I look away, a little scared of what she might be hiding under that thing. Which is completely hypocritical of me since I so happen to be hiding my own face with a careful glamour. Once she’s drained the glass, I retrieve it from her, pour her another glass, and she drains that one too.
Now that I think about it…I hadn’t seen her drink anything the entire evening. No wonder she’s passed out. I take the glass from her, and she wrenches a hand underneath the bar around her face, rubbing at her head, and then she does the same with the bar around her neck, stretching with a quiet groan.
Gods, that really is the thing of nightmares.
I think I must’ve said it out loud because her eyes suddenly dart to me before she dips her head. Oops. The tinkling sound of her chains reminds me faintly of a cat that we’d had when I was growing up, with bells attached around his neck. Mogley. Back when cats could be trusted to actually be cats. “Do you sleep in that thing?”
She stares at me for a long moment as if she’s not certain how to answer. “You have the key.”
Oh, right. I start digging in my cloak, fumbling in my many pockets. When I don’t come across it after a full minute of rummaging, I begin emptying my pockets, stacking the assortment of items onto the dresser as my eyes nervously dart back to her. How angry will she be if I’ve lost it? I’m sure I could get it off with a good distend spell. It’s awful close to her head though…
Finally, I close in on the golden key, holding it up with a small, proud smile. “This key?”
The nought lets out a breath, in relief probably, and I toss it on the bed next to her. Promptly picking it up, once she has it she only stares at it in her palm. I busy myself in placing the assortment of items back in my pockets. I’m not even going to look because, quite frankly, I don’t want to know. I could not care less what she looks like under that thing.
This marriage is a farce anyway and I’m sure I’ll find a way out of this mess. I’ll politely explain to her father tomorrow that he needs to take her back. She won’t fare well in Samore. But then… Morin will likely find me someone else to marry me off to. Maybe even someone worse. But I’m not sure there is much worse than a nought.
Morin, herself.
Yes, thatwouldbe worse.
“You’re supposed to do it,” she says quietly, interrupting me from my thoughts.
I grimace. “No thanks. Have at it.” Her face is skeptical. “I grant you permission or whatever you need,” I say, dismissing her with a wave of my hand.
Despite saying that I’m not going to look, I find my eyes darting back over to her. As of now, she’s working at unclasping the small golden brackets holding the fabric over her hair in place.
I finish placing the assortment of items in my pockets, unclasp the cloak from my neck, and put it on the dresser. I make my way to the head of the bed, keeping my eyes trained on the Wall because I amnot going to look. I am not…
Oh, fuck it. Thethingis still carefully wrapped around her head, but the fabric has been pulled away to reveal a long white braid. White. Not blond, pure white like that of a much older lady.
I blanch. Nothing else seemed to suggest that she wasold. Her voice didn’t seem old. I don’t recall her hands looking aged. Her back is turned to me. I twist my head to check her hands again. They’re perfectly normal as far as I can tell, slender and dainty fingers definitely not withered with age. She pulls the braid away from her neck to reveal a small keyhole at the back of the bar that holds the whole thing in place.
She fumbles with it. The key clatters against the bar as she unsuccessfully tries to lodge it into the keyhole. Her movements grow sharper with aggravation. Gods, she’s going to make me do it. My head sags forward with a sigh. “Come here,” I say gruffly.
She goes very still. For a moment, I don’t think she’s going to move. Finally, she rises and makes her way over to me. I don’t miss the way her hands tremble as she hands me the key and stiffly settles on her knees in front of me. It's only when my vision doubles I remember that I’m not exactly the best person for the job right now. With a stroke of luck, I lodge the key in the keyhole on the first attempt and it unlocks with a click.
The idea of having this locked around my face is horrifying. I pry the bar loose from her neck and tug the contraption off, taking great care not to touch her. Her head sags forward, her neck stretching from one side to the next as she trails her hands over her freed face.
She staggers to her feet and my heart is suddenly racing in my chest as if this is some kind of pivotal moment.
It’s not.
This is just an awkward thing to be confronted with, I justify to myself. The nought doesn’t turn to face me, instead making her way to the mirror propped up on the dresser, like a man lost in a desert stumbling towards a spring.
She halts, teetering at the edge with her hands covering her face. I should look away…yet I can’t.
Moving slowly, she positions herself in front of the mirror and plucks her hands down past her eyes. She stops there, heaving a deep breath before letting her hands drop. She quickly moves her head to the side, squinting only one eye open to reveal herself in digestible increments. Finally, she faces herself in the mirror.
Despite the suspense of the moment, it turns out that she’s…just a girl.Red indentions make a cross against her forehead and the bridge of her nose where the bars were weighing heavily against it. Her hands run over the lines to circulate the blood back to those areas.
The girl trails a finger down her cheek, tilting her head this way and that as she examines herself. Her skin is extremely pale, as if it hasn’t seen the light of day in a long time. Her brows are a light shade of brown, contrasting against the blinding white of the rest of her hair. The curve of her upper lip is exaggerated, arranging her expression into a natural pout. She blinks large round gray eyes and sucks a plump bottom lip between her teeth.
Fiddling with the stray hairs that have slipped from her braid, her lips twist into a grimace as she studies her hairline. The bars have worn at the hair around her temples, and she looks slightly panicked as she examines the small bald spots. Ah. It’s not so bad. Nothing a few drops of stinging nettle can’t fix.
I blow out a breath. Just a girl. Acutegirl, even. Maybe even more than cute. She’sinterestingto look at with the pure white of her hair, big eyes, slightly pointy chin, and those ears. She reminds me a little of the fairies of the Ettin Wood or a dryad, perhaps. An epimelides with the hair, although… much smaller than the epimelides I’ve seen. I cock my head to the side. Quite a bit larger than a fairy. She tugs her braid over her shoulder and unravels it with practiced sweeps of her hands.
Combing her fingers through the wild curls that she releases, she tugs her hair forward to spill around her shoulders and…oh,fuck me.Evensheappears pleased with that. Yeah, nothing to worry about, my sweet. My gaze drifts further down. It’s hard to make out her form under the horrid curtain of a dress that she’s wearing, yet one could easily imagine. Even my cock stirs from its drunken stupor.
