“I’m not a lady,” Vhalla said softly, opening and closing her tingling fingers.

“We know,” a darker skinned girl replied, clearly from the northern regions of the West. “Would you like help washing?”

“No, I can do it.” Vhalla shook her head, looking away in shame.

Vhalla drew her own bath and stripped—after the servants had left the room. She wondered if it was customary for royalty and nobility to have assistance while bathing. In the servants’ baths everyone bathed together, so it was not the idea of eyes on her that left her wondering. Just the notion of what nobility was unable to do on their own.

She wondered if Aldrik needed help while he bathed. Vhalla laughed aloud, blowing bubbles into the water with her giggles of amusement. No, she decided. Aldrik most certainly did not need help bathing.

The servants provided her with towels once she finished. The cloths were perfumed, and she smelled of flowers and sweet soaps. Vhalla wore a silk robe and sat in a chair in the center of the room toweling herself dry.

The darker skinned of the two servants began tugging and pulling at Vhalla’s hair, vigorously shaking the water out. The Eastern woman began filing Vhalla’s nails. Vhalla looked disappointedly at her fingers. She really should stop picking at them when nervous.

“Why are you doing this?” Vhalla finally asked, unable to handle the silence any longer.

“Because you are a noble lady from a mysterious and foreign land.” The Eastern servant grinned up at her. The servant behind her snorted, and Vhalla rolled her eyes.

“You know who I am,” Vhalla said, unsure of what made her so determined to find out the answer.

“Well, that’s why we’re helping you.” The woman with her fingers in Vhalla’s hair said thoughtfully. Vhalla attempted to turn and look at the person speaking, but she was only left immobile as her hair snagged on something. “Don’t move, idiot.” The servant sighed. “Listen, even if we weren’t ordered to help you, we still wouldn’t mind.”

“Mmhm.” The Eastern servant had shifted to Vhalla’s feet. Vhalla wondered why she needed her toenails done as well. Wouldn’t they be in shoes? “We asked around after Chater was called in. The Heartbreaker Prince has entertained lots of ladies for lunches and, well, you know what else.”

Vhalla shifted in her seat at a look from the servant. They all thought she had slept with the prince. Every one of them assumed she had crawled into his bed. Vhalla frowned, even Roan must have.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” Vhalla said defensively.

“You don’t have to be so modest around us, we’ve been here since we were ten.” The woman was rolling Vhalla’s hair around strange circular spools. “I didn’t,” Vhalla insisted.

“Well, if you didn’t, it makes it all the more peculiar,” the Eastern servant continued. “Prince Baldair has never ordered one of his common women to be prepared for a formal function. It’s all on the wrong side of the sheet, hush between the pillows. You’re the first he’s ever brought out in public.”

“But, I, this is not...” Vhalla wished she had something to quench her dry throat. Her and Prince Baldair? Was there more than she had previously thought?

“So, we want to show all those stuck up nobles that we’re just as good as they are.” The woman who had previously been working on Vhalla’s hair went over to a large wardrobe. The doors thrown open, Vhalla saw a single garment: a long black gown with a bustier top, capped sleeves, and a skirt of endless draping.

“Is that mine?” Vhalla barely heard her own words, the wonder of it sounded like a chorus in her ears.

“A Chater original,” the girl affirmed with a nod.

Vhalla said nothing during the process of getting into the dress. Her ribcage was squished into the most frustrating garment that she had never even seen before. It was laced in the back and tightened to accentuate her figure. The servants called it a corset, but Vhalla could think of a handful of other colorful words to use.

They painted her face and applied lotion to her whole body. Vhalla was like a living doll and equally clueless. So she sat, mostly silent, and allowed the servants to accomplish their tasks.

The dress fit her perfectly. The bustier top was silk with velvet sleeves and skirt. Vhalla shamelessly ran her palms over the fabric. It felt soft, like what she imagined clouds felt like.

By the time the girls pulled the last curler from her hair, the sun hung low in the sky. They touched up her curls with a rod stoked over coals, after much assuring to Vhalla that it would not burn her hair. Skeptical by the steam and scent that her hair gave as they wrapped locks around the poker, Vhalla obliged them.

Eventually, the servants took a step back and assessed their work. They would touch up this or that before reassessing. With a final nod, they pulled her to her feet.

“Are you ready?” The Easterner helped her slip her feet into heels. Vhalla’s ankles wobbled unsteadily.

“Am I?” Vhalla asked, thankful the young woman had not yet let go.

“There’s a mirror behind you,” she said with a small smile. There was a wistful longing on her cheeks, and Vhalla felt a twinge of guilt for having this opportunity. She turned in the direction of the mirror. Awkward in the tall shoes, she tripped on her skirt—almost toppling forward were it not for the Eastern servant’s support. The young woman laughed loudly. “You need to work on that, Miss Lady.”