Kate rubbed the bruises on her throat with a slender hand, gingerly
assessing the damage she'd sustained from that carnal man whom she called
'father.' The blue and purple bruises were identical imprints of where his
hand had been, and she cursed at him under her breath. Where did he get
off, slamming her against the wall like he did? She draped her cloak over
the mirror and turned to face her bed.
The four-posted thing seemed so inviting, with its down quilts and deep pillows. but Kate couldn't sleep in this tensed state of anger. So, with a resigned sigh, she took herself off to the bathhouse, a long, hot soak in mind. Servants averted their eyes as she walked down the hall, lowering their heads whenever she approached, and scurrying off into their quarters like scared puppies with their tails between their legs. Kate pitied them, however slightly, often imagining how it must be to serve the King of All Evil. She'd decided that she'd rather clean another man's privy before serving her father as they did.
She walked the empty and torch lit halls, her slippered feet padding softly upon the bare stone floors, past closed doors that led to rooms she didn't care to see into, beyond mounted suits of black armor and hanging tapestries that told war tales with their faded weavings. The air in this portion of the castle was always muggy; condensation clung to the walls and made the floors a treacherous place for unwary feet. And in the air, the faint scent of lavender soap wafted, telling Kate that someone had readied a bath for her. News spread like wildfire in dry brush here, which sometimes was a blessing, but most often was a curse. It was terribly hard to keep secrets. Not that Kate had any to keep . yet.
Steam filled the bathhouse and shrouded everything in a white mist, giving Kate the privacy she needed for as long as she needed it. Thick towels and a velvet bathrobe lay neatly upon a tub-side bench, along with fragrant soap and a mug of sweet spring water. Removing her soiled clothing and her undergarments, Kate slid into the scalding water with a long exhale. At least her father couldn't berate her for taking the time to clean up. 'If it's not the what I do,' she thought to herself as she felt those oh- so- tense muscles relax, 'It's what I don't do that he growls about.'
Like a flash, Kate's hand was at the hilt of her dagger, ready to strike, when she realized she'd been shaken awake by a small girl with wide brown eyes. It was only Duine, a peasant maid that had been sent to fetch her. "You'd been sleepin' in the water, Princess," Duine squeaked, her voice wavering as she stared at the clutched dagger. Kate tossed the weapon aside and grabbed a towel. "Thanks," she said, dismissing the servant with a wave of her hand. Shaking her head, she dried herself off and exited the bathhouse in the thick bathrobe and warm slippers. It was a good thing Duine had been the one to wake her. Out of all of the servants in Pyrte's employ, Duine was the only one Kate would tolerate. If it hadn't been Duine who'd startled the Heir, she wasn't so sure she'd have been able to refrain from severing something.
A fire had been lighted in her room, banishing the cold and drafty air from her quarters and casting wan shadows across the floor. There was a plate of food waiting on a table that sat at the room's center, and the wonderful aroma of fresh bread wafted into her nostrils. Kate silently padded over to the table, pulled a chair up to it and sat. There were apple slices and cheese, and honey butter for the bread. Apparently Duine figured Kate needed something different tonight, as opposed to a simple slab of steak and slice of bread.
She continued to gaze out of the window, her thoughts roaming while she ate. 'I hate him,' her mind-voice snarled, 'I should kill him when I get the chance.' Kate snorted at herself and tossed the crust of her bread into the fire, there was an idea. 'They'd never suspect me, the perfect little puppet sitting on her dear old Da's knee.' Smoke curled from the bread as the flames licked hungrily at it, and soon nothing but a little pile of charcoal was left.
Kate went to bed that night with the first inkling of a plan forming in her head. Smashing her pillow down to near nothing, she threw herself into the bed and yanked the quilt over her body, staring into the dancing orange flames in the hearth until well past midnight, the wheels in her head turning.
The four-posted thing seemed so inviting, with its down quilts and deep pillows. but Kate couldn't sleep in this tensed state of anger. So, with a resigned sigh, she took herself off to the bathhouse, a long, hot soak in mind. Servants averted their eyes as she walked down the hall, lowering their heads whenever she approached, and scurrying off into their quarters like scared puppies with their tails between their legs. Kate pitied them, however slightly, often imagining how it must be to serve the King of All Evil. She'd decided that she'd rather clean another man's privy before serving her father as they did.
She walked the empty and torch lit halls, her slippered feet padding softly upon the bare stone floors, past closed doors that led to rooms she didn't care to see into, beyond mounted suits of black armor and hanging tapestries that told war tales with their faded weavings. The air in this portion of the castle was always muggy; condensation clung to the walls and made the floors a treacherous place for unwary feet. And in the air, the faint scent of lavender soap wafted, telling Kate that someone had readied a bath for her. News spread like wildfire in dry brush here, which sometimes was a blessing, but most often was a curse. It was terribly hard to keep secrets. Not that Kate had any to keep . yet.
Steam filled the bathhouse and shrouded everything in a white mist, giving Kate the privacy she needed for as long as she needed it. Thick towels and a velvet bathrobe lay neatly upon a tub-side bench, along with fragrant soap and a mug of sweet spring water. Removing her soiled clothing and her undergarments, Kate slid into the scalding water with a long exhale. At least her father couldn't berate her for taking the time to clean up. 'If it's not the what I do,' she thought to herself as she felt those oh- so- tense muscles relax, 'It's what I don't do that he growls about.'
Like a flash, Kate's hand was at the hilt of her dagger, ready to strike, when she realized she'd been shaken awake by a small girl with wide brown eyes. It was only Duine, a peasant maid that had been sent to fetch her. "You'd been sleepin' in the water, Princess," Duine squeaked, her voice wavering as she stared at the clutched dagger. Kate tossed the weapon aside and grabbed a towel. "Thanks," she said, dismissing the servant with a wave of her hand. Shaking her head, she dried herself off and exited the bathhouse in the thick bathrobe and warm slippers. It was a good thing Duine had been the one to wake her. Out of all of the servants in Pyrte's employ, Duine was the only one Kate would tolerate. If it hadn't been Duine who'd startled the Heir, she wasn't so sure she'd have been able to refrain from severing something.
A fire had been lighted in her room, banishing the cold and drafty air from her quarters and casting wan shadows across the floor. There was a plate of food waiting on a table that sat at the room's center, and the wonderful aroma of fresh bread wafted into her nostrils. Kate silently padded over to the table, pulled a chair up to it and sat. There were apple slices and cheese, and honey butter for the bread. Apparently Duine figured Kate needed something different tonight, as opposed to a simple slab of steak and slice of bread.
She continued to gaze out of the window, her thoughts roaming while she ate. 'I hate him,' her mind-voice snarled, 'I should kill him when I get the chance.' Kate snorted at herself and tossed the crust of her bread into the fire, there was an idea. 'They'd never suspect me, the perfect little puppet sitting on her dear old Da's knee.' Smoke curled from the bread as the flames licked hungrily at it, and soon nothing but a little pile of charcoal was left.
Kate went to bed that night with the first inkling of a plan forming in her head. Smashing her pillow down to near nothing, she threw herself into the bed and yanked the quilt over her body, staring into the dancing orange flames in the hearth until well past midnight, the wheels in her head turning.