Dumping Aida back into the water, he wasted no time climbing out. Lips twisted into a menacing snarl, he looked her over before he quit the bathing chamber, slamming the door hard behind him. Leaving Aida to her quiet sobs as she scraped the soap from her tongue.
Not willing to inspire more of his anger, she took up the soap before she could silence her weeping all together and scrubbed away the tacky film that still coated her. Digging the hard bar into her skin wasn’t enough. Snatching up the coarse pumice stone she’d always hated, Aida scoured away the imagined layers of filth until she glowed bitter rose. She heard him stomping through her rooms as she dragged the wooden comb through her tangled hair, the hollow crash of trunks and the shuddering boom of drawers in her armoire being slammed seeping under the door. The muffled sounds and what she imagined they could mean infecting her movements, making them swift and jerky.
Scraping her gums with the coarse cloth and powder as her gaze slid unwilling to the door again and again, mindless of her action, Aida gave in. Sure now that she would be punished, every horrible act she could imagine played out and repeated half a dozen times in her thoughts, Aida spun around to search for a towel. Fidgeting fingers grew more animated by the thundering heartbeat, seeing nothing of the usual accessories Immari laid out. With a hard sniff, she snatched up the nearest bit of cloth and dragged it over her head.
He didn’t note the creaking door, or if he did, he ignored it. Edging through the narrow gap, Aida slipped out of the bath. Hands twisting in never ending circuits, she lingered by the heartless stone and let their cold sink into her skin. With head bowed, she watched through the thick fringe of her lashes as his boots made another journey from the sitting room to her bed chamber before they came to a stop. Leagues away and yet too close by half, she felt the bitter wash of heat from his glare searing over her. Focusing on the length of her legs and the rounded edge of a shoulder peeking out from the far too thin material of his shirt. Fine linen turned gauzy, clinging to the water damp patches of her skin. The only thing that had come to hand, she now regretted the decision to cover what she could as his slow strides brought him ever closer.
Twining a curl around his finger, he gave a sharp tug. Pulling her closer by that weak grip alone until she basked in the heat of his shadow. Never having known such warmth, her skin soaked it in. Banished the prickling bumps along the backs of her arms and legs brought on by her unease. A shuddery sigh slipped over her lips as it seeped deep into her bones, loosening her joints until she swayed.
“You will pack, princess,” he ground out, the serrated edge of his voice clawing through the thick air between them, a bare breath that roiled with invisible tension and a musky sweetness. Hand raised, his fingers delved into her hair. Clenched her tresses in his fist as he brought her head up until his lips hovered over hers. “Necessities only. If I find one bauble or sentimental souvenir, I will thrash you so well your very breath will pain you. Understood?”
Despite the languid heat tangling around her spine, his aggression flowing over her tongue, Aida managed a curt nod. Her attempt to give a further response lost in a sigh as her lashes fluttered. Hating the swelling, liquid pool low in her belly, she should have been grateful when he released her with violence. Shoving her back so her head bounced off the stone, the only sensation registering the awful loss of his presence as he left amid the clatter of armor and his shouting order in that strange lilting tongue.
Leaving her lost and confused as she looked to the scattering of small packs and trunks. Shuffling towards a pile of rough woven sacks, she worried at the coarse fabric. Tried to resolve their use as she poked and prodded at them, wondering how in the Abyss she was to put anything at all in them. She needed help, and not just with figuring out what this man might consider sentimental.
It took her an age to find the old gown hidden in the back of her armoire. Too tight now, it hugged every inch of her torso, drifting high on her ankles. The brushed wool warm in a way she appreciated even more now, she rummaged again to find an apron she hadn’t worn in twice as long. It at least suited better, covering much of the gown’s ill fit as she cinched it tight around her waist. As presentable as she could be on her own, she found her slippers from the evening before and tiptoed towards the door. The very real terror of his anger outweighed by the slimmest margin of frustration at these new circumstances. Forcing each shuffling step to bring her closer to the portal leading out of her rooms, she bolstered what little courage she maintained that he had not demanded she remain locked away. There had been no threats or warnings as Otaso had done. She could do this, would travel the halls and corridors to find Immari or someone else who could aid her. Raising her chin, she took a calming breath and grasped the handle to tug the door open.
All of it scattered to oily dust on her breathless scream as she opened the outer door to a rank of armored men and the grinding peal of metal barring her path. Falling back, she tripped over her feet to land with a shattering jolt. The soft soles of her shoes scuffed over the floor, finding little traction as
