Page 66 of A Cursed Son

Nothing.

No. I think back to the dreams, think back to that palace.

Amethyst Palace. That can’t be the Crystal Court castle, can it? No. It’s not a place I’ve ever heard about. Why is it abandoned? What were we going to do the next day? Something that made me worried, something difficult, but what?

I need to pay more attention to what I see, to what he says. Details could matter.

Details.

If I close my eyes, I can still feel the texture of his skin, the heat of his body against mine, the softness of his tongue, the firmness of his… hand. That was what I was thinking.

Why do these dreams have to be so realistic?

Those are not the details I want.

“Astra!” Nelsin calls me from my bedroom, taking me out of my reverie.

I go there and see that they are taking clothes out of the suitcases. My new wardrobe. I’m happy and relieved that I’m finally going to have decent, comfortable things to wear.

A quick glance at a white, shimmery thing crushes my hope, though. It’s a nightgown, not anywhere close to decent. Not only is it see-through, it’s so similar to the one I wore in my dream last night that chills run down my spine.

“You don’t like it?” Nelsin asks.

“How am I going to wear this?”

“Like a dress? But it’s for sleeping.”

I don’t think he gets it. “If I need to get up, I’ll be half naked.”

He frowns, confused. “No. You’ll still be dressed.”

I nod, unwilling to debate modesty standards with a fae.

The seamstress sent four nightgowns, and while they look comfortable, they are all lacy, translucent, and quite indecent. Great.

Other than those atrocities, there are trousers, tops, underpants, socks, breastbands. I’m not sure anything here looks bulky and practical, though. The few glimpses of the leather reveal some delicate engravings, the linen has fine embroidery, and there are some items in colorful, but very expensive-looking silk. At least there are no dresses, so the seamstress listened to one thing I asked. Other than that, there are flat shoes, boots, and sandals that look comfortable.

I pick a blouse, a breastband, underpants, and a pair of trousers, and go to my washing room, so glad to get rid of that wool dress, get rid of the humiliation the Krastel royalty made me go through.

And yet it’s them I’m loyal to.

I take a deep breath. It’s not their fault. They were just trying to ensure I could convince Marlak I was a lowly maid. The excuse sounds flimsy even in my head. A castle attendant working so close to royalty doesn’t dress in rough, cheap wool.

Perhaps I’m overthinking. If I keep doing that, I’ll question everything I’ve striven for. I’ll even question who I am.

I put on a new breastband that can be tied in the front, and it’s so comfortable, with tight straps, providing good support. The trousers are made in thin, malleable leather and while they seem uncomfortable at first, the truth is that I feel like I’m wearing nothing, except… I feel that there’s something in the pockets; two small daggers. I’m not surprised they’re arming me, since Marlak thinks he’s untouchable, I’m just surprised it’s so discreet. Well, better than nothing. The only issue is that I can see the shape of my hips and thighs—and everyone else will be able to see it.

I try a gray, sleeveless blouse, likely made to match, and it’s comfortable and cool as well. The blouse has a deep neckline, which shows a lot more of my chest than I would like it to. All right. Now I’m dressed like a seductress.

I sigh. The clothes are comfortable, though—and beautiful. Still, the lack of a skirt or at least a long, loose tunic feels strange. Am I really going to go around exposing my butt? It’s either this or the ugly red dresses, and the material of these clothes is so soft.

Marlak might complain, but it’s not my fault. He should have given Irene better instructions. And then, he was raised as a fae, and none of these clothes would be even remotely scandalous for them. So I’m good.

The woman who stares at me from the mirror is so different. With her tan skin and black hair, it’s almost like another person. And yet I feel the same. Perhaps it’s just another mask, a mask to look like I’m adapting to this new life. I like this mask, though. I look like a warrior, and can’t wait to see what I’ll look like with my sword strapped on.

Not my sword, the stolen sword Marlak thinks he has the right to give me. Still. It’s a nice fantasy about the person I could become if only…

I don’t know.