Page 24 of Threaded

As her gaze focused back on the interior of the space, Mariah’s attention snagged on a collection of giant, plush couches, obviously designed to host more than just herself. Closer to the foyer was a great dining table, the dark gray of the wood perfectly complementing the white and gold of the marble floors and, of course, the kitchen.

Thekitchen. That was where Mariah’s stare eventually rested, what caused her jaw to hang open. It consisted of smooth, white marble countertops that wrapped around the entire left corner of the living space, an island also topped with that same white marble in its center. The cabinetry was painted a gray so dark it was almost black, the hardware a gleaming gold. A massiveallume-powered stove and oven were set into the countertops, a great porcelain basin sink in the island.

Mariah didn’t consider herself a chef by any means, but as she stared at that kitchen and the plush, gray barstools at the island, she couldn’t help but daydream about slow mornings, eating breakfast at the island bar as she watched the sunrise reflect off the Attlehons beyond the windows.

It was suddenly difficult for her to remember why the events of that day were so bad. Why she’d felt so much fear and anger.

If she hadn’t been Chosen, she would be on some rickety old merchant's vessel, breathing in the smell of fish and brine. She wouldn’t be calling this stunning spacehers.

“This is … incredible.” Mariah was breathless as she turned to look at Ryenne. The Queen had moved through the room to stand beside another set of double doors across from the kitchen area. Twisting back at Mariah’s words, a smile on her lips, Ryenne inclined her head towards the doors. Mariah padded over to her, Ciana scampering through the balcony doors from where she’d been marveling at the patio space outside. Once Mariah and Ciana joined her, Ryenne turned, pushing open those double doors on silent, well-oiled hinges.

Somehow, impossibly, the room beyond those doors managed to put the living area to shame. It was a bedroom, but Mariah’s head spun at the simple decadence. A massive, four-poster bed sat against the far wall, the frame made of the same dark gray wood as the dining table and chairs. The floors beneath their feet were covered in soft, white rugs, and the bed was draped with a pale gray down comforter and several gray and gold throw blankets, white silk sheets just visible beneath piles of fabric. To the left of the bed was another window, this one not opening to the patio beyond but instead equipped with a seat beneath, a reading nook made cozy with cushions and more gilded cashmere blankets.

To the right was yet another door, this one sitting on a rolling track like a barn door rather than traditional hinges. Of their own volition, Mariah’s feet carried her to that door, pushing it open to reveal a space that felt wrong to just call abathroom.

“And this,” Ryenne said, stepping up beside Mariah, “is my favorite room in the entire palace.” Mariah could only nod weakly, her mouth hanging open in an undignified expression.

The floor was again that same white marble veined with gold, and the right wall was made entirely of mirrors with an expansive vanity constructed beneath the reflective surfaces. Mariah met her reflection once in those mirrors, unadulterated shock written across her face, before ripping her gaze away to take in the rest of the room. In the back left corner sat a massive shower walled in by glass, the tiled interior along with the three shower heads screaming of opulence and royalty. But it was the final fixture in the room that had the world beneath Mariah’s feet tilting on its axis.

She supposed, in some way, she could call it a bathtub. Lined withallume-powered jets, ledges, and seats, it could easily fit at least three people. It was decadent, outrageous, and somehow …sinful. Mariah couldn’t deny how her body heated with curiosity at that last thought, at the idea that maybe, just maybe, she would be able to hold on to all the wild little pieces that made up her soul.

Before she could spiral too far down that train of thought, Ciana’s bright voice chimed out behind her, her question making Mariah smile.

“So … where’s the closet?”

* * *

The closet, as it turned out, was hidden within the bathroom, its entrance disguised as a nook between the end of the massive vanity and the extravagant shower. After Ciana had her chance to thoroughly drool over its contents, Mariah watching on in amusement as her friend pestered Ryenne with every question under the moons, the queen finally excused herself. Ryenne informed the two women that dinner would be brought up to Mariah’s rooms within the hour before she slipped out the white and gold doors to the suite.

Ciana had tasked herself with digging through all of the cabinets in the kitchen, her occasional exclamation echoing through the room, which left Mariah alone in her new bedroom. She glanced down at herself and realized with a jolt she still wore her shimmering golden gown, her strappy heeled shoes still on her feet. In a rushed movement, she slipped off the shoes, discarding them into a corner, before padding back into the closet to do some rummaging of her own. She wondered for a moment when—if—she would be able to retrieve her belongings from Beva. The thought had her freezing in her tracks.

Beva’s inn. Her father. Mariah had told the queen he’d traveled with her and where he’d been staying, expectantly awaiting her return. She was sure Ryenne had sent a messenger to inform him of the events of the day, but Mariah desperately wanted the chance to speak with him. To listen to his laugh. To hear his advice on what was now to be her future, whether she wanted it to be or not.

Mariah pushed away her rising panic. Shewouldget to see her father again. If this afternoon had shown her anything, it was that she wasn’t a prisoner here.

She was to be aqueen. It wasn’t what she’d wanted, but she couldn’t deny the advantages that kept materializing before her.

Grabbing two sets of soft leggings and two oversized cotton tunics from some drawers in her ridiculous closet, Mariah stripped out of her golden dress, leaving it in a gilded pile on the floor. She slipped into one pair of leggings and a tunic before grabbing the other set in her hands and padding out into the living room.

“Hey, I think that’s enough,” Mariah said to her friend, a laugh in her voice. Ciana’s golden head popped up from behind the island, her hair wild and her amber eyes bright. Mariah tossed the extra leggings and tunic over the back of one of the couches. “I found some extra clothes for you, if you have any desire to get out of that monstrosity you keep calling a gown.”

Ciana ignored the insult, pushing her golden waves out of her face. “Thank you! I was just about to ask.” She stood and walked out of the kitchen, grabbing the leggings and tunic from the couch. She stopped in front of Mariah for a moment, her expression so bright and full of excitement that Mariah couldn’t help but grin back.

“Mariah,” she said, “I found awaffle-makerin this kitchen.”

Mariah giggled, just once. “By the Goddess, I fuckinglovewaffles.”

Ciana squealed. “Me too!” And then she took off towards Mariah’s rooms to remove herself from her too-big gown, stepping back out twenty minutes later, red-faced and breathless but dressed finally in the comfortable clothes Mariah had lent her.

As promised, their dinner arrived about an hour after Ryenne’s departure, a warm beef stew with carrots, potatoes, and onions, a loaf of fresh baked bread and an assortment of steamed vegetables on the side. It was clear the palace chefs were leaning heavily on the abundance of the harvest season, the meal an ode to this time of plenty that would last until winter swept its way across the continent.

Mariah and Ciana sat together at the kitchen island, eating their fill and chatting, building the bonds of true friendship between them as the sky darkened with the passing hours. It was decided that, just for the night, Ciana would stay with Mariah in these suites; tomorrow, she would move into a suite of her own in the next hall over, the wing reserved for the Queen’s Ladies.

“You’re not mad, are you? That I’ve now made this your home, too?” It had been a question nagging at the back of Mariah’s mind, a steady guilt that had grown and grown as the hours passed since she’d spoken Ciana’s name to Ryenne in that office.

Ciana was thoughtful for a moment, her face uncharacteristically serious, before she turned and met Mariah’s gaze.

“No,” she said, her voice quiet. “I’m not mad. Truthfully, I never had any intention of going home after the Choosing. I’m glad that you gave me an easy way to stay, so I wouldn’t have to run.”

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