Chapter 11 Eleven.
Isadora laughs, but it's humourless. However, I'm left shocked by the fact that Madam Leticia and Isadora are related. Mother and daughter.
“You don't look alike nor do you act like mother and daughter.”
“I look more like my late father,” Isadora says softly. “I act like him, too. Leticia practically disowned me when I chose to become a warrior for Māui.” She laughs again, but it’s hollow. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this.”
“It's fine. I'm not going to tell anyone.”
“Oh, it's not a secret. Everyone knows. And now you do,” she explains before pointing towards my forehead. “The bump has gone completely. You seem to heal fast.”
I put my hand on my forehead and true to Isadora words there isn't a bump there anymore. “I’m nothing special. I healed fast thanks to the ointment you sent yesterday. Thank you. For the ointment.”
Isadora only smiles. It's different from anything I've ever seen on her face. It's sincere. “You shouldn't thank me. After all, I'm one of the reasons why it was there in the first place.”
Of course, I remember she raked me down in the council room. And while she didn't necessarily give me the bump on my head, she still caused me discomfort. “You were under orders. Besides, there's nothing you could have done. You can't disobey the King,” I remind her, using her own words.
She nods but remains silent, her expression distant as if lost in thought.
The silence is broken by the sound of the bathroom door opening. One of the maids from earlier peeks through and meets my eyes. “The water’s ready for your bath. Come inside, and we’ll teach you how to prepare your bath for next time.”
I nod and rush into the bathroom. The relief of washing away King Sven’s bodily fluids feels almost euphoric, but I know better than to think it will bring me peace. The moment the maids finish showing me how to fetch the water and fill the tub, I can’t shake the feeling of being humiliated, like they’re treating me as if I’m some sort of illiterate, despite my education at the Shadow Moon Pack Academy. My brother, Eliana, and her insufferable boyfriend all attended the same academy, too.
Once they leave, I’m left alone in the bathroom. But I can feel Isadora’s presence, even though I can’t see her. She’s waiting for me, watching, observing—like a silent shadow.
I waste no time. I step into the bathtub, letting the warm water wash over me. I scrub my skin vigorously and my private area thoroughly. I try my best to wash parts of my ankles that aren't covered by the shackles, but it hurts. I also brush my teeth while I'm at it. When I’m done, I dry off quickly, snatching the towel hanging on the wall.
The towel is wrapped around my chest as I leave the bathroom.
Isadora is exactly where I expected her to be; alone in the room, her posture rigid. Now there's a small brown dress waiting for me on the bed. While the material is the same used to sew the maids uniform, the cut is different. This is more scanty. The hem is shorter. It’s almost indecent—like something designed to strip away what little dignity I have left.
“Am I supposed to wear that?” I question, pointing to the dress on the bed.
Isadora glances at it before nodding, her expression back to being unreadable. Indifferent. Her mood changes like it's on a switch. One minute, she's all nice, and the next minute she's all stoic. It makes me wonder which one is really her. “It’s what the past maids under King Māui Magnusson rule wore. So yes, you will wear it.”
I don’t argue. I let the towel drop, my skin still tingling with the heat of the bath, and pull the dress on. It’s far too short, barely covering my thighs. The back is exposed in a way that feels raw, vulnerable. There’s a cut around the waist that makes me feel even more exposed, but at least my cleavage is hidden.
“Shall we? King Sven has a need for you,” Isadora says, her voice laced with something I can’t quite place.
I don’t respond. I follow her out of the room, each step heavy with dread. The whispers and stares of palace staff follow us, but I ignore them. My mind is elsewhere.
We head out of the palace building and head towards the palace square, where the sun beats down mercilessly. The air feels thick, suffocating, especially with the crowd gathered around. They're all murmuring softly amongst themselves as they look towards the platform that houses a guillotine. There are palace guards everywhere. I stop walking when I catch a glimpse of someone on the scaffold of the guillotine. The person is kneeling, and my heart hammers in my chest as I try to make out their face, but it’s too far, too blurred. But I can see that their wrist is bound tightly behind their back, head carefully secured on the stocks. A masked executioner is next to them, hand holding on to the blade.
“Don't stop walking,” Isadora orders sharply as she begins to walk ahead of me.
Eventually I tear my gaze away from the person on the guillotine. I’m facing Isadora back as she moves ahead of me. I take note of the gaps in the crowd and I have half the mind to make a run for it and try to escape, but I almost laugh at myself at how stupid I sound. The palace square is completely surrounded by palace guards, and I know better than to think I could outrun them while I'm still bound in shackles. Besides, mostly everyone gathered at the palace square is now looking at me, but I play ignorant as usual.
I only stop walking when we reach the front of the palace square. There, King Sven is seated on another platform facing the guillotine. His soon-to-be Luna, Katniss Whitlock, is seated next to him. My fists clench at my sides, and I glare at him. I feel a flare of hatred rise within me, overriding the tug of the mate bond. His actions, his mere existence and every single thing about him, fills me with nothing but intense hatred.
King Sven stands and holds on to the stem of a goblet, his fingers wrapping around it with a deliberate slowness as he brings his gaze to me. He raises the cup towards me before bringing it to his lips. As he sips, his piercing green eyes never leave me and I continue to glare at him.
When he finishes his drink, he drops the goblet with a sharp clink, and the square falls into a tense, deathly silence.
“People of the great Kingdom of Māui,” he announces, his voice loud and carrying over the square. “I present to you a traitor!”
Suddenly, there's a loud clack which makes my heart leap into my throat. I turn, my breath catching in my chest as I look at the guillotine. The figure kneeling there shifts, and in that moment, I finally get a clear view of their face.
It’s a… boy.
My heart runs a marathon as I stare in shock. My vision blurs, but I don’t need to see clearly to know who it is.
No…
It can’t be… him?