Princess of Catastrophe (#3 PRINCESS series-part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE)✔

•S E V E N T E E N•

♪ Mother Nature's dying, nobody's keeping score
I don't wanna live in a man's world anymore ♪
{MARINA—Man's world}
(EXPLICIT WARNING for the song)

Not only was the simple meal exquisite—whatever the meat was, Cordelia couldn't tell, but it melted in her mouth and its juices were divine—but she received two chocolate croissants along with it. After devouring both, having missed the simplicity of the flakiness and the crisp on her tongue, she asked the guard at her door if she'd be allowed to have a bath.

An hour later, she was soaking in a large tub, enjoying the warm water, letting it soak into her skin. Her last bath had been a chilly one, and not a luxury; it'd been in a small, cramped tub that the Baroness reluctantly sent up to the tower, and only because she claimed, "I can smell your filth from my own chambers that are miles away." Cordelia and Helen had ignored the slight, as both would have endured just about anything to wash themselves and feel refreshed. And more so while sharing the tiny tub.

That time, she hadn't felt refreshed, though she'd loved the company. Mostly clean, and shivering; but she had Helen to keep her cozy. This time... there were all the luxuries that a real tub and real hot water could provide, but she didn't have Helen. No one to scrub her back, to massage her scalp, to hold her and relax in the water.

How was Helen? It had been hours since they'd been split up, and though Cordelia knew they'd have many, many more hours like this, at least she didn't worry that Helen was being tortured or forced into some sort of sexual scheme under the Baroness' order. Helen was being treated as comfortably as Cordelia, and was hopefully enjoying it—because no one knew what would happen to them next.

After exiting the bath, Cordelia browsed through the giant armoires in her room. They were, as she'd thought, filled with evening gowns, though there were a few plainer dresses that would work for daytime or for relaxing later in the day. She doubted she'd need an evening gown; unless Sir Richel planned to throw a party to flaunt the fact that he'd captured three out of the four principal royals, which he might well do if it'd enrage Antoine.

She settled for a pale blue dress that reminded her of Céleste, and wondered if it had belonged to Céleste, at some point. Or Céleste's mother—a woman rarely, if ever, spoken of at court. All Cordelia knew is she was revered and beloved by many, and her death was an event Sir Richel never quite recovered from. He never took another wife, and from what Céleste had told her, he also sealed up the side of the Manor where Lady Richel had spent most of her time. No one used those rooms—her private office, the Ladies Room, the Music Room—and they drowned under thick films of dust and enough contained cobwebs to haunt one's dreams.

Fastening the dress, Cordelia realized it was a bit out-of-date, prompting her to think it had indeed belonged to the late Lady Richel. But it fit, and would do for now—it was early evening, and she wasn't quite ready to go to sleep.