14

Connections

The brush prickles along my scalp as I drag it through each strand, massaging my head while detangling every knot my hair has accumulated. The past week, I've been tucked away in these chambers, allowing my body to heal and interacting with few.

I've tried countless times to use Mother's mirror in hopes of someone hearing me, but nothing. I won't give up, though. It is my only chance to let Betina and Niko know I am okay.

I pray to the Makers they are okay.

The brush snags on the blue robe I wear, too lazy to dress with my shoulder still on the mend.

Dorit is the only one I've seen this past week, and I find her company a blessing despite these red walls being my prison. She brings me food, helps me bathe, and assists me with moving my body a few times a day. And when she greets me every morning, she reminds me each day I am here is another day I wish it were Betina's voice.

Betina's warm spiced scent would always linger in my chambers, lending a sense of comfort that would kill me each time I was dragged away from it, whereas Dorit leaves with gardenia and roses in her wake.

She smells so flowery that it can feel stuffy.

It makes me want to be outdoors.

I loathe the outdoors.

Of course it isn't her fault she smells different from Betina, and it isn't her fault I am a prisoner here. I make sure to thank her every time she aids me. I know it is not a luxurious job, and my injuries don't help either.

But Dorit is kind and helpful, and her company is not unbearable.

I have made huge strides in my healing lately, being able to rise from the bed alone and not get dizzy. I can't hide the joy from knowing my body is improving.

Dorit's soft, lyrical voice drifts in from the hall. "Your Majesty, I've come to drop off a gown for tonight."

Dorit enters, donning a simple, bold magenta dress.

The fabric extends from her hips, secured at the waist by a vested corset tied neatly on her back. Matching ribbon weaves through her plaits, highlighting more color around her and her fragile body.

She holds a package, and I grumble at the thought of wearing another wedding gown. Especially one I had no role in choosing. But she offers me a curtsy, resting the dress across the chaise at the end of the bed.

Rising slowly, I walk over and gasp.

The dress is not the tight bodice and flared gowns I am used to wearing, though. The fabric is satin and of the palest of blues.

The sleeves are thin, held together by rows of the whitest of pearls. The beads glimmer in the light.

I turn it over, revealing a low and see-through back with the beading draped from shoulder to shoulder, allowing my skin to shine through the pearls. It looks more like a sleeping gown, with its simplicity and lack of layered fabrics.

But the satin is so soft and delicate the quality exudes luxury.

"This is stunning," I marvel in awe.

"His Majesty picked it out."

I linger over Dorit's words, but when she turns her gaze from the dress to me, her features turn distant.

"I was hoping we could talk," she says.

I raise my eyebrow. That was not what I was expecting.

"What do you want to discuss?" I allow her to proceed, turning toward the vanity to resume brushing my hair.

In the reflection, she looks down and fidgets with her hands, and I halt my brushing, noting the signals of nervousness. Maybe she and I could have more in common.

Her chest rises and falls as she makes eye contact with me.

I try for reassurance. "It's alright."

Dorit's eyes drop to the floor. "I've been practicing this conversation since you've arrived, not knowing how to explain myself to you. I know you do not like it here, and for that, I am so sorry. And I know you don't want to be here, and I know that—"

"Dorit." My heart softens as her rambling gets the better of her. She stops when I face her. "It is okay."

She twists her hands as the ribbon in her plaits begins to match the color of her cheeks.

"His Majesty and I were briefly—and I mean briefly—involved with one another prior to him becoming king. We have known each other for years, and it was when we were young and stupid," she blurts.

I arch a brow, tilting my head. Why is she telling me this?

Dorit paces forward a few steps. "But I swear to the Makers what we shared was fleeting for the two of us. I truly do not have any deep affection for His Majesty, nor does he for me. He is the king I serve, and I am head of the house staff meant to help him and the prince where I can."

She moves toward me, but she hesitates, her lips quivering. "I need this job, and I know of the rumors that circulate. Deities, there are so many. But I didn't want you to learn this from anyone else and have you dismiss me before I have a chance to prove my work ethic and commitment to you."

She spoke so fast it took a minute to register what she was telling me. Dorit crumples, and she collapses to the floor, burying her face.

My heart breaks with the fear showing through this poor woman.

Are the rumors about me that scary?

Her cries are the only sound in the room as I stand very carefully, making my way to her. Reaching for her chin, I grab it gently, tilting it to meet my eyes.

Her tears have drenched her cheeks, and her nose is red.

The visible sorrow tears at my heart. I can't bear to see how much worry she has over this.

Who am I to judge her for something that happened years ago?

I can't bend over well, so I nudge her on the knee with my foot, beckoning her to stand.

She pushes off the lush red rug, brushing off her gown when she rises. When her eyes meet mine, I cannot help myself from pulling her in for an embrace.

My damned empathy—always getting the better of me.

I rub her back gently. "Thank you for sharing that with me. I know it must have been hard."

Dorit returns the hug, her sob causing her to shiver. "Th-Thank you, Y-Your Majesty."

"Please don't be afraid of me, Dorit."

She is careful with her hands around my back, thoughtful and not nearing my bandaged shoulder. Bless her.

I pull away from her, and tears still run down her cheeks. "You are the only one that has visited me for an entire week. I consider you more of an acquaintance than the others. Including my future husband."

She laughs, and I continue, "You've made me as comfortable as I can be here, and I am thankful for that."

She sniffs, bobbing her head in agreement.

I pull away and force her to look at me.

"I have no animosity toward you for what you had with the king," I reassure her. "It happened before we met, and who am I to judge you or him for exploring that adventure?"

A tear falls down her face as I give her arms a light squeeze, smiling gently.

Sweet Makers, she reminds me of Runa.

Swallowing the memories of my sister, I bury them deep for only me to experience. I cannot go dragging another person into my grief.

"Thank you for having the courage to tell me. It can be intimidating speaking your thoughts. Deities, I am a queen, and I can barely do that," I joke.

A slight chuckle escapes from her, and she covers her mouth.

I wonder at the outburst but find it refreshing to be around another person slipping with protocol.

"I am so sorry. That was rude of me to do," she says quickly.

I pat her hand. "It was a joke. It was meant to be laughed at."

We watch each other sheepishly, then laugh together for the first time as she wipes the tears from her cheeks, eying the vanity.

"Would you like me to help you get ready later this evening?" she asks.

If I get ready alone, I will probably sulk and fight against all the emotions sinking me down. Having someone here could be a welcome distraction.

But when I look at her, I cannot help but voice my immediate thought. "I don't want to marry him."

I was supposed to marry Niko. I am supposed to be married to Niko.

I turn away, crumbling gracefully on the chaise, my head falling into my chest. Deities, I wish I could get a hold of Niko or Betina.

I have to try again before tonight.

I almost laugh at the irony of marrying Jerrick, someone I had considered when I believed Niko was not interested in me. But words from the decree repeat in sentences, the joining of me and Jerrick… not Niko.

I do not understand why or how my mother's name is on a decree. Yet here I am, following through with it for fear of being separated from them in the afterlife as well as Jerrick's promise to help me with my magic.

Dorit sits beside me, grabbing one of my hands. "Whatever happens, I will be here for you. I've been there—literally."

I cackle so fast, surprised I even did.

Dorit joins in on the laughter.

I am grateful she is making light of this situation. It reminds me of a time Runa or Niko would do that for me. I am lucky to know someone who knows Jerrick.

Maybe she can give me tips on things he likes, and I can twist it to my advantage to piss him off and keep him at a distance.

"I wasn't expecting to say this, but thank you, Dorit." I smile.

She returns the smile, my chest constricting from her pure kindness. "You are most welcome, Your Majesty."

I squeeze her hand, hating the formality used. "Call me Tove."

Dorit inclines her head. "It's an honor, Tove."