Chapter 489: Dressed For Sacrifice

(Adelaide)

"I'm sorry..." The apology dissolved into another sob.

She was no longer certain what she apologised for. For leaving, for surviving, for breaking the tether, for not knowing if she had broken them both in the process.

Everything she had learned beneath the mountain churned through her thoughts: the gardens, the storytellers, the library, Aurelia, the palace that should have been a stranger’s home but instead awakened memories she could not name. Arkael’s kindness. Cael’s quiet devotion. Apollo’s absence, a wound that refused to close.

Nothing fit anymore. Every piece cut her as she tried to hold them together.

She no longer knew where she belonged. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. She didn't know whether the next time she reached for Apollo she would find only silence. Or whether, somewhere beyond the broken edges of the bond, he was lying awake reaching for her just as desperately.

The tears kept coming until exhaustion claimed her, stealing the strength to weep. Her head throbbed from battering against the damaged bond. Her eyes burned. Her breathing slowed, uneven, as sleep crept in to claim the ragged edges of her thoughts.

The last thing she remembered was her hand, possessive and desperate, resting over the mark on her neck.

As though even in sleep... she refused to let him go.

The sharp knock at the chamber door pulled her abruptly back to consciousness.

For a confused moment she stared at the canopy overhead, disorientated by the fading amber light spilling through the windows. The room had grown noticeably darker while she slept, the afternoon giving way to early evening.

Another knock came, softer this time.

"My Queen?" A woman's voice. "We've come to help you prepare for dinner."

Adelaide quickly brushed at the dampness still clinging to her cheeks before pushing herself upright, hoping whoever waited beyond the door wouldn't notice she had been crying.

"Come in."

The doors opened almost immediately. Three women entered in a graceful procession, each bowing deeply as they crossed the threshold.

"My Queen." Their voices rose together before they straightened once more.

The eldest of the three carried herself with quiet confidence, silver threaded through dark hair gathered into an intricate braid winding across the back of her head. The youngest couldn't have been much older than Adelaide herself, her amber eyes bright with barely contained excitement as she struggled to balance an impressive collection of folded gowns draped over both arms. Rich crimson, ivory, gold, deep sapphire and emerald silks cascaded almost to the floor, each more elaborate than the last. The third carried an assortment of polished wooden boxes that clinked softly with jewellery whenever she moved.

"We are here to prepare you for dinner."

Adelaide glanced down at herself before offering an apologetic smile.

"Thank you, but I can dress myself."

Three horrified expressions greeted the suggestion. The younger woman looked as though Adelaide had suggested climbing onto the palace roof.

"My Queen," the eldest replied carefully, "you most certainly cannot."

Adelaide blinked. "I've been dressing myself my entire life."

"That was before."

Before. Such a simple word. It seemed everyone in this palace measured her life against it.

The woman continued gently, though there was an unmistakable firmness beneath her warmth.

"A Queen does not concern herself with fastening corsets, arranging skirts or tying gown strings. Those are burdens carried by others so that Your Majesty may concern herself with far more important matters."

"They aren't burdens."

"They are now."

The younger attendant nodded enthusiastically.

"If anyone discovered we'd allowed the Queen to dress herself, we'd never hear the end of it."

The third woman smiled.

"Tomathican would likely dismiss us before dessert."

Adelaide laughed despite herself.

"I think that might be a little dramatic."

The three women exchanged knowing glances.

"It would not."

Realising she was hopelessly outnumbered, Adelaide surrendered with a theatrical sigh that earned delighted smiles from all three.

"Very well."

The youngest beamed as though she'd just won a great victory.

"We've prepared a bath."

Before Adelaide knew quite how it had happened, she found herself being gently ushered through an adjoining doorway into an enormous bathing chamber where fragrant steam drifted lazily through the warm air. A broad marble bath had already been filled, petals floating across the surface while scented oils perfumed the water with hints of wildflowers and citrus.

As the women carefully helped her out of her clothes, an unexpected memory rose unbidden to the surface.

Another group of women. Another bath. Another day spent being quietly prepared for what everyone else believed would be the most important night of her life.

Back then, the women in her village had washed her with the same gentle hands, brushed out her hair, fussed over every tiny detail until she had looked exactly as they wanted. They had smiled at her, admired her beauty, told her how lovely she looked.

They had been dressing a sacrifice for the Devil.