021 - Dark Silk

021 - Dark Silk
After breakfast, Zeirik led me back through the now familiar corridors of his wing. My stomach was full for the first time in days, the warmth of the oats still settling comfortably inside me. The halls here were quieter than Cassien's domain, less ornate. The stone floors were less worn unlike the crown prince's palace. 

Barely anyone lived in the General's Wing, mostly because majority of the generals Elysium have had before Zeirik either fled or died in the war. 
And now, the war was over. 

Curiosity and faint admiration bubbled as I looked at Zeirik, wondering just how he managed to achieve something the wolves that came before him couldn't, in just a few years. 

When we reached the bedroom I'd slept in, Zeirik pushed open the door and stepped aside to let me enter first despite my protests. A woman stood near the bed, laying out fresh linens and what appeared to be clothing. She turned as we entered, and I found myself face to face with someone completely unlike the maids I'd grown used to.

She was young, perhaps close to my own age, with sun-bronzed skin and dark hair pulled back in a practical braid. Her dress was simple, a deep forest green that fell just past her knees, with sturdy boots peeking out from beneath the hem. But it was her eyes that caught my attention. They were bright and alert, carrying a sharpness that spoke of experience far beyond her years.

"Ah, Mira," Zeirik said, and there was warmth in his voice. "This is Princess Yasmin. She'll need assistance with bathing and dressing." He glanced at me, then back at the maid. "Be gentle with her wounds."

Mira dipped into a quick curtsy, but there was nothing subservient about the gesture. It felt more like acknowledgment than deference. "Of course, General."

Zeirik nodded once and then turned to me, "If there's anything you need, call for me," He said softly, his tone was strange, something akin to reluctance lingering in his words. Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

For a moment, Mira and I simply looked at each other. Then her face broke into a warm smile that transformed her entire appearance. "Well then, Princess. Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

She moved with efficiency, crossing to the large copper tub that had been set up near the fireplace. Steam rose from the water in lazy curls, and the scent of lavender filled the air. I watched as she tested the temperature with her hand, nodded to herself, then turned back to me.

"Come," she said gently. "The water's just right."

I hesitated, suddenly aware of how exposed I would be. The bruises on my ribs, the marks on my wrists where Cassien had grabbed me—they told a story I wasn't sure I wanted anyone else in court to know about, not yet at least. 

But Mira's expression held no judgment, only patience. She waited, hands folded in front of her, giving me time to decide.

Finally, I moved forward. My fingers fumbled with the laces of my dress—the same wrinkled garment I'd been wearing since yesterday. Mira stepped forward to help, her touch sure but careful as she worked the knots loose.

When the dress fell away, I heard her sharp intake of breath. I closed my eyes, shame burning hot in my chest.

"That fucker," she muttered, and the venom in her voice startled me into looking at her. Her jaw was tight, her eyes blazing with anger that wasn't directed at me but for me. "Begging your pardon, Princess," She gave a rather stuff curtsey in apology, "But the crown prince is a waste of perfect genes," She scoffed, the bluntness of her entirety startling and leaving me tongue tied. 
"He's not worthy to be called your husband."

So she knows. 
Did Zeirik tell her? 

That also meant she and Zeirik were closer than I thought. 
I wasn't sure how I felt about that. 

Something in my chest loosened slightly. "Former husband," I said quietly, finding her inability to censor herself a breath of fresh sir. "The divorce is finalized now." I informed though I wasn't obliged to do so. 

It was rare to see someone other than Helga get upset for my sake. 

"Good." She helped me step into the tub, steadying me with a firm grip on my elbow. "Now let's get you comfortable."

The hot water stung at first, then melted into blissful warmth. I sank down slowly, wincing as it touched the tender spots on my ribs. Mira knelt beside the tub, dipping a cloth into the water before adding a few drops of lavender oil.

"Tell me if I'm too rough," she said, and began washing my back with gentle strokes.

The simple act of being cared for nearly undid me. I hadn't realized how much I'd needed this—not just the bath, but the kindness. The quiet attention. Mira worked methodically, washing away days of stress and fear along with the grime.

"You have beautiful hair," she commented as she poured water over my head, her fingers working through the tangles with surprising gentleness. "Like dark silk."

"Thank you," I murmured.

We fell into comfortable silence as she continued her work. When she was satisfied that I was clean, she helped me stand and wrapped me in a large linen towel that had been warming by the fire. The heat seeped into my bones, and I found myself swaying slightly on my feet.

"Easy now," Mira steadied me, guiding me to sit on the edge of the bed. "Let's tend to those wounds before you get dressed."

She retrieved a small wooden box from the side table and opened it to reveal various salves and bandages. The sharp smell of herbs filled my nostrils as she opened a jar of yellow-green paste.

"This will sting a bit," she warned, "but it'll help with the healing."

She wasn't lying. The salve burned when she applied it to the worst of my bruises, but I bit down on my lip and stayed still. Mira worked with the practiced efficiency of someone who had tended wounds before. 
A pack healer, perhaps? 

When she finished, she wrapped clean bandages around my ribs, snug enough to provide support but not so tight that I couldn't breathe. Then she turned to the clothing laid out on the bed.

"The General asked me to prepare something comfortable for you," she said, holding up a dress of soft cream-colored fabric. It was simple in design, with loose sleeves and a flowing skirt that would fall to my ankles. The neckline was modest, and there were no corset bones or tight lacings. "You shouldn't wear tight things for now, not until your injuries are fully recovered."

I nodded, grateful for the consideration. The dresses I'd worn at Cassien's palace had been beautiful but restrictive, designed more for display than comfort.

Mira helped me into a clean shift first, then the dress itself. The fabric whispered against my skin, soft and forgiving. When she finished fastening the simple buttons up the back, she stepped around to look at me, her head tilted to one side.

"You're so beautiful," she said, and there was no flattery in her tone—just simple observation.

A small smile tugged at my lips despite everything. "Thank you, Mira."

She grinned and moved to start tidying up the bath area. I watched her for a moment, then curiosity got the better of me.

"How long have you known the General?"

Mira paused in her work, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "About three years now. He picked me up from one of the bordering villages during the war."

I blinked, surprised. "During the war?"

"Yes." She wrung out the cloth she'd been using and hung it to dry. "My village was destroyed. Everything burned. Everyone..." She trailed off, her jaw working. "The General's forces came through in the aftermath. Most of the soldiers just wanted to move on, but he stopped. Stayed for two days to help us bury our dead and salvage what we could."

Her hands stilled, and she looked at me directly. "I asked if I could join his army. Wanted to learn how to fight so I'd never be helpless again."

My eyes widened. "He let you? A woman, in the kingdom's army?"

Mira's laugh was short and sharp. "The General's a big softie, despite how he tries to appear in front of everyone. As unconventional as it was, he didn't say no to me because of the destruction the war brought to my village." She shook her head, a fond smile playing at her lips. "Trained me himself for the first few months, actually. Nearly killed me with drills, but I learned."

I stared at her, my mind racing. This information painted Zeirik in a completely different light. A general who stopped to help villagers bury their dead. Who trained a woman to fight when conventional wisdom said such things weren't done.

This was valuable. More valuable than gold. A leader who cared for the common people, who broke with tradition when tradition was wrong—that was someone who could inspire loyalty. Real loyalty, not just fear or obligation.

My thoughts spun with possibilities, calculations forming and reforming. How could I use this? Not manipulatively, but strategically. If I intend to make him Alpha, he's going to need more than just being kind but, caring for the people is a start.