"You're back," Ilya observed, entering the drawing room and stopping short upon noticing the form of Prince Mikhail standing before the window.
"Yes," Mikhail agreed without turning around.
"Did you find the one you were looking for?" Ilya asked casually, snatching a handful of butternuts from the bowl on the side table and sniffing them suspiciously before tossing them in his mouth,
"Yes. Grieta sold her a few months ago to the Tavern of the Red Ghost in the Reim District," the Prince mumbled.
"And she agreed to-"
"No. She screamed and ran the moment she saw me," Prince Mikhail growled, and finally turned to face his aide, the scowl apparent on his face even from a distance.
Ilya gave a short, hard laugh at this and helped himself to another handful of butternuts.
"Funny that you always seem to have that effect on women," he chuckled before tossing them in his mouth.
"Yes. Funny," Mikhail's frown deepened.
"I can speak with the girl tomorrow. There's nothing money won't--"
"Grieta has already arranged it. She'll come. She has agreed to work for two years if we paid out both her and her sister's service fees," Mikhail cut him off.
"Right. That's what I was going to say. There's nothing you can't fix if you throw enough money at it," Ilya nodded to himself.
"I can think of one thing," Mikhail grumbled.
Ilya scoffed and dropped into a chair facing the fire.
"Well, I've done my part. The servants should start arriving tomorrow morning-- this place has sat empty for so long it'll need a thorough cleaning. Your head butler passed away last year, but the cook was still nearby and she's already returned and lit the fires. There was a grocery delivery this afternoon, and I've found a local dressmaker who should be stopping by in a few days," Ilya listed his accomplishment on his fingers. "What about the Princess?"
"She should arrive soon," Prince Mikhail said and turned his attention back to the window.
"If the Emperor hasn't changed his mind," Ilya added.
"He will not. I've given him sound reason to keep her alive for the time being," Mikhail answered quickly.
"Did he happen to mention why he changed his mind and wants her alive in the first place?' Ilya asked. "I assume that since Queen Ora failed to live up to the prophecy, he assumes that the Princess might be the one?"
"No," Mikhail admitted. "No. The prophecy was very clear that the girl will be the eldest of the daughters of Eosin. The Emperor now believes that the former King of Vezda may have had a daughter before he married. He believes that there is a bastard girl of Eosin somewhere in the Kingdom of Vezda, and that the Princess may be prevailed upon to tell us where."
"Ah. And what do you think? Do you believe that the prophecy referred to an unknown bastard daughter of the former King of Vezda?"
"I don't put much stock into oracles or prophecies," the Prince muttered.
"Hmmm... so the reason you've risked so much to save the life of that sharp-tempered, ocean-eyed, little, Vezdan creature would be...?" Ilya taunted.
"I owe her a debt," Prince Mikhail answered quickly.
Ilya chuckled again and then sighed as he got to his feet.
The Prince's entire body tensed at once, and Ilya crossed the room in three quick strides.
"What is it? What's-- oh," Ilya said, glancing out the window to see what had startled the Prince. The Princess of Vezda was lying on the ground in front of a carriage in the drive. One of the Emperor's guards stood over her and roughly grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet.
"Stars of Torobirk!" Ilya gasped. "I understand why you presented her to the Emperor in such a filthy state, but couldn't you have at least sent her to a bathouse afterward? Gods, look at her! I can smell her from here!"
"I do not trust her not to drown herself," Mikhail admitted. "She'll need to be watched."
"Oh... yes... well... I wonder who should be assigned that chore," Ilya smirked.
"Someday, someone will cut that insolent tongue from your mouth," Mikhail warned.
"Oh my Prince, we both know you secretly adore my insolence. All you would have to do is order me to--"
"Run down and fetch the Princess from the guard before I fetch his head from his body!" Mikhail ordered.
"Your words are my will, My Prince," Ilya said, but rolled his eyes as he walked away.
Prince Mikhail turned from the window and glanced around the room. He'd removed the sheets from the furniture and started a fire with his own hands. The dish of butternuts and lemon tarts on the side table, he'd procured from a bakery on his way through Bludston. He'd had almost no time to prepare Bludston Hall for a guest. There would at least be food cooking in the kitchen now that Ilya had found the cook, but the bedrooms were still unaired, and he would have to light more fires throughout the main hall to chase out the chill in the air.
At least he'd started warming the bath water. She would certainly want a bath. However, contrary to what Ilya suggested, he wished there was anyone else to assist her. He had no thought in his head of how to politely suggest that she should take a bath while he monitored her.
He had originally thought to refuse to allow her to bathe until the female servants arrived-- but then the servants might have looked down on her if they first met her in such a state.
It would not be possible for her to be happy or even content in his home, but perhaps... perhaps he might aim for her to feel somewhat comfortable.
Of course, given the state of Bludston Hall, even that much was unattainable at the moment.
He heard Ilya's voice from the hallway and froze, realizing only at that moment that he had been pacing, and turned to face the door, posing with his arm propped on the mantle-- which was awkward, desperately awkward, he realized- and turned his back just as the door opened.
"My Prince, I've brought your guest," Ilya announced.
Mikhail turned slowly, his face a stoic mask as always. The Princess stood framed in the high arched doorway of the drawing room.
She had lost her cloak at some point, and the green dress he'd put her in only days before was so stained and coated in filth that it no longer appeared green at all. Her collar was brown with dried blood, and the front of the dress was still discolored from where she'd vomited and then tried to clean it. She seemed to have picked up even more mud from spending the night in the cell, and her long brown hair had bits of straw in it.
Her face was hard to look it. There was still dried blood under her nose, her lip was split, and her cheek was bruised and swollen from where the Emperor's guard had struck her. Yet when she looked up, meeting his glance with those deeply blue-green eyes of hers, he felt his stomach quiver in a strangely pleasant way.
"Her wrists are still bound," he observed.
"My apologies," Ilya said and reached for her hands, but the Princess side-stepped his advance and yanked her wrists free on her own, dropping the rope on the ground before her.
Ignoring both of the men, she stepped over the small pile of rope and moved across the room to hold her hands out to the fire.
"There is food... if... if you're hungry... I..." Prince Mikhail's voice trailed off uncertainly when the Princess did not bother to look up at his words.
"Perhaps a bath?" Ilya suggested, meeting Mikhail's eye over the top of the Princess's head and giving him a saucy wink. Mikhail had never felt so strong a desire to stab his aide.
The Princess frowned to herself but seemed to think over the suggestion.
"A bath then," she agreed, her voice hoarse.
"This way," the Prince mumbled, headed for the door.
He walked slowly down the hallway, adjusting his pace to her own. He would have liked to point out the sitting room and the music room and the stairway to the dining hall, or attempted any sort of conversation really, but the Princess seemed to be deep in thought, and besides, he did not trust his voice to sound light or casual the way Ilya's always did.
"I... hope you will be comfortable here, Princess," he managed at last.
The Princess did not answer him but made a small noise like a cough.
When they reached the door to the bath, Mikhail held it open, allowing her to enter first.
The main guest bath of Bludston Hall was quite a grand affair. The large marble tub was sunk into the floor and filled and drained by pipes, which ran through a warming chamber accessed from the lower levels of the house. Large stone columns supported a high vaulted ceiling painted with stars, and three tall and narrow stained-glass windows painted the floor with dim rainbow-colored moonlight.
Normally, the shelves would have been filled with towels, scented oils, and soaps, but the Hall had been vacant for years.
He had, however, managed to find a towel, a bar of soap, and an old night dress, scavenged from a closet in the abandoned maids' quarters. Somehow, the three items alone on the lowest shelf made their emptiness even more apparent.
"The servants will arrive tomorrow," he mumbled. "You understand, it has been years since I've... since I've been in residence here. It should be more comfortable for you... after tomorrow."
The Princess glanced at the shelf and then quickly up at him before looking again at the floor.
The steam rose lazily from the warm water in the tub and hung low in the room, and when he lit the lamps, the glow they gave off was hazy.
"You can undress behind the wall there, and..." He began.
"I will undress when you go out and shut the door," she answered.
"I can't allow... normally, there will be servants... for this... for this sort of thing..." He began again.
"I have no need of servants to wash my own body," she frowned. "I should like to bathe. Go out and close the door."
"Princess, I cannot leave you unattended," he argued.
"Are you suggesting, Prince Mikhail, that you mean to attend me... while I bathe?" she snapped, turning bodily to fix him with a look of outrage.
"No. Not at all. I will give you your privacy, of course, but I will remain here... in this room."
"Absolutely not," the Princess scoffed. "This is an outrage!"
"You have attempted to harm yourself only recently, and I cannot take the risk that you might chose to drown yourself or do some other such--"
"Nonsense!" she snapped.
"I will keep my back to you, and as long as you answer me when I speak to you, I will have no reason to... to... turn around," he continued.
"I will not..." her angry words cut off abruptly, and the expression on her face became thoughtful. It gave the Prince an uneasy feeling.
"And you will swear it-- that you will not turn around unless I fail to answer you?" she asked, as though considering it.
The uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach grew.
"I give you my word," he answered.
"Which is worth very little," she frowned.
She considered his proposal a minute more, glanced down at her dress, and then longingly at the tub.
"Very well," she agreed at last.