Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120974 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
“Say I want a special kind of soap—sheep’s milk soap—because it’s good for my skin,” I say quickly. I absolutely cannot let him see me all the way naked. It’s too risky—especially after the things we did together in the cave.
“Is it?” he asks, frowning. “Good for your skin, I mean?”
“It has lanolin in it,” I say. “So yes, it can be—unless your skin is oily. In which case you ought to use—”
“Never mind,” he says quickly, raising a hand to stop me. “I didn’t ask for a whole fucking lecture on skin care. I’ll go exploring for a while. Just don’t take too long—I’d like to bathe before dinner too.”
“I just need a quick bath and to wash my hair. I won’t take too long,” I promise.
“Good.” He nods and heads for the door. “Be careful in here alone, sweetheart. This place is stiff with magic—I can feel it all around us. And I’m not sure all of it’s benign.”
His words send a shiver of apprehension down my spine—mainly because I feel it too and I agree with him.
“I’ll stay right here,” I promise him. “Just going to take a bath and wash my hair.”
“All right—I’ll see you in a bit.”
He nods once more and leaves, being sure to shut the bark door behind him.
I stand alone in the living bower, surrounded by softly glowing blossoms and the slow, steady breath of the tree around me. The air is warm and damp, heavy with the scent of flowers—jasmine, honeysuckle, and something darker and earthier beneath it all. The golden light makes everything feel unreal, as though I’ve stepped into a dream.
Just a bath, I tell myself firmly. That’s all. A bath and clean hair and then I’ll get dressed. I wonder what’s in the wardrobe?
I’m tempted to look, but I’m too eager to get off the dirty ragged dress the witch gave me and the tub is calling me.
I step closer to it and see that it’s already filled with hot water—further evidence of the magic all around this place. It’s almost like it anticipated my desire to wash.
Well, I’m not complaining about that.
The leaves lining the carved wooden tub are broad and waxy—a deep emerald green veined with silver. Tiny white flowers bloom along the curling vines woven between them, each petal faintly luminous. When I brush my fingers over one, it quivers slightly beneath my touch. Then it turns toward me, almost as though it’s asking what I want.
I pull my hand back, frowning.
“That’s strange,” I murmur to myself.
Still, I can’t deny how inviting the tub looks. The water within it is perfectly clear and steaming gently, sending up tendrils of fragrant mist. I dip my fingers in and gasp softly—the warmth sinks instantly into my skin, neither too hot nor too cool—as though the bath knows exactly what I want.
Again, I’m not complaining. It’s nice to have my wants and needs anticipated.
I glance once more at the door to be certain Valen hasn’t returned—then begin unbuttoning my dress. It slides off me easily, the ruined fabric whispering as it pools at my feet. I shed my panties next, folding them carefully and placing them on a low carved bench beside the tub. Honestly though, I need a new pair. I need a new everything. I certainly hope the magical wardrobe holds undergarments as well as outer ones.
Standing naked in the golden glow of the luminescent flowers, I feel oddly exposed—not just physically, but in a deeper way, as though the tree itself is watching me.
I’m not sure I like that feeling, so I’m quick to climb into the tub.
The leaves cradle my body immediately, warm and pliant, molding themselves to my shape. I sink down with a sigh as the water rises to my shoulders. It smells faintly of rain-soaked earth and flowers after a storm.
“Oh,” I breathe. “This is… wonderful.”
On the wooden ledge beside the tub, the crystal bottles gleam invitingly. I reach for the first—a pale blue liquid that shimmers like captured moonlight. When I unstopper it, the scent of lavender and something cool and minty drifts out.
I pour a little into my palm. The soap warms instantly, turning silky between my fingers. As I rub it over my arms, it foams into pearlescent bubbles that slide over my skin like liquid satin.
The next bottle holds a golden liquid that smells of honey and wildflowers. Another is deep green, sharp with rosemary and pine. Each one feels perfectly suited to its purpose, cleansing without drying, leaving my skin tingling and soft.
I’ve never had so many choices—not even back at the castle. I have to say, I love all the scents except for the pine one—that smells slightly medicinal, so I don’t use any.
When I pour the shampoo—thick, milky white, and scented faintly of apples—over my scalp, it tingles pleasantly, almost fizzing as though it was alive. I work it through my hair, closing my eyes as the bathwater seems to swirl gently around me, rinsing away soap without my having to lift a finger.