Queensmen

Chapter 72

~To Be~

Oris let the veil fall.

Her eyelashes fluttered gently as the soft cloth slid down her face and tickled her cheeks.

Silently, Hermes examined her and she let him, not allowing a single emotion taint her relaxed features or betray the complexity of her ever morbid thoughts.

How long had she been in the palace?

Two weeks?

Less?

She would scarcely believe it if someone else told her the same.

It felt like eons had passed since she shed the mask of a stablehand for one of a nun. Eons since she had had peace of mind.

If she wasn't thinking about her rebel army, she was occupied with keeping herself out of the reach of the Empress Dowager, and even before then she had been worried about how to keep her ministers under control.

She had always wondered when she could finally be herself. Be the her that was authentic to her feelings and goals. Be the her that didn't have to hide. Be the Oris that had been the pride of her village.

Reckless, incorporeal thoughts bounced around her head as though they had true forms. Why? Why now? Why take the risk? Why not talk your way out of it? Put it off for a better date?

Her adopted sisters once told her that witches were beautiful.

Their magic was the glamour that brightened their appearance and made wishes come through.

Second only to the allure of magic was the seduction of cosmetics.

Cosmetics could heal, beautify and raise status; could turn common people into witches that could charm any heart.

For one night in their lives—the night before they were to marry—the boys and girls in her village would become witches.

Apart from rain festivals, it was the most anticipated celebration for anyone who had not tied their lace of Fate with another.

It was said that on that night, not even intendeds could recognize each other. The boys and girls flirted and kissed and loved without worry, and when the sun rose, they wedded and consummated their unions.

Oris never understood the custom, yet the fact that she never got to experience it made her bitter.

Her sisters never darkened her brows or painted flowers at the corner of her eyes. Her mother had never sown her a dress that would make eyes turn to her in envy.

She had mourned through the better part of her youth and even after getting to the palace, had been too sick to even think about how she would look with rouge on her cheeks and kohl lining her eyes.

She hadn't let Andrea see the melancholy that had taken hold of her being while she watched her herself transform right before her eyes.

Her skin smoothened out and became more even, her gaze grew softer, bolder too, inset in a pool of glitter and decorative gems.

If there was a time to have Hermes have a close look at her, it was now.

Now, when he had asked for her help to free his mother. Now when he could not get rid of her without playing into the Empress Dowager's hands and being accused deceiving the court. Now when she hardly recognized herself in a mirror.

She smiled softly. "Does my appearance please you, sire?"

"Is that your next question?" he asked, his voice a little strained.