Within the Walls [NEW VERSION]

Chapter 23

"I want Aston invited," I say, schooling my voice into a range of authority.

Ruben rolls his eyes. "It is not the kind of ball for the common folk, Elle. The highest, most honourable members of the Concave Court will be in attendance."

I stare at him, face granite. "Then, you will not see my face there either. Might I remind you; I am the common folk."

"Not anymore, Elle," he says, wrinkling his pink nose. The ice clings to the bare hedges in the courtyard, the path beneath our boots slick from the dew as the sun climbs into the sky. A glow of warmth spreads over the kingdom, a distant reminder of the slowly approaching spring. "You will be a royal soon."

I scoff, leaning against the frost-coated barrier, gazing into the stream below the small gold-accented bridge. Orange and black fish lazily swim in the cool, obsidian water. "You cannot look me in the eye and tell me you want to be a royal. Not in this life." I gesture in the general distanced direction of the Convex sector.

He sighs, chewing his lip. "No. But it might be the only way to ensure we have a new world for our children."

"You will not take a step further unless I hear you say Aston can attend the ball," I say, crossing my arms and rolling my shoulders back.

"Fine, Elle. Aston can join us. If you wear a curvy red dress. I want the Concaves to both fear you and envy you."

My cheeks heat. "You're a waste of breath."

He throws his head, laughing from deep within his belly. "Oh, but I know you enjoy my company, Elle. The blush in your face tells me so much. I know you can't resist me."

"Pig." I whirl around and march away, Ruben's laughter tickling my ears.

The palace becomes a frenzy of bubbling excitement the moment the king announces the ball. Daughters of high court members giggle like a bunch of parakeets any time Ruben waltzes past them. Yet, they send scorns and frowns of varying severity my way. Sometimes, I want to tell them to take Ruben. I could not care less. But then a tiny, peeping voice in my head tells me I might miss his attention. I shake the thought, wincing as the servant in the parlour tears every follicle of hair from my legs and underarms, and places I would rather forget. At one point, I almost yelp and slap the woman.

"Gods, you're a wriggly thing," she says, ripping the final strip of wax from between my legs. I wince, gripping the side of the bench. By the time I slip back into the linen pants and tunic, my skin stings and I feel like a plucked, raw chicken.

"I hope Prince Talin knows the worm he is about to bed," she says with a snip as I make to leave.

I only bother to glare at her before skulking away. Bed? With Ruben? I will do no such thing.

The servants race around like hungry ants. Arranging the ballroom with the décor, and surrounding the room with dozens of polished, circular tables. Placing goblets and cutlery before each chair. They hardly cast me a glance as I hasten through the palace, and back into my room.

Larissa perches on the chair before the vanity. She taps her foot, sweaty brow knitted together. "Took your time," she quips, slipping into the bathroom and turning the faucet. "Get in the tub."

I do as she says. Fruit and vanilla permeate the room as she lathers my skin and scrubs my hair. Larissa wraps me in a towel and coats my dry skin with lotion until I'm shining. Then she slips a robe over my shoulders and shoves me into the chair in front of the vanity, chewing her lip and frowning at me in the mirror.

"What?"

"Have you spoken to Prince Talin since...your sister's death?" she asks, choosing to grip the point.