Page 11 of A Dance of Water (Moon Song #2)
OCEAN OF SADNESS
LUELLA
L uella’s reflection stared back at her.
Her thighs warmed against the stool she was sitting on. Ina and Osa were both wrapped in silence as they prepared her for bed, tugging on her hair as they combed through the strands, lathering her freshly bathed body with lavender-scented oils and vanilla perfumes.
She let out a soft moan of contentment. But the sight of herself in the mirror made those warm feelings leave her adrift in an ocean of sadness.
Osa’s red hair tickled against her sharp cheekbones, the scales on her skin glittering in the warm candlelight as she tugged strands of Luella’s white hair back, running a thick-bristled brush through it and trying to tame away the frizz.
Silent, meek Ina held out Luella’s arm, massaging oil onto her skin with deft and firm touches.
Luella could not help but note how pale her skin was now.
She stared and stared at her face in the mirror.
No more of the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, no more gentle, sun-like glow.
She looked… otherworldly. With her paler than moonlight skin, free of freckles and beauty marks.
So untouchable, so enthralling. Yet she felt so ugly.
She looked away from her reflection, shifting on the stool.
The nippy air of the room swept across the bare skin of her thighs from how the hem of her robe fluttered high on her legs—it was shorter, made for the cooler seasons, but she had insisted.
She had been getting so overheated lately, kicking off her mounds of blankets at night, wearing thinner gowns, and drinking cool drinks with heavy cubes of ice.
She was so scared. No longer did she feel like herself.
She met her eyes in the mirror once more, barely noticing how Ina and Osa both tiptoed around her.
The fiery maid no longer gave Luella scathing looks, like she was afraid of her, and Ina’s quiet kindnesses were even quieter now—the silent, brown-haired maid gave her a thin-lipped smile as she met Luella’s blue eyes in the mirror.
And she felt her own lips stretch in a soft, tremulous answer.
Exhaustion sank throughout her bones and made her sway in the chair.
She yawned again.
Why was she so tired?
"Are you not getting enough rest?" Osa asked, focused on brushing through Luella’s hair and pointedly ignoring her eyes.
Luella hummed. "Not really."
Ina’s fingers gripped her wrist, forcing Luella to look over to her.
A strand of the female’s shorter brown hair fell into her round eyes, and she tapped her finger against her lips and then gestured to the half-full teacup resting on Luella’s bedside, right near the untouched platter of chocolate bark.
The rain picked up outside, and she was grateful the doors to her balcony were closed.
Even with all this strange weather, she still loved to keep the doors open so she could have unfettered access to everything she yearned for: sea breeze and petrichor and the faintest scent of rich, ripe apples that wafted from the orchards—even though it was the off-season—and the frigid air of deep winter, tinged with the faintest promise of icy snow in the weeks to come…
Ina gestured between her mouth and the cup of tea, signaling in her own way for Luella to drink.
"Yes, thank you. I will. I just, sometimes…
forget. Or fall asleep before I have the chance to.
" In the week since she had awoke, she had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. She didn’t have the opportunity to drink herself into a somnolent, relaxed state and allow her limbs to grow heavy with a natural ease before she was no dding off.
But Luella was only more tired each morning when she awoke…
Osa coughed sharply, stifling a rude comment, no doubt.
She wasn’t sure what was worse—the maid’s overt hatred of her, or this concealed version she showed in her wariness of Luella’s new appearance?
The three females in the room were jolted out of their careful evening routine by the sharp sound of knuckles rapping against the door.
Luella’s heavy head jerked up, and she tightened her fingers around her robe and pulled it tighter to her body. She crossed her legs. The long, pale expanse of her thighs and calves was gleaming with oils.
Somehow, she knew who it was before the door even opened, that call humming to life as it grew closer, the one who held the taut, breakable end pulling her, urging her to seek.
King Vale quickly strode into the room, much like the tempest raging outside the walls of the castle.
He wore no crown, but his golden hair soaked up the warm flicker of the many flames scattered about the room.
His aura was strong and fit for a ruler—he did not need the crown, he was regal without it.
Being private and forgoing physical manifestations of power was even more powerful and respectable than ostentatiously flaunting one’s status.
That was not to say the King did not display his power, but he did so in other areas as opposed to his crown; his might, his iron fist, and his wicked cruelty with those who opposed him.
Luella’s heart kicked up, matching the exact pattern of the rain as it beat against the walls and rattled the eaves.
The King walked inside, not waiting for a call to be let in. His perfectly polished, impeccable boots thumped on the ground, but as he stopped at the very center of the room, she noticed the faintest tracing of dark mud along the soles. She smiled.
"I’ve come to speak to you," he addressed Luella and ignored the maids.
Her thighs clenched as she turned to face him, and Ina and Osa stepped back, gathering their things as they made themselves scarce, the door clicking shut softly behind them.
In their absence, the call thrummed between her and the King.
They were alone, and Luella only wore a thin, short robe. Her skin was oiled invitingly, and the canopy over her bed fluttered welcomingly.
Her chin dipped as she stared at the floor, just so she would not find herself trapped by him, caught in his web like an insect in a spider’s trap. She was his prey; it was undeniable.
She saw his boots as he stepped into her line of sight, blocking out a few of the long strips of light that fell against the floor.
The night was swiftly approaching, and with every passing moment, the moon grew higher and higher in the sky, thick clouds blotting out its soft, white glow, leaving everything in a haze of rain-soaked darkness.
"Do not make me repeat our earlier dance." He stopped right before her, and she found herself looking up, skipping past his boots, lingering on his strong thighs right before her face, pausing heavily on his chest, before finally landing on his face, regal and wild.
As she peered up at him, her throat ached—with dryness or desire.
King Vale looked down at her with roughness playing upon his features.
His green eyes were half-lidded, and this space was intimate.
He reached down, his rings catching against her delicate skin.
Dressed for a fine dinner, while she was in nothing but a robe—the dichotomy made her head swim.
An example of their imbalance in power, in everything.
His finger traced up her exposed throat before stopping right at her jaw, which he cupped with uncharacteristic tenderness. She leaned into him.
Her enemy, and her Vin?—
No. She would not go there. She was nothing to him, as he was to her.
But he has proven to be everything , something dark whispered.
Everything and nothing. He was nothing but the destroyer of her life, taker of her freedom, her captor, her enemy, but not anything more. Certainly not that word.
A finger tapped harshly against her jaw as he tilted her face up to him, making her neck and shoulders strain from the uncomfortable angle. "Luella," he prodded.
She swallowed. "Vale."
"So good for me."
Luella tried not to preen under the praise. Something unfurled low in her belly.
The King’s hand left her jaw and came to rest against her shoulder, and he pulled her to stand swiftly.
She teetered from the quickness of the action, fingers grasping against the thin fabric of her robe as she kept it pulled snugly against her body.
With her standing, the hem brushed the topmost part of her thighs, the neckline dipping in a sharp cut.
A gasp was pulled from her lips as he tugged her into him, and her silk-clad chest brushed against his stomach.
The call of their bond sang a needy tune.
Thunder shook the very ground under her feet, the rain growing sharp and heavy for a moment.
But then he placed his palms on each of her shoulders and put a hair’s breadth of space between them, holding her out from his body until only his hands touched her skin.
The rain slowed as it returned to its steady fall.
With a bit of space between them, her head cleared. "Why are you here?" The sound of her voice was breathy and high. She winced.
"I’ve come to ask you to do something for me."
Her brows rose. "What could y-you possibly want from me?"
He gave a self-deprecating sigh, muttering a soft, "Everything," before shaking his head, a golden blonde strand curling over his ear. It had grown longer since the first time she had seen him. He could do with a cut.
She waited for him to explain, standing shivering and glistening with sweet-smelling oils in the dim privacy of her gilded cage.
"I need you to go see Azgorath."