Page 35 of The Alien's Vicious Starflash Manor

I haven’t found anything that looks like hair products, but there’s a jar on this counter that, when I open it, smells like a product I sometimes used to use with argan oil in it—and it seems light enough to the touch. Maybe it will help tame the frizz. Though to be honest, I’m not really certain why I care. No one here matters; Izzy has seen me at my absolute worst.

And there isn’t anyone here I want to impress.

A tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers,Not even Ivrael?I shove the voice down as hard and as far as I can, refusing to give it any credence.

Ivrael kidnapped me, bound me to him with some horrific Caix magic, and refused to let me go. I glance down at the blue ribbons at my wrists. They don’t have a speck on them. They aren’t wet, and none of the oils or soaps I’ve used tonight seem to have done anything to them at all.

They’re magic, and they tie me to my captor.

No—I don’t care what Ivrael thinks.

“If you come to the dressing table, I can do your hair,” the maid offers.

I’ve spent enough time around Icecaix maids to know how they talk about their noble charges. By all rights, I should say no. And to be fair, I do consider it.

But this woman—a girl, really, who looks like she can’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, though who knows with the Caix—looks crushed at my thoughtful look. “Please, miss. This is my chance to gain His Lordship’s favor. I might even be able to move up, become a permanent lady’s maid if he approves of my work with you.”

I snort. I hate to burst her bubble by telling her exactly how little Ivrael is likely to care how I look.

“You’re not a permanent lady’s maid?” I ask instead.

“No. Lady Uanna trained me, but it’s not a permanent position yet. But once it is,” she adds in a conspiratorial whisper, “It’ll get me out of ever dusting the upstairs parlor again.”

Now that I understand, I agree to her plan.

When I move out into the bedroom, I find Izzy stretched out on the bed, fast asleep, her face buried in a pile of pillows.

At some point, she had grabbed one side of the comforter and rolled up in it like a burrito. Despite the fire in the fireplace, it hasn’t yet dispelled the chill in the room.

“Have a seat,” the maid says, patting the back of the delicate, padded chair in front of the circular mirror above a small vanity table. I sit and watch silently as she begins dragging first a wide-toothed comb and then a brush through my hair, stopping occasionally to work through tangles.

Without Izzy around to trim my hair on a regular schedule, it’s grown almost half a foot, and by the time the maid has taken my suggestion to use the argan oil-ish product in it, so it fallsin soft waves over my shoulders and down to the middle of my back.

I feel like my entire body has relaxed for the first time since Roland woke me up to drag me off to the Trasqo Market. And I no longer look older than Izzy—though I fear that will change again soon enough. My mouth twists in my reflection.

“You don’t like it?” Lucilline asks, anxiety threading through her voice.

“I love it,” I hasten to assure her. “I was thinking about something else entirely. I’ll be sure to let His Lordship know what a wonderful job you’ve done.”

She casts a frowning glance at Izzy. “Should I wake her?”

I shake my head. “I’ll make sure she takes a shower when she gets up in the morning. But…could you give us a little warning before we’re expected to go anywhere tomorrow?”

“Oh, Madame Evangeny is coming to you.”

“Who?”

“Lady Uanna’s seamstress.”

Looks like we’re about to get the full-on Cinderella treatment.

Fan-frickin’-tastic.

If Ivrael thinks this will make up for a full year of terror and drudgery and sleeping by a fireplace, he’s wrong.

As far as I’m concerned, he can take his fairy tale makeover, stuff it inside a glass slipper, and shove it straight up his frozen noble…

…ice hole.

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