Page 49 of The Crowned Queen

“Outside this tent, you’ll be in full irons.” Caylin knelt, nimble fingers making quick work of the shackles on Araya’s ankles. “Escorted by either Jaxon or myself.”

Araya bit her lip, swallowing a gasp as the metal fell away. Her abused skin throbbed, raw and swollen where the manacles had chafed, but Caylin didn’t spare it so much as a glance.

“If you’re going to cry over that, I can’t imagine what you’ll do when things actually get difficult.” She unfastened the shackles around Araya’s wrists next, dropping them to the ground. “But you’ve led a pampered life haven’t you? You’re not used to pain.”

Araya lifted her chin. “You have no idea what I’m used to.”

“Careful, halfblood.” Caylin wiped her hands on her dark uniform, her smile sharp enough to cut. “I’m doing you a favor. I could have taken you to command stinking and filthy, but we all know Jaxon likes you pretty.” She flicked her fingers at Araya’s stained dress, her lip curling. “Now strip.”

Araya slowly peeled off her dress, dropping it in a heap beside the abandoned chains.

“All of it,” Caylin ordered.

Araya shoved her underclothes down her legs, keeping her eyes fixed on the subtle pattern in the dark rug under her feet. She’d survived worse than this. She’d survived Kaldrath. She knew how to keep her gaze down and her mouth shut. She would survive this, too.

“Finally.” The hair on the back of Araya’s neck prickled, Caylin’s gaze sliding over her like a knife dragging across her skin. “I truly do not understand what he sees in you.”

Power, Araya thought. But she kept her lips pressed tight together.

Caylin crossed the tent, yanking back the screen in the corner to reveal a deep copper tub—a luxury fit for an Arcanum commander. Someone had filled it with water, a bar of waxy soap sitting atop a fresh towel on a nearby stool. But no steam curled from its surface.

“Get in,” Caylin said, waving a hand. “Make yourself presentable.”

Araya took a deep breath. She would survive this.

She stepped into the tub, biting back a gasp as the frigid water stung her raw skin. The waxy bar of soap smelled like Jaxon, but she used it anyway, focusing on scrubbing a week of filth from her skin instead of the prickle of Caylin’s gaze on her back.

She worked the lather into her hair last, closing her eyes to dunk her head. It was hopelessly snarled, matted with dirt and sweat, but without a brush all Araya could do was rake her fingers through it. Her broken nails scraped against her scalp, pulling as she tugged halfheartedly at the worst of the knots.

“Gods, Caylin. I told you to come find me when she got here, not march her through camp.”

Araya froze, Jaxon’s voice wrapping around her like a noose. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

“You’re on duty right now,” Caylin protested. “I’m perfectly capable of getting her cleaned up.”

“Are you?”

Araya flinched as Jaxon crouched beside the tub. He caught her wrist, his brow furrowing as he studied the swollen, abraded skin where the manacles had rubbed her raw.

“This is freezing,” he said. “Did you even bother to warm the water?”

“She’s fae.” Caylin sneered. “A little cold won’t kill her.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Jaxon guided Araya to her feet, his hand firm on her elbow as she stepped out of the tub.

“You know long-term iron exposure and magic depletion leave them more sensitive to things like this,” he scolded. “She’s shaking like a leaf.”

“My father put me in charge of overseeing her care,” Caylin whined. “This isn’t anything to be concerned about⁠—”

“Everything to do with my bond is my concern.” Jaxon cut her off, his grip on Araya’s elbow tightening. “Get out. I’ll meet you in the command tent.”

Caylin stiffened. For a heartbeat, Araya thought she might refuse. Instead, her lips thinned, resentment shining sharp and naked on her face as she turned on her heel and stalked to the tent flap, shoving through it with more force than necessary.

“Gods—” Jaxon shook his head, grabbing a towel from the stool. “You’re shaking. Here—let’s warm you up.”

He dried her himself, taking care not to drag the soft towel over her wounds. Araya closed her eyes when he’d finished, fearing the worst—but Jaxon simply crossed to the chest at the foot of the cot and pulled out a stack of clean clothes.