I wake to cold and empty arms.
Ash is gone. Disappeared into the crystalline blue of a pre-dawn sky. My back is stiff, whole body aching with the loss of the warmth and weight I had eventually fallen asleep with last night.
The lingering tannins of red wine saturate the inside of my skull agonisingly. How in the Abyss had Ash managed to rise for morning prayer before even a blood witch could?
As if summoned by the very thought, there's a ear-splitting knock at the door that drives yet another invisible nail into my hung-over brain. Emity starts awake with a terrible snore and stomps her way over to answer it.
"We're not doing Dawn Prayer," she snaps at the intruder before I even have to ask, storming back to bed and collapsing on top of the mattress. Her eyes narrow at me as I return to the bedroom on unsteady feet. "I'm never drinking with you again."
Well, that's certainly true if this all goes according to Ash's plan.
"Poor little Emity can't handle her wine..." I coo back at her.
Clawing my way along the wall for balance, until I finally collapse on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor and let my vision spin for a few minutes.
When the world finally comes to a still, my eyes rest on Ash's straight razor, gleaming softly from atop his vanity. The blade is cool in my grip as I sit, tugging it down towards me, but warms quickly as I rest the sharp steel against the flesh of my elbow.
It's been so long since I've had to activate my blood magic that I almost hesitate before slicing, a shallow cut that just nicks the bulging vein bisecting my forearm..
My head rolls back in ecstasy as the rich scent of blood fills the air and my magic surfaces with an electrifying buzz. Pulse racing, metabolism speeding up, it's not long until my vision stops swimming and the growing migraine fades to a dull ache.
I etch the sigil for drain, feeling my body answer with a shudder as it empties the remaining alcohol in my body out through the cut in my arm. It's one of the first spells a conscripted blood witch learns, usually for hang overs, but very rarely in the most dire of circumstances - treating a vampyre bite before the curse spreads.
Head clear at last, I turn to the enormous bathroom mirror and inspect myself for one final time. I look no less feral than I did when I first stepped foot in here.
Despite Ash's best attempts with every manner of cream and elixir brewed to shrink my pores, redden my lips and make my skin shine as bright as the Father himself.
It's going to take more of a last minute fix than I anticipated.
I leave my thin lips alone for fear of making them as asymmetrical as my chest, instead fleshing out my cheeks until they're as bright and round as Ash's. Try to remove the evident history of breaks in my nose that had taken it from hooked to crooked to splayed across my face within the space of ten years. I soften my jaw line too, feeling the strange ache of shifting bone as I try to remove the years of worry from my face.
When I finish, the face returning my stare is still my own, but despite the beady gaze and sneering mouth, something has shifted imperceptibly. My front profile is slightly prettier, unassuming and far gentler on the eye.
For a final touch, I mould the flesh above my collar bone into the dark, rough patch of birthmark I've seen poking out under Ash's barely-laced shirts. For all the scrutiny Queen Ilyana and the Ivruthans can afford, this at least should make it hard to disprove my identity on looks alone.
All I really need to do is keep my mouth shut in order to sell the role. That's the hard part.
I heal the cut on my elbow with a lazy sigil, mop up the blood as best I can on Ash's bathrobe and heave a heavy sigh. Now comes the part I've truly been dreading.
A small leather pouch rests where Ash left it on the corner of his vanity, its contents rattling slightly as I pick up the small bundle and empty it into my palm. A handful of brandy-coloured beads come to rest there, already prickling at my skin.
Mother's Fruit. Sickleberry. Magebane.
The small, shrivelled berry grows in the mountainous heights of Pyrthia's East and is known by a variety of names.
Traditionally given to women upon their first bleed, it can dispel dizziness in even the most gaunt of girls and pregnant women.
More sinister is the berry's second use, however. The high iron content in its bitter flesh, combined with whatever other foul poison fills the brackish fruit makes Magebane almost lethally toxic to magic users when consumed in large amounts.
Ash had requested the berries from the royal physician last week for alleged light-headedness during his monthly bleed. In reality however, they'd been intended for the final role in masking my identity once "Princess Alysha"'s veil is removed.
The wine red tint in my eyes will remain as long as blood magic runs through my veins and the only way to remove it is by nullifying all unnatural power.
I remember the searing pain of the iron shackles against the skin of my hands.
Abyss take me.
I gulp down two of the berries with a mouthful of water, sparing myself as much of the bitter flavour as possible. Hopefully a safe dose.
More than one witch at camp had eaten sickleberries as an abortive drug during my time there. Four was usually enough to dispense of an unborn child that carried magic. Any more than that and you'd run the risk of violent illness. If I take too little, however...
Twenty minutes later the knocking on the bedroom door returns in full force, interrupting my agonised groans as I curl up tight on the floor and fight to keep the contents of my stomach down.
"Alysha. You've put the morning off long enough. It's time to ready yourself." Ilyana's voice rings loud and true, followed by the sound of the handle unlatching and half a dozen footsteps entering the room beyond. "It positively reeks of alcohol in here!"
"My apologies, Your Highness," Emity mumbles as she lets them through. "Sa- Alysha is in the bathroom. I take it to mean that she no longer requires the veil-"
"You're correct, Emity," the Queen responds quickly, the high pitch of excitement well disguised in her voice. "I'm to finally lay eyes on my daughter- this Avamere tradition nonsense is over."
I swallow a burst of stomach gas and clamber to my knees, glancing back at the mirror. A pair of warm brown eyes stare back at me, not a shade of red to be seen.
"Although-" Ilyana continues sternly, bursting through to the bathroom without a whisper of announcement. Half a dozen maids follow at her heels, eyes wide as they peer around at the lavishness of Ash's chambers. "-you were expected to reveal yourself at prayer this morning, Alysha. As you very well know. Honestly, were it not for the situation surrounding this engagement I would be of half a mind to-"
She cuts off suddenly as we meet eyes, both our bodies coming to a complete still. Her gaze rakes my body and I tense, waiting for the shock and anger as she discovers the deception.
"Alysha..." The Queen's long robes billow behind her as she momentarily discards her usual aloofness, almost falling forwards into the embrace I scramble to greet her with. Thin fingers comb my hair, pinch my cheeks and finally clutch my shoulders as she pulls away to study me properly. "Oh, Alysha.”
"Mother," I whisper, so softly that she can't detect the mimicry in my accent.
Ilyana's brief rush of emotion lasts barely a moment longer before she lets the steel gates lower once more behind her expression, eyes returning to their cynical squint as she pries my upper lip back before I can stop her. "For the Mother's sake. You got your father's teeth, I see. You should consider yourself lucky that the rest is all me. Did you never so much as trim your brows when left to your own devices? Now into that bath with you. Ladies- we have a lot of work to do before my daughter is fit to wed."
The ladies-in-waiting undo half of my morning's labour in the following minutes as I bathe away the remaining hangover. My hair is washed, oiled and combed, my skin scoured and powdered until it stretches tight over my cheekbones. All the while Ilyana sits on the settee Emity has brought in and fixes every inch of my naked body with her piercing stare.
I keep my broad shoulders positioned away from her, forcing myself to relax and reduce the plane of muscles visible across my thighs and back. It's not particularly hard to do when I have six women massaging scented oils into the skin of my throat and breasts or otherwise pampering me. In fact I try not to look to pleased with myself as one of the young women applies some red paste to my lips with tender fingers.
"You're beautiful, Your Highness," she compliments mechanically as she steps away, others murmuring their slavish agreement. "We spent so long waiting to see your face. Prince Valek is a lucky man indeed."
With a pointed nod from the Queen, they retreat from the room to organise the rest of my bridal display, leaving me alone with Ilyana and Emity.
The tension becomes heavy in the steamy, heavily perfumed air of the bathroom.
"Come here. I'll fashion your hair," Ilyana says curtly, patting the seat beside her. I join her hesitantly, praying that my silence isn't too suspiciously out of character. Her fingernails are sharp as they rake through my curls, looping strands into a series of tight braids. Her breath hitches in her throat before she continues, "I-I used to have a serving girl sit for me when you were little, you know. I'd practice braiding her hair while you were wrapped up in that cursed veil. It's so strange to finally see you... how much you've grown since you were my little babe."
Mother have mercy, I'd expected scrutiny and questioning, but this...the sudden choked emotion in the cold woman's voice is almost too much to bear.
"I've seen Sir Ash in your jewellery," she adds and immediately Emity's widening eyes flash to me, but Ilyana misreads the way my muscles tighten in fear. "Oh, don't act surprised that we know. I doubt there's a single lady in court who has truly saved herself for her wedding day. What I mean to say is that I don't need to school you in the true duties of a wife, do I? More than one guard has seen him scaling up to your room at all hours of the night. I doubt it was for a match of Elvachio."
Oh thank the fucking Father for Ash and his ego.
"I won't pretend that it won't be different with Prince Valek... A strange man in your bedchamber is- You'll be fine, my sweetness. I know you will. You might not be the son of God-" Ilyana breaks off, drawing a small box from the collection of cosmetics beside her. She hands it to me to open.
Nestled on a bed of dark velvet is a shining tiara, studded with a thousand gleaming diamonds that take even my breath away. The thinly wrought semi-circlet of twisted gold seems far too fragile for my calloused fingers as I lift it from its case and rest it atop the crown of braids that Ilyana has woven into my hair.
It's not the brilliant heirloom of jewels that holds the Queen's interest, however. Beneath the padded velvet is a flat, hidden compartment that she tugs open, retrieving another item of polished, shining gold.
Ilyana holds the sun in her hand. A large, semi-disc the size of my palm, unadorned except for several decorative sunbeams that branch out from the centre in five inch spikes, sharpened to points so fine they're almost stiletto.
Ten years habitual of blood-letting has me testing the point of one such sunbeam with the meat of my palm and the tip sinks straight through, pain blossoming as the blood falls free and fast from the new wound.
“-but you’re my daughter,” Ilyana continues. She takes the piece from my hands, holding it by a thin handle at its base shaped precisely to fit over one’s knuckles. She attaches the gilded weapon at the base of my braid like a hairpiece, the final touch to the tiara with which she’s crowned me. “And I rather think that counts for somewhat more. Now, Emity- a towel please. Poor Alysha has cut herself.”