Beneath Shadows and Secrets

♔ 𝕹𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔫 ♔

♔ 𝔑𝔦𝔯𝔞 ♔

"Oh. Inet." I murmur as I enter my bedroom from the washroom. She tries to avoid looking startled, but it is clear she had not expected to see me so early. Usually, by the time I wake, she has already been and gone, having taken my evening plates from the dining room and leaving my breakfast on the bedside table. Today, however, I woke before the sun. Eager, for after a few successful lessons where I have managed to display some fragment of power, I wished to practice more. I want to discover my limits – should they exist at all.

"Good morning." She mumbles, retreating two steps. I watch her with a lifted brow, detangling my wet hair with my fingers. She continues to be weary of me, though I have given her no reason to be. Everyone else I interact with here seems to not find me fearsome in the slightest, yet Inet looks seconds away from soiling herself each time she is in my presence for longer than a moment. "Your breakfast."

She gestures to the bowl. Likely porridge – with fruit, and if I am lucky enough, honey. My desire for sweetness has evolved so much in the discovery of my heightened senses, and I cannot get enough. I try to smile at her, but she doesn't look my way. Holding back a sigh, I walk to the food, stopping when I notice there is no pile of clothes for me to don.

"Oh. Are there no clothes?" I try to keep a kind lilt to my tone, but the Seelie Fae still flinches as though I have whipped her.

"In your drawers." She mutters, and then spins on her heel and leaves without another word. I frown, turning to that which she spoke of. My hands firm around the metal handles and pull it open with ease.

Within, folded with the purpose of neat display, at least a dozen shirts and blouses. I take one from the front and hold it before me. Not far unlike the two I had grown accustomed to wearing on rotation these past few days. Loose and unfitted, with ballooning sleeves and a laced front. I toss it aside, skimming my hands over the rolls of belts that sit beside them. Black and brown leather, some thin and pointless, others thick, with decorative buckles, or even styled like a corset.

The drawer below, pants. Some fitted, others flared. Blacks and browns and navy. Skirts, those which will drop to my knees, others that will skim the ground. A drawer full of dresses, most nothing more than smocks, made for lounging or sleeping, but others, unnecessary expenditure, considering I will likely never have the opportunity to wear them.

I rush to the wardrobe. My jaw clenches at the sight of clothes hanging from the railing. Dozens of shoes sitting below them. A wicker basket of undergarments, all fresh to use. There is even a hunting coat.

I take a step back, fisting my hands beside me. From such generosity, I should be grateful. This amount could not have come cheap, and everything has been considered, but once again, I feel more like a pet than a person. To be provided for, without word. I could appreciate the food, and two outfits that I wore on rotation, but this is obscene. A purchase of affection – that is what it feels like. As though I ought to go and prance right to his throne, drop to my knees, and succumb to his every whim, like every other bastard in this Court House does.

If I perform well, if I do as he says, I am treated with nice things. A display of power, then I get a wardrobe full of clothes. Next, it will be a display of good intention, and I'm given a weapon to strap at my hip. The circumstances feel horrifically familiar, and I think that is why, with a trembling panic settling in my chest, I grab the shirt I discarded on the bed and march in search of him.

I know that my anger is unjustified. There is no need for such rage and discomfort to be swelling in my stomach, but I cannot help it. I will not become someone's trophy, not again. Was this not how Zaire began? Gifting me new shoes, and clothes, then weapons and nice bedrooms. I fell to such materialism, believed it to be something of a sentiment. Fell to the charm of it, and what he promised me, and it ended with a dagger in my chest. Never again.