Page 50 of The Kingdom of Flames

“My arm is fine,” Celestine murmured, confused.

“James, take her to her to the salon. She should be given time to rest before dinner.” Tristien was standing, staring off at his estate, the whip strangled in his fierce girl.

“As you command, Lord Solis.” James smiled and beckoned her towards the house, never coming close to touching her.

They walked up the grand steps, and Celestine looked back to see Lord Solis scowling, his body rigid, the whip in his hand.

He is furious. Such a stark rage, something underneath, indeed.

Celestine walked forth. She had seen battle, trained and sparred, and seen men and women die. But such a brutal display, so final and dominant. It was something else. All veiled in the wrapping cloth of propriety.

James led her up to a grand chamber. The mansion rang with the rushed clamor of preparation, of musicians setting up and servants running back and forth.

“Come, Lady Celestine. Lord Solis has a wing ready for your wardrobe, and the ladies of the house will bathe and dress you.”

“Does he often strike servants?” Celestine asked.

James shook his head. “Put it from your mind, my lady. I believe he is nervous. He heard about your capture from Vermilion and does not want anyone to overstep. He wishes to show his splendor to you. I have served him all my life and have never seen him so focused or consumed.”

The price is wrought beneath the surface.

Grand staircases, grand hallways. Where Scalehall had been stark and proud, Suncrown was finery. Every detail was manicured and clean, even the air smelled of white flowers. The temperature of the house was perfect.

Still, she missed the halls of Scalehall. There would be no hardship here, no sparring or camaraderie in bunks. Celestine felt her role was to be a flower doted upon.

James pushed open two tall doors, and Celestine beheld a room of marigold and topaz striped with white. Six female servants smiled and bowed as Celestine was brought forth.

“Now, lady Celestine, please leave the commotion in the front behind you. You must be weary from your journey from such a brutish realm. For a few hours, allow the proud staff of Suncrown to dote upon you.”

The smell of lemons and hot water beckoned her forth. The warm smiles of the servants set her nerves at ease, at least for the moment.

“Dinner is in four hours, my lady. Lord Solis has worked greatly for a gift for you.” James bowed and shut the doors behind him. Celestine smiled at the servants.

“Are these my chambers as well?” she asked.

One servant giggled. “My lady, these are only your dressing and bathing rooms.”

"There is a daybed, a chaise, and refreshment for you.” Another bowed. “Lord Solis has had his chambered readied for your evening.”

“Ah,” Celestine said. Lord Solis’s chambers would be hers this evening.

How bold. But what do I expect from the demigods that hunt women on horseback? Despite what I saw in the garden, this touch of summer would prove plentiful for the people of the Painted Realm. Everything is orderly. Precise. Exact. Everything is controlled.

She still held the coin in her hand, wondering what it all meant. But her worries were stripped away, as the clothes fell from her, like memories she was not allowed to visit—and she stepped into a scented bath of hot water and lemon oil.

Chapter 10

The Gift Unwrapped

The evening dinner at Suncrown was Celestine’s first time being privy to true magnificence, not in passing, but in enjoyment.

Everything felt right in Tristien’s realm. The scented oils left her skin silken. The bath assuaged the wearies within her. The attendants seemed to know exactly what her body and mind needed before she could even ask. Luxury was not just the fine things, the softness of the chaise, the smoothed ridges of exquisite wall paneling, or the glint of the thousand glass beads of a chandelier. It was someone spending their entire day ensuring she was happy. Well fed. Pampered. Taken care of. Six times over.

Encarmine was a raw wound in her heart, and when she shut her eyes, she still saw him there, off at the border, watching her from his warhorse.

If I sent word, he would invade now and burn this mansion to the ground, claiming me as his bride.

That raw wound was treated, sewn shut, and embalmed with lotions, oils, and luxury. Every knot and twist of her neck and shoulder muscles had been coaxed away by rolling fingers and hands from her attendants. At one point, she lay covered as one worked her feet and put a glaze on her toenails, priming and cutting them, while another massaged her hands and another placed a treatment of strange and pleasant oils on her face.

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