Page 19 of Their Blood Queen
I don’t know what I can possibly do when the thirty days are up, but I’m going to have to take this one step at a time.
Rosie’s throat works on a swallow. “Will you have a chaperone?” she asks. There’s a little tremor of worry in her voice.
It seems that even the servants of the Elite City know of the Earl’s reputation. One that I’m going to have to prepare myself to navigate if I’m going to survive the next few weeks.
Without a chaperone, there’s not much to keep a handsy Earl from overstepping.
“O-of course,” I sputter, even though I’m honestly not sure. That would be the proper thing, but then again, it wasn’t in the contract.
Typically, a female relative would chaperone. Outside of my mother, there aren’t any other remaining females in the Nightingale line.
Deflecting my gaze from Rosie’s pitying look, I glower at the desk instead. Now would be the time to review every note I have on the allies and enemies of the Rinhold household.
Of course, the item that has all my secrets isn’t on my desk. Something of such priceless value is safely tucked away in one of my room’s many hidden compartments.
For some reason, I don’t feel comfortable retrieving it myself, not when I’m feeling watched.
“Can you get my black book, please?” I ask as I snatch up my letter opener, then step into my closet, which is large enough for ten people.
Normally, it feels spacious. But right now, the walls feel like they’re crowding in on me, and I’m itching to get out of my suffocating corset as a result.
Rosie nervously steps in and out of the entryway, clearly debating if she should help me undress or follow my instruction. She knows the location of my black book. She earned my trust years ago.
I don’t need help undoing the laces. At least, not in my current mood.
I take the letter opener and shove it through the bars of my corset, smiling when it breaks and snaps open, finally allowing me to take a deep breath.
Rosie blinks at me, stunned, because I expect she knows how expensive the tailored piece was.
It doesn’t matter, though. I’m about to become a Lady of the Rinhold residence. No matter how the courtship ends, I’m now his to dress like a doll he’s just purchased, even if it’s just for thirty days. I have no doubt there will be a whole new wardrobe of silky chains for me to wear.
“Rosie?” I press as I poise the knife over another taut row of laces. “My book?”
Her mouth bobs open and closed a few times before she answers. “O-of course,” she stammers, finally composing herself and giving me a smile.
Her eyes crinkle, and I realize she’s impressed. Rosie has always looked up to me, even though I don’t feel like a great example for a servant who aspires to be nothing more than the perfect Elite family cog.
Because that’s all we are. Cogs in a machine run by monsters and men.
Men can be the worst monsters of all.
I’ve long speculated why that is, and I find myself contemplating it now as I peel away the uniform of a Lady and slip into one of the few garments I’m allowed to choose for myself.
Since I don’t have a husband, no one cares what I wear to bed. Maybe it’s rebellious of me to dress outside of my station, but by now, it’s become a habit I can’t break.
That sensation of being watched makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but I ignore it.
I can’t exactly sleep in my tattered corset.
Slipping into a perfectly white, gauzy nightdress, I appreciate the sheer fabric embroidered with pristine floral designs. My skin pebbles as the chilly night air prickles across my skin, making me feel alive.
It’s my version of a wedding dress, one that’s reserved for a sacrifice to be given on Monsters Night.
From the broadcasts, I know that the Offerings typically wear more robust gowns. Attractive, yes, but not necessarily revealing to the point of scandal.
I like to pretend I’m one of them, sometimes, just before I go to sleep. If I were to ever be a sacrifice on Monsters Night, it would have to happen in my room, in my bed, in my dreams.
Because I’m a Lady bound by duty to the Elite City. A life gifted to monsters simply isn’t for me.