What if it had been him? What if all this time, Maksim had been my secret admirer, who seemed to know exactly what I would like and exactly what would surprise me?
The crossbow, the dress, the jewelry. Cherries in summer, oranges in winter. Chocolates filled with caramel. Only someone who really knew me could’ve known how much I’d love all of that. What if, all this time, all that hard cruelty was…just for show?
My heart thumped in my chest at the thought. A knock at the door made it nearly shoot up into my throat. I popped up from the water just as Maria rose to see who it was.
“Anika!” Snapped a voice from the other side of the door. “What in heaven’s name are you doing, taking a bath now?”
With a groan, I slipped back down beneath the water. It was my mother, the queen. The last person in the world I wanted to see.
She entered with an entourage as usual. Trailing behind her were a seamstress, with a gown over her arm, and the woman who always did my mother’s hair and makeup.
“Get up, get up,” my mother said, making a shooing gesture with both hands at Maria, like she was trying to get a wayward cat out of the kitchens.
“I’m in the bath,” I said, only coming up out of the water far enough to say the words. My chin was still submerged in bubbles, just like the rest of me. “As you can see.”
My mother inhaled hard, swallowing her anger. It made her eyes into slits and her lips tight and dry. That was half her problem, I was pretty sure. Swallowing all those emotions had dried her up like a raisin.
My mother peered at me, putting one finger to my wet cheek. “Sunburn! Have you no understanding of beauty?” She gestured at her own face, like I could learn a thing or two from her beauty regimen.
I looked up at her. She was pasty with makeup, like a sugar cookie dusted with powdered sugar. She had over-plucked eyebrows that made her look constantly surprised. She dyed her hair too dark and it made her part look singed, somehow, like it was hot to the touch. The one pretty thing about her was that she was quite plump; she and many others felt that a round, ample figure was a sign of comfort and richness. I had absolutely no doubt it was true, but in this, as in so many things, I disappointed her. I could never keep enough weight on me for her liking.
“I’m guessing you’re here because of this dinner tonight.”
“Yes, but I can’t do anything if you laze around in the bath all day.” She snapped her fingers at Maria and said, “Get her out of there, Melinda. Right now.”
I winced at the fact that even after all these years, my mother still didn’t remember Maria’s name.
I glanced at my friend who quickly squeezed her eyes shut to hide the fact that she was rolling them, before obediently gathering up the bath sheet, drawing it taut across the side of the tub like a privacy screen. As I rose, she wrapped me up in it, meeting my eyes for one second in a mutual moment of frustration.
“I told you our guests for dinner are important,” my mother said, peering suspiciously at the essential oils and bath salts on the shelf by the wall. “I need you to look your very best.” She picked up a bottle of dried lavender blossoms, which had also been a secret gift, and sneered at them like they were desiccated insects rather than dried flowers. “All these gifts from secret admirers. You’ve been lucky to keep so many courtiers interested, the way you look like a chambermaid half the time.”
I let out a heavy but nearly silent sigh as Maria helped me into my underclothes, and was then swept aside by my mother’s seamstress. Within seconds, I was engulfed in a heavy fabric armor of golden brocade. The seamstress tugged at the hems and darts, poking at my skin through the dress. “I’ll have to take it in a little, Your Grace,” she said to my mother.
My mother flung her head back in a huff.
“If you didn’t run around like a pre-pubescent boy, maybe we could keep some weight on you. Maybe we wouldn’t always be having to take your dresses in all the damned time.” She reached over and poked a finger into my collarbone. “Your bones are protruding like some street waif.”
Clenching my hands into fists, I muttered, “I’m sorry, mother.” It was best to stay out of her line of fire as much as possible, especially when we had an important event. Though it was not at all in my nature, it was best if I mimicked the women that she employed whenever I was around her — docile, quiet, agreeable. With no opinions or thoughts of my own.