A pause, then Venn asked more quietly than before, “How is she?”
“She’ll be fine. Millie says she was stirring a few minutes ago.” A slight hesitation. “You protected her well.”
“She reacted well.” Venn’s voice drifted. He was leaving the room.
Clare’s fingers twitched under the quilt covering her, but she couldn’t summon the energy to call out. The door closed and she knew from the stillness in the room that she was alone. She fell back into a restless sleep.
A hand shook her. “Miss Ellington. Clare.”
Clare’s head ached, but when she peeled back her eyelids this time, they remained open.
Lamps glowed, lighting the dusty room that had once belonged to a little boy. Millie, the commander’s maid, was perched on the edge of the bed. “Hurry, we don’t have much time.”
Clare fingered the back of her throbbing head. She flinched when she found a raised knot. She didn’t fully understand how she was back at the castle. Images of Venn carrying her unconscious body sprang to mind and she felt color bleed into her cheeks. He must think her the most incompetent woman alive, and she didn’t know why she cared.
Millie’s mouth tugged down. “Due to circumstances, I’ve been told about your new position. Others are here to help prepare you for dinner with the royal family.”
Clare sat up slowly, a wave of dizziness assaulting her. Her braided crown was a tangled mess and her dress was still damp from the rain. Another maid stood in the doorway watching her with a frown. She had vivid red hair and was probably in her thirties.
Millie handled the introductions.“Clare Ellington, meet Bridget Firth. She’s the princess’s head maid.”
“The resemblance is there,” Bridget said, brows drawn severely together.“Still, it will take a considerable amount of work to make her look like Serene. I need several hours at least, not one.” She sighed sharply. “Vera, Ivonne, come inside. We haven’t a moment to waste.”
Two maids dressed in white and gray dresses stepped in, carrying a medium-sized trunk between them. They were around Clare’s age and both had light blonde hair. They looked so similar, Clare guessed they were sisters.
Bridget urged Clare to stand and then proceeded to size her with a length of measuring rope, issuing orders as she worked. “Vera, pull out the red gown. Ivonne, organize the hair supplies. It would be best if we could keep a portion of her hair up, to add a bit of height—she’s a little shorter than the princess. Luckily their torsos are nearly the same length, that will make fitting dresses easier. Millie, get to work on her hair.”
The ache in Clare’s head spiked as Millie untangled her braid. Her skin felt too tight having so many people around her.
Bridget seemed wholly unaware of Clare’s unease as she stepped back, looping the measuring rope around the back of her neck. “I wish we had time for a bath, but we’ll have to make do. And we’ll need to darken your skin a bit. We’ll have to rely on powders for now, but we’ll find a decent stain.” Her eyes darted to the left. “Vera, grab a clean shift. We need to get this filthy dress off her.”
Clare’s skin crawled at the thought of these women seeing her without her dress. “Please, can’t I change behind the screen?” It stood in the corner, only steps away.
Bridget’s eyebrows drew together. “You’ll need assistance with the stays.”
“At least let me change into a shift. Please?”
Bridget rolled her eyes and flicked an impatient hand.
Clare ducked around the screen, sighing in relief at being shielded from their critical eyes, even for a moment. She began to undress, freezing when her hands landed on the empty belt around her waist until she remembered Venn had grabbed Eliot’s dagger in the tavern. She hadn’t lost it.
The maid Vera passed her a clean shift and when Clare took it she couldn’t help but caress the fabric. So soft, it felt unreal beneath her calloused fingers. Nothing like the threadbare shift she currently wore.
She gathered up the discarded blue dress, her fingers snagging on the pocket. Her breath caught. The tin soldier. She’d nearly forgotten him. She searched the pocket, her heart thumping when she found nothing.
“Are you done yet?” Bridget snapped.
Clare ignored her, dropping to her knees so hard they cracked against the stone. The pang in her chest hollowed her stomach.
Mark’s gift was gone. She’d probably lost it in the tavern brawl, or when she’d been carried to the castle. Her fingers curved against the floor and her shoulders hunched. Everything inside her felt poised to shatter. It felt like losing Mark all over again.
Vera came around the screen and knelt beside her, the two of them shielded from the rest of the room. “Have you lost something?” she asked gently.
Clare’s eyes burned. “Everything. I’ve lost everything.”
Vera’s lips pressed together, compassion firing in her light green eyes. “I’m sorry, but we need to get you dressed. We don’t have long before dinner.”
Heart thudding dully, Clare let Vera pull her to her feet and they rejoined the other maids.
Bridget’s critiques were constant, but Clare’s numbness protected her from any sting and, an hour later, Clare studied the stranger in the mirror. Her dark brown hair no longer fell to her waist but ended below her shoulder blades. The top half of her hair had been twisted up into an elaborate bun. She wore a red velvet dress with a gold chain belted low around her waist. Perfume had been rubbed onto the skin of her wrists so she smelled faintly of lilacs. Cosmetics that itched her skin covered her hands and face, darkening her brown skin a few degrees. Powders of red and gold brushed over her eyelids and a gold pendant with a red gem ringed the base of her
