Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Underwear! And also, bras! Just what I was looking for yesterday. I had almost resigned myself to just going commando everywhere while I’m here in the Shadow Realm. But look at all these cute and sexy undies! All just for me. Neatly folded, organized by color and size, and they’re all mine.
Also, they fit like they were made for me. I know, because I try on a few sets. There are some sexy, lacy bras but also full-coverage ones with good support. There are silk panties but also some soft cotton ones—even a few pairs of granny panties, which is what I’ll probably be wearing as soon as my period really starts. I see some lacy ones too, but no thongs, thank goodness. And everything in my size.
I stare at the drawer for a long moment. I’ve always loved pretty underwear—does Lucian know that about me?
He planned this—all of it. He even took the time to find out my sizes.
The realization lands with a strange mix of unease and reluctant gratitude.
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or terrified,” I mutter to myself, choosing a sensible bra and underwear. I put them on and then turn to the dress.
The fabric slides over my skin smoothly and it settles into place like it was made for me. When I look down, I barely recognize myself.
I look… put together…important. Almost royal.
That thought sends another flutter of nerves through my stomach.
Now what? I wonder.
As if summoned by my anxiety, there’s a soft knock at the door.
“Yes?” I call.
The door opens just enough for a woman to peek in. She’s small and brisk, with dark hair pinned back and a crisp black-and-white uniform. She dips into a quick curtsy.
“Mornin’, Your Majesty,” she says in a lilting accent. “I’m ‘ere to do your ‘air, if it pleases.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“My… hair?”
“Yes, Miss,” she says brightly, already stepping inside with a tray of brushes and pins. “The Master wants you lookin’ proper before the meetin,’ so he does.”
The Master. I suppose she must mean Lucian though the thought of calling him that does funny things to my stomach—especially when I remember the sex dungeon room he has down the hall.
I swallow hard, trying to push away the thought. It’s surprisingly easy, because now I have another thought—a question. Am I the first human woman that Lucian has brought here, proclaiming her a “Curvy Queen?” Is this just a regular occurrence for this maid?”
“Thank you,” I say to her. “Um—have you done anyone else’s hair before? Any other women here in the Crimson Spires, I mean?”
She looks genuinely puzzled.
“Other women? Oh no, miss—not like this.”
“Not like what?”
She snorts softly.
“Well, for starters, not human. An’ not installed.”
“Installed?” I repeat faintly.
“Yes, Miss.” She gestures vaguely around the room. “The Master’s always ‘ad blood slaves brought through—regular as clockwork for feedin’ and all. He’s a Thirstborn so he ‘as to ‘ave blood, you see. But he’s never kept a woman here. Never mind a human one.”
She leads me to a mirror and begins brushing my hair with gentle efficiency.
“Truth be told, we always thought ‘im cold as marble. Scary as sin, too.”
My heart does a weird little flip in my chest.
“And now?” I ask her.
She smiles at my reflection.
“Now ‘e’s tellin’ all the servants they’re to treat you with deference. That you’re our Queen. That no one’s to so much as breathe wrong in your direction. Utterly besotted, he is.” She clicks her tongue. “Never seen ‘im like this before.”
Utterly besotted? Does she mean…in love?
The words echo in my head, terrifying and impossible. There’s no way Lucian is that gone on me—is there?
The maid works quickly, twisting my hair into an elaborate style—soft curls pinned up and away from my face, woven with subtle jeweled pins that catch the light. When she’s done, she steps back, satisfied.
“There you go, miss. Perfect.”
She curtsies again and slips out, leaving me alone with my reflection.
I turn slowly toward the mirror.
It’s enormous—floor to ceiling, framed in black carved stone etched with roses and skulls. The glass is old and slightly warped, making everything look dreamlike.
The woman staring back at me looks like a stranger. Her hair is styled beautifully, and her dress hugs her curves just right. Her posture is straighter and on her face I see an expression that is wary but strong.
She looks like a Queen—or at least someone pretending very hard to be one.
I press a hand to my stomach again, feeling another faint twinge.
This is really happening, I think. And I have no idea what comes next.
36
Jules
Lucian comes for me sooner than I expect.
One minute I’m still standing in front of that enormous gothic mirror, staring at my own reflection like it might suddenly make sense. The next, there’s a soft knock at the bedroom door and it opens without me answering.