Page 77 of The Queen's Box

Poppy helped Willow into the bath, where the temperature of the water hung at the magical balance just between wonderfully warm andalmosttoo hot. Poppy kneaded an ointment into her scalp with clever fingers, humming a lullaby Willow didn’t know. After her hair was tended to, Poppy addressed the rest of her, scrubbing especially hard at her elbows and knees and behind her ears.

“How can mortals stand it, living in such filth?” Poppy asked. Then she bugged her eyes and clamped her hand over her mouth. “Never mind!” she said, separating her fingers to let the words out. “Rude, rude,terriblyrude. It’s not your fault, now, is it? Can’t know what you can’t know, now, can you?”

Willow considered rebutting Poppy’s claim but decided to let it go. The bath was so very lovely, after all.

Twenty minutes later, Willow swayed as Poppy dressed her in a nightgown the color of a kitten’s blue eyes.

“There, now. Isn’t that lovelier than thrice-spun foglace?” Poppy asked. “Nothing like the bog-washed linens you arrived in, no offense.”

Jace returned bearing a silver tray on which sat a porcelain teapot and a single mug painted all over with strawberries. She filled the mug and handed it to Willow.

Willow took a sip and nearly moaned. This wasn’t Swiss Miss with its grainy marshmallows shaped like teeth. Jace’s hot chocolate was thick enough to slow time.

Jace looked pleased—and a little more receptive to Willow than she’d been before. She and Poppy fluffed pillows and folded back the firefly coverlet.

Willow barely noticed. The drink softened everything. Soon, the mug disappeared from her hands, and she was eased into bed. Sheets rose around her. Someone—Poppy?—planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

The kiss startled something loose in her. Cole—where was he? Had he made it safely home?

As her eyes fluttered shut, she recalled the warmth of Cole’s palm. Its roughness, too.Filthy mortals, how did they stand it?

Serrin’s hand would be smooth, so smooth. Smooth as her pillow. Smooth as sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WILLOW WOKE TO the sound of chiming bells, clear and radiant, ringing somewhere beyond the walls of her chambers. She stretched beneath the coverlet, the fabric cool and fine against her skin, and for a moment, she simply lay there, limbs splayed, eyes blinking at the golden canopy above. She felt... rested. Not just unburdened butreplenished, as if some invisible current in the air had poured itself into her bones overnight.

Eryth was already working its magic on her.

She smiled, still drowsy, still wrapped in the perfume of sleep, until a noise shattered the hush. Three raps on the door, crisp, clean, and commanding. Before she could sit upright, the door swung open, and Aesra strode in, her dark boots landing hard on the polished stone.

“You have been summoned,” Aesra announced from the foot of the bed.

Willow’s heart leaped. She kicked off the covers, already halfway to standing. “To see Serrin?”

Aesra gave her the kind of look one might give a foolish child. “To see the queen.”

“Oh,” Willow said. She pressed her lips together and tried not to show her disappointment.

Aesra’s eyes swept the room, her disapproval settling over the silk drapes and scattered hairpins. “Where is your chambermaid?”

Before Willow could reply, a muffled clatter rose from behind the dressing screen, followed by a high-pitched curse. Poppy burst into view, her chartreuse-and-coral ruffles bouncing with every frantic step. Her braid had come loose, and her cheeks were flushed pink with effort. The top button of her bodice was fastened crookedly, giving the neckline a tipsy slant.

“I’m here! So sorry! I was organizing stockings!” She turned to Willow with a beaming, panicked smile. “Good morning, my lady.”

She pivoted, curtsied deeply to Aesra, and added in a much more formal tone, “Good morning, Sister.”

Aesra said nothing, her expression as stony as the floor beneath them.

Willow raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you were organizing stockings?”

“I was,” Poppy said, hastily tugging a gauzy chemise from a nearby chair and hauling it over Willow’s head. “Well—I meant to. Technically. I got distracted. By... sashes.”

Willow held still as Poppy began fastening the bone clasps along her ribs, though she winced when one of the sharp tips pricked her skin.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Poppy whispered, flushing. Her hands flew faster, buttons clicking like beetle shells.

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