Page 118 of Reign

“Are you hungry, Lady Niamh?” Bronwyn asked. “Shall I have food brought to you? Would you like a bath tonight or would you prefer it on the morrow? Or is there something else you require?”

Yawning, my exhaustion finally catching up with me, I shook my head. “All I desire tonight is sleep.”

Bronwyn bowed. “I’ll arrange for clothing to be brought to you. Will you require assistance when dressing, Lady Niamh?”

“No, thank you. And I’m not a lady—just Niamh.”

“Very well, just Niamh. If you need anything, ring the bell,” Bronwyn said, pointing to a chain that hung beside the door. “Prince Fitzroy, allow me to show you to your chamber—just down the hall.”

Fitzroy nodded, glancing back at me as he made his exit. “If you need me, you know where I’ll be,” he said.

I nodded, ushering him out of my chamber, knowing the only thing I wanted was a night of undisturbed sleep.

Once alone, I collapsed onto the luxurious pile of decorative pillows and silken sheets. The soft bedding cradled me like I was on a cloud. I kicked off my boots and shrugged off my coat before crawling beneath the woolen blankets. Cocooned in the bedclothes, fleeting thoughts of Bash flickered through my mind, but I was too tired to dwell on them. Nestling into a comfortable position, I surrendered to slumber, too exhausted even to dream.

Grooming.

By the time I woke, it was high noon.

Despite the passing hours, I stayed snuggled safely beneath the sheets, my eyes closed as I imagined what meeting Regina would entail. Was she the hysteric King James claimed? Or a beacon of wisdom and hope for harmony?

My daydream was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

I bolted upright, combing my fingers through my disheveled hair, hoping I didn’t look like I’d spent all morning lazing around.

“Hello,” I called as I climbed out of bed.

Bronwyn waddled in, balancing a silver tray. “It’s already afternoon, just Niamh,” she said while a mouthwatering aroma filled the chamber. “You need to eat, bathe, and dress before you attend the Queen’s court this eve.”

She lifted the tray toward me and presented an assortment of delicious foods: a pinkish meat, brown bread, cheese, sea-salted butter, and ripe pears. My stomach rumbled.

“Thank you,” I said, settling the tray on my lap as I perched on the bedstead.

While I greedily devoured the feast, Bronwyn drew back the heavy damask curtains, letting in a jewel-colored light through the stained glass. I admired the rainbow spilling into the chamber while a group of goblin servants dragged in a large wooden tub and filled it with boiling buckets of water. Bronwyn then placed a wicker hamper beside the steaming vessel.

“Here’s tallow soap and sweet-smelling oils to cleanse yourself,” she said before departing with the rest of the goblins.

Once I’d eaten every crumb and my belly ached from being painfully full, I slogged over to the tub. I took a long, relaxing bath, scrubbing off months of dirt.

As I soaked, Bronwyn returned—this time accompanied by another goblinette. They carried luxurious fabrics, laying them out on the bedstead. I sank lower, hiding my nude body beneath the bubbles. I assumed it was customary for the nobility to bathe in the presence of their chambermaids. For me, this was unfamiliar. Possibly, the gentry saw their servants as extensions of themselves, or maybe they didn’t see them at all.

“Your gown for court, just Niamh,” Bronwyn announced. “Are you sure you don’t need help dressing?”

“I’m sure,” I replied firmly. The idea of having someone help me get dressed was almost laughable.

Bronwyn bowed her little head before exiting with her helper.

When the water turned cold, I emerged from the tub and slipped into a clean chemise. Approaching the bedstead, I expected to find a simple kirtle, but the garments awaiting me were far from ordinary. Each piece was exquisitely adorned with beads, jewels, and embroidery—beautiful but unfamiliar. I sifted through the elaborate clothing, holding up the rings and rolls of fabric, clueless as to what went where.

A knock at the door interrupted my efforts to determine which skirt I was supposed to put on first.

“Come in,” I called, expecting Bronwyn to enter.

Instead, Fitzroy stepped through the doorway.

He looked dashing in a maroon doublet paired with a sleeveless jerkin trimmed with brown fur. His tight-fitting hose were dyed an expensive violet color, and his breeches were fastened with a leather belt gilded with a gold buckle. A velvet cloak cascaded regally from his shoulders, lined in ermine fur and secured with a jewel-encrusted broach. Despite the decadence of his attire, his face remained the captivating centerpiece.

“Are you ready?” Fitzroy asked, his eyes briefly meeting mine before darting to the floor. “Excuse me,” he muttered, averting his gaze. “I didn’t realize you were in a state of undress.”