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“Sure you are, sister.”
“No way, Claudette. There’s only one female who looks great in dresses like this, and her name is Fleur. I look great in a long, fluffy gown, preferably with a firm corset to hold up my tits.”
“Can’t say tits anymore,” Lolta says, offering me her elbow as if I need to be walked over to the bath. I roll my eyes and scoop my pajamas off the floor, then walk the few steps and get in the tub.
They hover over me, staring, exchanging looks. “Who’s gonna tell her?”
Claudette shakes her head. “Modesty is unbecoming of a queen.”
My cheeks start heating.
“Shyness is also unbecoming of a queen,” Lolta says.
“What do you know about queens?” Folia elbows Lolta to get her out of the way. “A queen can do what she wills. So what if her tits are too big? Some males like it. They want to milk them.”
“Gross,” my sister says. “Your breasts aren’t as big as you think they are, Chloe.”
“Liar.”
“Please, Chloe, don’t be difficult.”
Normally, I wouldn’t be this shy, but I’m not used to being the center of attention of all these females. Or the commander. Or the court. But I do what they ask, and once I get inside the tub and am past the initial embarrassment, I stare at the ceiling, trying not to look at anyone.
One female is scrubbing my nails, the other my feet, and two are arguing about how to best style my hair, while Claudette stands at the foot of the bath with her arms crossed over her chest like some sort of drill sergeant ordering everyone around. It’s little wonder she and D’Artaron paired well when they were kids. They’re both bossy.
The bath takes half the morning, and by the time it’s over, it’s as if I spent time at the thermal rejuvenation spa of the Winter Court. I feel renewed, and my belly is growling despite the breakfast D’Artaron brought.
I’m heading for the tray to see if there’s anything left when Claudette stops me. “Sister, a queen doesn’t fetch. She simply asks for things, and they are delivered to her.”
“You must be entering your heat if you’re already hungry again,” Lolta says.
“Oh boy,” Claudette mumbles.
“Is there pie?”
Lolta nods. “Of course. You think we’d arrive at court without Brolesse?”
“Brolesse is here?” I ask.
“With her entire bakery and staff!”
“Out of my way, ladies.”
My sister stops me and picks out a dark dress with a black lace scarf.
When Claudette brings odd-looking pins and sticks them upright into my hair, I frown.
“What’s that for?”
“It will hold up the crown.”
“The crown?” I screech.
Claudette nods. “It’s not on the schedule because D’Artaron thought you’d freak out. He was right.”
It occurs to me that I’m as clueless about my fate as I was when I was a princess. While I trust D’Artaron would do right by me, he should’ve told me he intends for me to wear a crown.
“Claudette,” I call more firmly, the way I think the old queen might’ve called her sister.
