Aligning the Forgotten ✓

Chapter 46: Roux

Hours after arriving back at the castle, I step out of the tub and onto the rug in Celestine's bathing chamber. There's no sign of my sister, her chambers appear to be clean and untouched like she hasn't been here in days. It's not uncommon to find her in different parts of the castle, she ventures out more than she should, so I didn't bother looking for her when I arrived.

Instead, I tugged back the duvet on her mattress and slid underneath. Although I hadn't bathed or bothered to wash off the remnants of the ocean from my body, I had no strength other than to kick off my boots and pull the duvet back over my body. I've been bordering on the edge of a Drainage; without proper rest, I can kiss my power goodbye until I've slept for hours on end.

When I woke, less than an hour ago, the sky was already beginning to splatter hues of sunset across the blue expanse, and after spending days on a rickety ship, I couldn't be happier to be staring at those clouds from the window out in the hall, rather than on the deck of that fish smelling coffin. At least, it wasn't for me, but the prisoners that didn't make it back to shore.

I scrubbed what I could of the warpaint from my face and soaked shampoo in my hair for as long as it took to remove the crusted surface stained against my scalp. By the time I finished, the hot water I submerged myself into, filled with lavender-scented bath salt, had turned a murky shade of brown. Similar to my first days in the capital, I'm becoming less and less of the princess the kingdom desires me to be.

I dry myself off in front of the mirror and allow myself to stare at the person looking back at me. My eyes are brighter, there's a certain maturity in my gaze and in the hard lines of my frown. I've gained muscle throughout my entire body, so the added level of bulk created a second dimension to my face—while I had once been dainty and weak, that is no longer the case.

The dry, cracked skin of my fingers find their way to my shoulder and press against the dark lines of my tattoo. I can't get over the simplicity, yet complicated nature of the design over my right arm. Somewhere, nestled in ancient tongue, is the truth to my identity. The king's third hand is permanently marked on my body, whether in the royal emblem on the back of my hand or somewhere else. That information wasn't disclosed to me once Elvira finished the masterpiece.

The last I saw of her, she was preparing arrangements to head for Lona. It's the perfect city for her to live, I told her as such, and she didn't risk the opportunity to tell me she has visited more than once, is fond of the guillotines around every corner, and can't wait to break more bones while victims wait to lose their heads. I don't have to reiterate my point—Lona is the perfect destination for her desires.

As for Maury and Qian, they didn't disclose where they'd be going. Maury doesn't speak much, he barely offered more than two words to me the entire time we were accomplices, and Qian was only there to oppose my views in hopes his would get further recognized.

We arrived back at the castle, and I hardly took a second look at the king before trudging up the stairs to find Celestine's chambers. I'm completely and utterly exhausted. I haven't been this tired before, not even when I nearly Drained my power trying to stop the prince's Outburst. That time period for recovery was much shorter—this is different. I can't seem to walk straight without feeling the tugs of fatigue.

Slowly, without stirring that endless rest, I dress from head to toe. I pull a tunic over my sore shoulders and sling a belt along my waist to bring some figure to my being. The dark trousers I find in Celestine's armoire will do just fine; I tuck them into my leather boots and tie those with careful, tired fingers. Every move I make requires an effort, whether it be bringing the brush over to the back of my head to comb out the knotted strands or look up at the ceiling without straining to keep my eyes open.