In the morning, after sleeping under the softest and most luxurious fur blankets, I woke up with a smile on my face, forgetting at that moment that things were dire, my life was in danger, and I was far away from Timothy, my brand new husband.
The smile disappeared with my recall. I got up out of the bed . . . Yes, it was a comfy bed with lots of padding to make me think and feel like I was floating on clouds. But, stuff like that isn’t important when you’ve been kidnapped. At least, I think it’s shouldn’t be a major train of thought.
I used the facilities, of which there were none. My pee from the night before still gleamed sickly in the chamber pot. And it stank.
I had no fresh clothing to put on. I searched, but the room didn’t contain even an empty closet. The night stand was drawerless, not that I’d think clean clothes would fit there, but it was the indignity of it all. Nothing for me to wear but the clothes I’d slept in.
The queen had spoken of getting me someone’s dress and undergarments to wear. (Yicky about the latter part, but . . .) Perhaps the queen had forgotten. Or wasn’t the guard supposed to be bringing me those things? I was grateful that he hadn’t invaded my sleeping quarters during the night, but now would be a convenient time for a gown, although I really wasn’t fond of dresses. I was a blue jeans gal through and through. Still . . .
I tried the door. Still locked, so I sat down on the bed, waiting for the release from my gray room prison. I sat for a long time. My stomach growls kept me company. Should I eat here in Faeryland? Did I dare? Would it be safe?
I was almost ready to crawl back under the bed covers when I heard the rattling of a key in the door’s lock. I shot up, prepared to fight or to flee, whichever one seemed more plausible.
Neither. Two guards stood in the doorway barring my exit. One of them held out an arm full of garments and gruffly ordered me to clothe myself. I wanted to tell him I was already clothed, but I kept my mouth shut and grabbed what was offered.
The door immediately slammed shut, and I heard the lock being keyed. Stuck again in the cell-like room, but at least, I had clean clothes.
The bowl of cold water on the shaky shelf allowed me to do some body cleaning. Then I donned someone else’s underthings and pulled on the dress. Floor length and frilly. Someone had overdone the yardage. I wanted to unpoof the sleeves by tearing off some ofthe material, but of course I didn’t. It belonged to someone in the court. They certainly wouldn’t appreciate me redesigning their dress.
And the gown was yellow. Not a color I liked to wear. Pastels never suited me. For one thing they were too easy to get dirty. Who made clothes with buttons up the back? People didn’t have dressers anymore, or did they in a royal palace?
I did a lot of twisting and turning and managed to do up most of the buttons. But it was another reason why an elegant gown like this one was not my first choice for something to wear.