3
For the next couple of days, Lady Octavia made sure Elle was treated moderately better. She was allowed to have two extra helpings of rice in the evenings for dinner, Lucinda gave her an old bar of scented soap to wash with before bed, and Igraine let her have a bottle of perfume she didn’t particularly like.
At that time, Elle was falling behind on her chores. Lady Octavia feared it would blister her hands and thin out her nails. Hands are a dead giveaway to a lady’s position in life. The chores could wait until after the ball, she could overlook the dust on the wooden furniture a little longer, as long as it keeps her daughters away from the castle and the king that resides in it.
When Friday finally came, Elle had some color in her cheeks and no longer smelled like cleaning soap. But she still smelled of the murky attic, and her cheeks were still sunken considerably. She looked like a peasant now rather than a maid. A tad better than before, but not good enough to convince the guests at the ball of her ‘noble’ descent.
So, early Friday morning, Lady Octavia began her preparations.
The older woman scrubbed her down with every scented bar of soap in the house. Her hair was washed with special lathers to restore its natural shine, her nails scrubbed raw to clean it of dirt, and her whole body shaved to represent the softness of a newborn babe.
“She still looks like a peasant, mother,” says Igraine when Elle stands before them, hair and body dripping wet.
Lady Octavia circles the girl critically, disgusted that a week of feeding and nurturing her only brought her this. Only now, does she see the holes in her plan. Elle is too thin, her ribs too visible under her skin, her chest too flat, and her collarbone too evident.
“Quick,” she says to Igraine when checking the time, “the dress.”
The eldest sister brings the crimson dress and shoves it against Elle’s chest, a silent order to put it on.
Lady Octavia watches in silent dread as the gown sags around the girl’s frame. In desperate frustration, she even pulls the corset tighter than it can go, but still, there is a considerable gap between the bodice and Elle’s chest. That is as small as dress sizes go, any smaller than that and they might just go out to buy a children’s gown.
No, the lady of the house would not give in that easily.
“Lucinda, bring me your oldest corset, the one you wore when you were fifteen,” she commands to her youngest. To her eldest, she says, “Igraine, bring me your stockings – all of them. Quick, quick!”
The stepsisters run off to bring their mother what she ordered. After having Elle put on a corset a few sizes too small and filling her bodice up with stockings, the dress miraculously stays. Next, Lady Octavia starts on the girl’s hair and face.
Elle watches herself take another shape through the mirror on her stepmother’s dresser. Her face is patted white with a flour-base powder, her cheeks brushed with mercury to give them a natural blush, and her lips lightly painted with dusky red vermilion. Lady Octavia braids a piece of her hair and twists it around her head, pinning it in place with some of the pins Lucinda doesn’t use anymore.
Once she is satisfied, Elle is allowed to see the result in the full-length mirror. She momentarily forgets how to breathe upon seeing the girl staring back at her. She is…beautiful. Although she is still too frail and thin to be considered fit for bearing children, this girl looks the opposite of a maid. Her hair shines in the late afternoon sun leaking through the window, her skin appears as flawless as porcelain, and the dress...
She knows it’s not as expensive as the ones the other women buy for themselves, but it looks beautiful nonetheless.
She looks beautiful.
“This will have to do,” huffs Lady Octavia, although she is battling her internal doubt. The goal was to make Elle look presentable, not desirable. Only now does she realize she has done too great of a job on the latter.
It’s no secret that Elle used to outshine both Igraine and Lucinda with her honeyed brown hair, green eyes, and full lips when her father was still alive. It is one of the reasons why she despised the girl, knowing that she would always be the main attraction someday when it comes to suitors. But seeing her in the dress with the makeup and hair—that effortless radiance—is something any noblewoman can only dream of.
A new fear clouds the lady of the house’s mind. What if the king chooses her? The moment he takes her to bed and strips her of her gown, he will see the stockings stuffed underneath the bodice to make her seem healthier. He will see her ribs showing through her skin, her protruding hipbones, and her sunken thighs. He will know. He will know that he’s been betrayed. And then he’ll be coming for them, for not only did they send him a maid instead of a noble lady, but they also broke one of the most sacred laws in Sangaris.
The only punishment for that is death.
She is risking more than she originally bargained for, Lady Octavia realizes. But there is no turning back now. The ball begins in an hour, and they can’t be late.
In a beat, she grabs Igraine’s perfume and sprays Elle violently, a final attempt to rid her of that awful attic smell. Finally, she makes her put on a pair of her own heels that she doesn’t wear as much anymore.
Elle wobbles around on the added height and nearly falls over, to which Lady Octavia scoffs angrily. “Heaven’s sake, Elle, have some balance! And stand up straight. Shoulders back, stomach in, chin up. You are to represent the clandestine name at the ball tonight; remember that.”
“What if there will be dancing?” Elle worries but doesn’t let it show on her face. “I can’t dance.”
“As if anyone will ask you to dance,” Igraine huffs.
“Then you politely refuse them,” the older lady instructs sternly. “Politely, Elle. Tonight, you are a noble.
That means you glide from point A to point B, you mingle with the other guests, and you don’t indulge in any of the foods on the table. You are not to eat anything, understand?”
“Yes,” Elle says through gritted teeth.
“Yes, who?”
“Yes, stepmother.” Soon, Elle tells herself, she will be rid of these people. After this night, she will be out of here. She will find the raven and follow it to where it flies every night, and then she will find her own way through this world. She only needs to get through six hours at the Centurial Ball.
“Good.” Lady Octavia folds her hands in front of her, ignoring the nervous shake in her fingers. “The carriage is waiting. Go, don’t be late. I expect you back here at midnight, understand? Your inheritance will be waiting on your bed.”
An empty promise, of course. The moment the girl returns, her enslavement will commence. There is no inheritance, there is no money, and there is no other place for Elle to go without either of those assets.
Elle wobbles her way down the stairs and out of the house, finding it difficult to walk on heels. The shoes are two sizes to big for her feet and threaten to fall off with every step she takes.
Please don’t let there be any dancing, she hopes.
However, to be honest, she has no idea what to expect at the ball. No one truly knows of the rituals that take place or how the King chooses his surrogate exactly. She doubts that even Lady Octavia possessed that knowledge.
It is with a heavy heart that she climbs into the carriage, but it is hope that tells her to stay, make yourself comfortable, and just stick to the plan she formulated throughout the week.
Elle found it nearly impossible to sleep the past few days, knowing what awaited her Friday night. Worry and doubt kept her tossing and turning, and fear woke her up in the early morning hours, her heart racing and her arms covered in a cold sweat.
There are so many things that can go wrong at the ball, and all of them start with the King seeing right through her. She fears that he’ll meet with all his guests individually. Elle doesn’t know much about vampires and their dark abilities, but she knows they can smell a drop of blood from up to six miles away. That alone tells her the King would be able to sense she is not of noble descent. And what happens then? She doubts he will pardon her for her stepmother’s scheme to save her daughters from being chosen. If anything, he will have her killed on the spot for trespassing and identity fraud and kill her stepmother and stepsister immediately after.
So, during the hours of lying awake at night, Elle formulated a plan to survive six hours at the ball. She will stick to the back of the room, keep to the shadows, and keep the mingling to a minimum. Lady Octavia’s instructions are clear: be polite and don’t eat any of the foods. Hopefully, it will be enough to catch the attention of the king.
Focusing on that plan only, Elle feels the carriage move forward and looks out of the tiny window at her stepmother and stepsisters on the porch.
Soon, she’ll be rid of them.
Soon, she’ll be free.