Page 12 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

Raising a bronze disk up against my face, she mutters, “You’re so pale, I don’t have a powder pale enough.” She frowns and puts it down with a shake of her head. “Hmm, your skin is remarkably unblemished for a slave, I think you can get away without it.”

“The slave masters always made sure my punishments didn’t damage my face.” I’m sure I was destined for the whore house, and every time the guards visited the slave quarters at night, I would dread that they were coming for me.

“Mighty considerate of them.” Her tone is careful, and I’m reminded of what happened to Mary when she spoke against the royal family. I get the feeling she disapproves of how the slaves are treated, even though she hasn’t said as much, and I know there’s a story there, but she doesn’t know me well enough to share it.

We sit in silence as Jayne continues to apply the makeup to my face. It’s quite a nice feeling to have someone else attending to you and I find myself getting sleepy. My eyelids are heavy and I have to force them to stay open.

“All done,” she announces, and I turn to look in the mirror but she jumps in front of it, blocking my view. “No, wait until you have your dress on.”

Tilting my head in confusion, I look down at my new, freshly pressed outfit that she helped me into less than two hours ago.“But I’m already dressed.” Making a rude noise, she gestures for me to leave the room and follows behind me, guiding me through Grayson’s quarters and towards a dressing room.

“You can’t go to the ceremony dressed like that.” Her flippant tone makes me freeze, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she walks into the room and straight up to a huge rail of clothing bags. Pulling one of them to her, she unzips it, peeks into the bag, shakes her head, and pushes it back, reaching for the next one.

“This is the finest thing I’ve ever worn.” My voice is cold and she glances over her shoulder as she hears my tone, her face softening as she explains.

“You’re going to the ceremony as a family friend of Grayson’s, who has come to Arhaven to serve him and learn more about court, you need to wear something of that stature.”

Frustrated, I gesture to the dress I’m wearing. It’s smart and well made, and I don’t understand why this isn’t good enough. I’ve never had anything this nice and it seems like such a waste that I’m having to change out of it. “If I’m posing as a servant, shouldn’t this be appropriate?”

“No, girl. Most servants save up for years to earn enough to pay for their ceremony dress. If you wore this, you would stand out, and that’s exactly what you don’t want to do.”

I understand what she’s saying, and if that’s the role I’m going to be playing then what she says makes sense. But I can’t help feeling uncomfortable. Here I am, being pampered and dressed up like a doll, when my fellow slaves have nothing.

“Found it!” Jayne calls out, dragging me from my thoughts as she carries a mass of dark fabric over to the centre of the room. I don’t look at the dress as she hangs it up, I simply turn my back to Jayne so she can undo my zip. Silently, I climb out of my clothing and stand still as she lifts the dark blue fabric over my head, pulling it down over my hips and guiding my arms throughthe sleeves. I stay still as she fusses around me, fixing the dress and pulling it into place. Eventually she guides me to a large mirror that takes up nearly the whole wall.

Lifting my head, I gasp at what I see before me. I don’t recognise my own reflection. My hair hangs in dark waves with a braid circling the top of my head like a crown. My cheeks have been brushed with a slight blush, which makes them look chiselled rather than gaunt from lack of food. My eyelashes are long and my almond-shaped eyes are rimmed with a dark kohl. Light pink gloss colours my lips, which part in shock as I see the garment I’ve been dressed in.

The gown is dark blue like my previous outfit, but it’s so dark that in some lights it looks black. Sleeves made of lace cover my arms, the dark flowered pattern concealing the scars that litter the skin there, and the neckline dips low enough to hint at the lack of cleavage malnutrition has robbed me of. The bodice is tight around my waist, cinching in before flowing out at my hips, the large, expansive skirts surrounding me with the same lace flowers decorating the hem. Jayne appears at my side and looks at me with such pride in her eyes that it turns my stomach.

“Wear these, they will cover those awful marks on your arms.” Pressing two large metal cuffs into my hand, she takes a step back. Looking down at the jewellery, I carefully slide them onto my wrists, realising that they cover my slave marks completely.

It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen, which makes me wearing it all the more outrageous. “I can’t wear this.” My breath hitches, part of me screaming in protest for saying these words. I should keep quiet, enjoy wearing it until they realise their mistake.

“Don’t be silly. It fits like it was made for you,” Jayne says as she circles me, gently pulling and repositioning the fabric.Reaching out a hand, I grab her softly as she walks around me, pulling her to face me.

“Jayne, they will stone me alive if they realise I’m a slave.” Fear makes my voice tight, but something else is awakening within me, something I fear far more than them realising I’m a slave.

“Was.” Frowning, I stare at the maid questioningly. “Youwerea slave, not anymore,” she corrects tenderly, patting my hand in reassurance. This is by far the most frightening thing she has said to me yet.

“I don’t know how to be anything but a slave,” I whisper back.

“I know. It will be a hard adjustment, but we will help you. Plus, I think the Mother has great plans for you,” the maid coos with a knowing smile.

“Jayne, why does Grayson have dresses in his room?” This dress was obviously made for someone, and the thought that I’m wearing his mistress’s dress makes me uncomfortable.

“It was his sister’s. She died before she could ever wear it.” Grief lines her voice, and I know now is not the right time to ask about the woman this dress was made for. “I never understood why he kept it, but I think I know why now,” she replies cryptically. I examine the maid, and under my stare she seems to shake her thoughts off before casting a critical eye over me, circling around me, straightening the fabric of the dress, and picking off an invisible piece of lint. “Right, you’re ready. Let’s go.”

Shooing me out the door, she shushes me as I try to stall, leaving unasked questions on the tip of my tongue. I’m not ready for this. I’m a slave, not someone to be dressed up and paraded in front of the whole kingdom. Wringing my hands, I fiddle with the cuff covering my slave marks. They are going to know. They will see past the pretty dress and recognise me for the imposter I am.

As if she can read my mind, a hand slips into mine and I look up sharply at the maid by my side. Her usual careful expression has softened, and she offers me a gentle smile. “Stop. Trust in Grayson. Trust in the Mother.”

There are a hundred things I could say to her, like the fact I had believed the Mother had abandoned me long ago, or cynical questions like why would Grayson risk his neck for me? But someone makes a noise of surprise which distracts me from my queries. In my haze of confusion, I hadn’t realised that Jayne had led me back into the reception room where I’d seen Grayson with the book in his hands earlier. Scanning the room, I see it was Grayson who made the noise. His eyes are locked on me, his intense gaze making me shift uncomfortably, but I can’t seem to look away from him. He’s imposing and impressive in his ceremonial uniform. The tailored, double-breasted jacket emphasises his impressive physique, the golden buttons with the king’s symbol gleaming for all to see. A half cloak is over his left shoulder, the leather strap coming around under his right arm to keep his sword arm free. It’s all symbolic, this uniform is never meant to be worn in battle, but it looks extraordinary all the same. Rich, golden embroidery of the king’s symbol, a swirling sun, runs along the bottom of the cloak, a constant reminder of who he works for. The dark blue fabric is striking against his tanned skin and blond hair, which has been combed into place.

I prefer him with his hair messy.The thought flits through my head and I quickly push it away as a blush stains my cheeks. I shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts about the protector of our realm! Almost as if he can read my mind, the corner of his lip twitches up and horror runs through me.Canhe read my mind? Before I have a complete meltdown, he takes a step forward, breaking our locked stare.

“You look —” He stops abruptly when he realises Jayne is also in the room, coughing awkwardly before straightening his back and nodding at the dress. “Good work, Jayne.”

“Smooth,” she mutters quietly under her breath, but not quiet enough for him not to hear it, which is clear from his raised eyebrow. “Grayson, I taught you better than this, compliment the lady!” she chides, and I don’t miss the slight flush of his cheeks before he nods and walks straight up to me.

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