Against her will, Shayera felt herself warming up to the strange girl. She laughed in return. Dropping her hands, she nodded at her room. “I can’t sleep here. It’s too big and…”
“Pft.” Dalia waved her hand. “Gaudy, I know it. But the massster always gets his way, he does. And it hurts nothing to stay. It’s just a place to rest your head. You’ll be here three months—never hurts to enjoy yourself a wee bit. Now.” She nodded before pointing to a large wardrobe. “There are your gowns. I hate to tell ya that master will force me to burn that sack, but he will. And if you don’t change, I’ll be forced to take it from you in your sleep. You stink, your hair needs to be washed—”
Shayera inhaled a sharp breath, ready to give the girl a tongue-lashing.
“I tell you this as a potential friend, I hope.” Dalia beamed. “But if you don’t do it now, miss, rest assured you’ll be forced to it later. I’d much rather you retain your dignity.”
Shayera rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “I thought you said Rumpel was a decent guy.”
“And he is, for a prince anyway.”
Prince? That was news to Shayera. Very little was known of who Rumpelstiltskin actually was, other than what myth alluded to—a gremlin of a little man stealing away babes from their mother’s teats to enact unspeakable horrors upon them. Which kind of sounded silly now that she’d met the man in person. He didn’t seem to have the patience for a child, let alone a castle of many.
Those same tales had called her father a buffoon and Belle a perfect little doll. Neither of which was true. Belle and Beast were currently living in separate townhomes and last she’d heard, having one scandalous affair after the other.
Mother had said the truth would shock and horrify mortals so best never to talk about it, but Shayera had always had a difficult time understanding why the fairies twisted the telling of their stories so much. Wouldn’t a mortal prefer to know that Gerard adored his wife, that they’d had a beautiful daughter, that her Uncle Hook, was a decent and funny man and not the idiot he was often seen to be?
Mother had shown her the tales as a child, through movies and books, and they always made her laugh because of how fallacious they mostly were. Pan was definitely no angel and Tinker was one step shy of being a full-on sadist.
But then, truth was often distorted, which was why she hoped Rumpel really did mean to release her after the three months. All she had to do was pass the tests and she’d be free to go.
So she hoped, but she couldn’t deny the sick pit in her stomach that she was maybe being a little too na?ve on that count.
“Fine.” With a shake of her head, she sighed. “If it means I get out quicker, then I’ll do it.”
“Every day there’ll be a new gown freshly made, just waitin’ for ya.”
The longer Dalia remained by Shayera’s side, the more corporeal she became. No longer was she floating. Instead, she walked to the closet and opened it up. The cedar scent filled the room, making her long for her home once again. Father had built the house entirely by hand and had used cedar planks on the walls and the floors; the house always seemed like you were walking through the woods. She smiled at the memory of home.
A long, silky green dress was the only thing inside. “Umm.” She touched the hem of it, delighted at its smooth feel. The thing looked like her size exactly too, which was kind of unnerving considering she’d never given her measurements out to anyone and always made sure the potato sack was a size too large on her. Shayera snorted. “I hope he doesn’t mean for me to wear this tomorrow?”
“No, miss.” Dalia swatted at her arm. “This is a nightshift. Meant to be worn to sleep in.” Plucking the gown from the closet, she draped it across her arm. “The bathroom is just through there.” She pointed at a darkened alcove to the right of them.
“Thank you.” When Shayera reached for the gown, Dalia jerked her arm away. “What?”
“I’m to wash you, miss, master’s orders.”
She laughed. “That’s funny. Because the answer is an absolute no.” She snatched the dress out of Dalia’s arm, but when the maid’s face turned crestfallen, she felt a little bad for her. “Look, it has nothing to do with you and I know you can touch me without feeling the effects of the curse, but I’m not comfortable with anyone viewing my body for reasons you must surely understand.”
“I’m a woman, your charms cannot—”
Her smile was grim. “Actually they can. I’m working like a fiend to keep myself muted in your presence. The truth is if I wanted to charm you, Dalia, I could. As I could most certainly charm your master.”
Dalia laughed. “Very doubtful, miss.”