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I obey mechanically as he washes his hands, realizing that it was just a trick. His smooth voice. The words he said. Even his smoldering stare. That tinge of want I thought I saw was just… gold.

Lies.

“You can go back to your room in thirty minutes,” he says, not even sparing me another glance as he exits the room.

“I laidout two outfit options for school today.” Stella’s standing behind me, twisting a lock of hair and trying to make it curl against my cheek in a matching soft tendril to one on the other side. “Pesky bugger.”

“It looks fine,” I tell her. She woke me up an hour and a half ago to start my preparations for the day. A ‘Big Day!’ according to her, because we’ve got class today and it’s my first public appearance as Princess. Stella’s forehead creases in concentration as she tries to tame the curl. I grab her wrist. “Seriously, it looks great. All of it does.”

I glance at the mirror, and the woman reflecting back startles me. The soft, but sultry eyes. A dark blush lipstick that makes my lips plump and full, yet still seemingly innocent. The way she blended colors to make my cheekbones appear sharper, my nose a little thinner. It’s like magic. My handmaiden is skilled at both applying makeup and styling hair.

Mostly to get away from her, I rise from my seat and start for the dressing closet. “How did you learn to do hair and makeup?” Wicker had mentioned something about her being a ‘Hideaway reject’, but her skill transcends that of a whorehouse novice.

“Tech school,” she chirps, squeezing past me. “I wasn’t the best student in high school, so I took an alternative route. They had a cosmetology certificate, and I took to it like a duck to water.”

“Well, you’re very good at it.”

She beams at me. “Thank you, Princess! I never thought I’d be working with someone like you when I got it.”

I wither a little at the comment, mentally preparing myself for more like it. Verity Sinclaire is nowhere close to being a celebrity, but the Princess?

She is.

The dressing room is twice the size of my bedroom at home. Bigger than the ring at the gym. Closets filled with clothing, shoes, socks, stockings, bras and panties. Everything I’ll ever need lines the walls. In the middle is a wide ottoman, made of the same lush material as the headboard over the bed. Two outfits are laid across the top. The first one is a pale blue dress similar in shape and style to the one I wore to negotiations. The second is a cream sweater set with pearl buttons, and it’s been matched with a gray, knee-length pencil skirt.

“Do you have a preference? I mean, the dress is pretty, but the sweater is so soft—feel it.” She thrusts the sweater in my hands. She’s not wrong. It’s amazingly soft. The tag says that it’s cashmere.

“Did you also pick these out?” I ask, weighing the options. Aside from the soft sweater, neither are anything I’d choose for myself.

Stella laughs. “Gosh, no. The closet is divided into outfits for specific events. These were titled: School-Monday. They have every event or activity you could possibly attend covered.” She approaches one of the doors and slides it open. Racks of clothing hang from wall-to-wall. Tags are affixed to each hanger. “School, parties, football games, weekend casual, night clothes…” She opens a door and reveals large floor-to-ceiling dress bags. “This is just your formal wear.” Opening another door, her eyes widen as she pulls delicate, sheer lingerie off the rack. “Whoa, check this out! Even the Hideaway doesn’t get stuff this nice! My sister always says seduction is something you do with your mouth, not your hosiery, which is actually super ironic, because if you’ve ever been gagged by a pair of stockings, you’d be really surprised how effective they are.” A pensive expression comes over her face and she taps her chin, musing, “Although, thinking of it now? It’s possible the mouth thing is less about talking and more about–”

“Let’s go with the sweater and skirt,” I say, turning quickly, annoyed at the heat rising on my skin. After my three encounters with the Ashby brothers, I don’t think seduction is something any of us are going to bother with.

Also,I think,it’ll hide the cuts on my arms.

Stella grins. “Excellent choice!”

It’s weird having her hover over me, handing me each piece of clothing and making approving gestures or comments with each one. It’s a relief when she sets the heels on the floor by my feet, and I slide them on, finally ready to face the day.

That is, until I arrive for breakfast. The dread at seeing Lex at the table is replaced by confusion. There’s only one place set, and it’s in front of the chair I sat in yesterday. There’s a single white rose in the middle of the empty plate, but the table is vacant, quiet other than Danner standing near the kitchen door.

“Good morning, Princess,” he says, stepping forward to pull my chair out.

I sit slowly, casting a wary glance at the white rose waiting for me. “Excuse me, but where are the, um, Princes?”

Danner smoothly eases the chair toward the table. “If I’m not mistaken, they’ve chosen to take their breakfast in Prince Lagan’s suite this morning. He did leave you a gift, however. There’s a note.”

“Oh.” My stomach dips as Danner gestures to the rose. There’s a slim white card nestled beneath the petals and I pluck it out, turning it to reveal a short, messy scrawl.

To my beautiful Princess. May she reign. -L

I stare long and hard at the letters, my cheeks growing warm with the memory of his voice, still slithering around in my memory.

“...the most perfect pussy…”

Confused at the flutter in my stomach, I look up, asking, “He left this? Lex? Are you sure?”

If he finds the question stupid, then Danner does a good job of hiding it, dipping his chin in a nod. “Certainly, Princess. He left it here for you earlier this morning, right after delivering the staff your new nutritional requirements.”