Page 14 of Wrath of the Never Queen

No.

I press my fists into my eyes until I see stars. There will be something in here which can help me. There must be.

There is a door on the right-hand wall. Breathless, I scamper over to it and twist the handle. As I swing through, I see an oversized clawfoot bathtub standing innocently in the middle of the tiled room. The walls are lined with various colourful bottles and interspersed with sponges. A washroom, nothing more. Squeezing my teeth together, I slam the door shut and review the rest of the bedchambers.

A large window spans the adjacent wall. Heavy curtains are drawn across it, dimming the room. I swipe them to the side and peer through the glass. From where my bedchamber is, the window is directly adjacent to where the canopy of trees hangs over one side of the castle. It has pushed through the brick over time, worming its way through until the branches hang several feet away from the castle walls. I start thinkingof ways I can grab onto the branch from my window, but when I press my forehead against the glass, I can see the sheer drop from my chambers to the grounds below. I slam my palm against the frame in frustration.

“Miss Shivani?” a small, polite voice interrupts me.

I whirl around to a group of handmaids hovering in the open doorway. My eyes dart between them, calculating my chances of barging through. The glint of steel further into the corridor changes my mind—there will be guards waiting to skewer me as soon as I try to escape.

“My apologies, miss, we are here by order of the king,” the handmaid in front tells me with a soft smile and a small curtsy. “You are due for your first meeting with the prince tonight and we are to help you.”

Her eyes flicker to the vanity table. They start to step inside but I pick up a handheld looking glass and smash it against the bedframe. It explodes into a thousand shards as the handmaids shriek. I scoop up one and hold it in front of me like a knife.

“No one touch me!” I growl.

They flee. All but one. She hovers at the doorway, a notch between her brows.

“You are bleeding, miss,” she says.

I glance down at my hand. Dark crimson drips like syrup from my palm.

“That is not your concern.” I wave my shard of glass at her. “Get away from me. You will not take me anywhere.”

She looks at me with round eyes but makes no movement. Behind her, a guard appears, scowling.

“Is she causing trouble?” he grumbles.

“No!” The handmaid shakes her head firmly. “She is cooperating.”

I bristle.

“I amnot—”

“You may go.” She ignores me and continues speaking to the guard. “She will be presentable for the prince. I assure you.”

I am ready to smash something else in this room but the handmaid’s eyes scream at me. She gives the tiniest, imperceptible shake of her head. I drop the glass shard.

“I amcooperating,” I bite out.

The guard gives me a disdainful look but turns away. To my dismay, I realise he is guarding my room. The handmaid signals for the rest of the maids to come back and closes the door behind them. My shoulders sag as my chances for escape within the next few hours quickly dwindle into nothing.

???

My evening is spent with the handmaids as they clean, scrub and lather sweet-smellingcream on me. I fight the urge to cover myself in front of them, unused to being bathed by anyone except myself. My hair, which had been damp and ratty from my fight with the guards, is thoroughly washed until it gleams. Rough sponges are used to remove the grime and sweat from my skin. I sit and seethe through it all.

As I sit at the vanity table, I keep my eyes averted from my reflection. I do not want to think of myself in the same position as the Never Queens before me. Instead, my eyes constantly move around the room to see if there is anything I can use later.

“It is no use being so tense,” one of the handmaids tells me while scrubbing the dirt from under my nails.

“I am quite unsure how else I should feel when I have been sentenced to death,” I snap, but she does not blink at my tone.

“You may break the curse yet, miss,” she replies, putting my hands down once she is satisfied my fingernails are clean.

“If you believe anyone can break the curse, you are a fool.” I snatch my hand back and fold my arms. The handmaid smiles sadly.

“Perhaps,” she says eventually, her voice even. She moves to stand behind me and begins to gently rub scented oil through my dark hair. The adrenaline and anger from earlier putter out, slowly replaced with exhaustion. There is something soothing about the handmaid's voiceand slow, methodical movements. I fight hard not to relax into her hands.

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