?"
"You do not require my yes."
I sighed. We would go in circles if I pressed her further. She was resolute in such matters. And so, I heeded her wisdom, rising and turning to face the maids. My heart fluttered with nerves, but only a little.