The Bastard King

Ch. 3

Isabel

Anxiety gripped me as I occupied my seat, surrounded by waiting ladies who anxiously paced around me, tending to my hair and adorning my wrists and neck with delicate perfumes.

Observing from a distance, I noticed Maggie undergoing a similar treatment. This invasion unfolded at a different pace than I had anticipated. The air was saturated with the intoxicating scent of countless perfumes, sending a tingling sensation up my nostrils.

It all felt surreal at times—the soft laughter, the gentle hum of a harp somewhere in the bathhouse, the considerate demeanor of our waiting ladies throughout the entire ordeal. All of this for the bastard King to make his choice? It was bewildering that, despite the myriad challenges women already endured, this would be added to the list. I could already envision the scrutinizing gazes of men as we were paraded around like prized horses, a thought that turned my stomach.

Yet, against my instincts, I found myself not putting up a fight for the first time in my life. Cousin Kieran's words echoed in my head, "hidden and patient." As my mind wandered, I began to wonder about Kieran's fate and what had befallen Finnan and Edward. The room seemed to spin around me as my thoughts ventured into the possible horrors the boys might be facing. Undoubtedly, the king would have had them killed by now.

I had to discover what happened.

As the waiting ladies attended to my transformation, their nimble fingers deftly fastened golden bracelets and rings around my wrists and fingers. The clanging of jewelry resonated in the air, adding a melodic touch to the process. With each adornment, they whispered in hushed tones, their thick accents weaving into the atmosphere.

"Let her hair down," one of the ladies whispered, her thick accent coloring her words. "She is by far the most beautiful; the King would sooner bed her and simply declare their union rather than waiting until a formal ceremony."

"To hell with the king," I blurted, a scowl immediately etching itself across my face. "I'd rather rot in a prison cell."

"Hush!" The lady quickly admonished, glancing around to ensure no one else had overheard. "King Rowan is a kind man."

"A kind man who'd still have her tongue for speaking treason," the other lady scowled.

I bit my tongue, both literally and metaphorically, realizing the danger I had unintentionally put even my sister in with my treacherous words. From then on I'd be quiet, observant, patiently awaiting the opportune moment. The nature of that moment remained uncertain, but I trusted my instincts to recognize it when it arrived.

As the waiting ladies continued their meticulous work, adjusting the final details of my attire and jewelry, I stole a moment to glance at the ornate mirror before me. The reflection revealed a transformed version of myself, draped in flowing, ethereal fabrics that cascaded down like a waterfall. The gown, adorned with intricate patterns and shimmering jewels, whispered tales of elegance and grace.

My loose curls framed my face, the dark strands catching the soft glow of the candlelight.

For a fleeting moment, I found myself captivated by the image in the mirror. The transformation was astonishing, and even I couldn't help but be entranced by the breathtaking sight before me. The waiting ladies stepped back, their expressions a mix of approval and satisfaction.

"You look beautiful," Maggie's soft voice pulled me from my contemplation of the mirrored reflection. I turned to find her, a vision of beauty herself, gazing at me with eyes filled with admiration. Part of me wanted to plead with her to look away, to convey that this was not the time for either of us to be thrust into marriage, especially to such a nefarious man. However, the words eluded me, overshadowed by an undercurrent of fear.