She gritted her teeth, upset over the fact that on top of everything else, she could also no longer confidently know what makeup to wear or not wear. She didn’t even want to think about clothes.
“Um…” She squished the top back on the tube and dropped it into the first section she’d pulled it from. “That’s okay.”
The girl immediately began putting away the items she’d pulled out.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be, Lissa.” She beamed. “What about red? It goes so well with your jet-black hair.”
“What about gold?” Delaney asked, noticing a shiny tube that very color.
“Gold?” The girl seemed surprised. “Forgive me, but I was told you hated the color.”
“Were you?” Who hated gold? She glanced pointedly at the golden buttons on the girl’s dress. There’d been accents of the same on all the other uniforms she’d seen here so far. Perhaps Olena hated it because of that? Was it meant as a tiny rebellion?
Kind of a pathetic one, if you asked her.
“I was told by Wilima that silver was your preferred metallic, Lissa.”
“Wilima?”
“Your previous atteta.”
She assumed “atteta” meant “helper.” “Well, I’ve been away a long time, and my tastes have changed over my denzeration”—she was pleased when her voice didn’t stumble over that word—“and now I also love gold.”
“Very good, Lissa.” The girl didn’t seem the least bit concerned by this change, and began to take out various shades.
“What’s your name?” Delaney asked, hoping she wasn’t stepping over some line by doing so.
“I am Lura,” she said with a friendly smile, “your new atteta.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Lura.”
That gave the girl pause, and she stared at Delaney oddly out of the corner of her eye. After a moment, she continued with what she’d been doing, carefully placing each item on the surface of the counter with little more than a soft click.
“Thank you, Lissa. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”
Shit, had they met before? If so, why didn’t she just say? Unless she now thought Delaney was a bitch for not remembering. That was a distinct possibility. Just to be sure, she asked, and when the other girl laughed, she pulled back slightly, even more confused.
“Oh no,” Lura told her. “I’m new to the castle. I wasn’t working here when you left for your denzeration.” In the large bathroom, the girl looked even smaller than she had in the doorway. Her eyes were lined in black, and it became clear there was something on her mind when she found sudden interest in comparing two tiny cases with practically the exact same shade.
“You have a question,” Delaney prodded. “Ask.”
“I couldn’t.”
“It’s all right. What is it?”
“Was Earth…” She cleared her throat. “What’s it like?”
Delaney’s tears threatened to spill all over again, so she forced herself to concentrate on the makeover. Tapping her finger against the small square case in Lura’s left hand, she shrugged a shoulder.
“It’s great. I’ll tell you all about it sometime.”
“Will you really?” Lura’s excitement filled the room, and she clutched the tiny makeup case against her chest. “That would be amazing. Thank you, Lissa Olena!”
“No problem. Can we, uh”—Delaney motioned to her face—“do something about this now?”
“Oh!” She leaped into action. “Of course! Breakfast is in less than an hour now!”
Less than an hour before she’d have to face the alien regents who were holding her captive? Great.
Her last remaining shred of hope was that at least Trystan would not be there.
*
THE BASILEUS WAS seated at the head of the table to her right, the Basilissa at the other end. There were a few empty seats, including the entire row across from her, and it somehow managed to make the room both smaller and larger at the same time.
At least Ruckus had been allowed to join them, and was sitting at her left. There was about three feet of space between them, this table having been made to seat eight at the very least, but having a familiar face was a major relief.
He’d already been there when Pettus had led her to the dining room. Apparently, she was the last to arrive and everyone had been waiting. They stood in a flourish upon her entrance, but it was obvious Ruckus was the only one who wasn’t annoyed with how long she’d taken to get there.
“We understand that this situation is less than ideal for you.” Magnus lifted a glass similar to a coffee mug filled with dark black liquid to his lips. “For us as well. Our daughter has always been an independent spirit—”
At her side, Ruckus practically choked on his own drink, barely catching himself at the last minute. It didn’t seem like anyone else noticed but Delaney. She had to agree that “independent spirit” was putting it lightly.
“But none of us would ever have expected anything like this. However, it is imperative that you play the hand you were dealt, and play it well. That means showing up where you are supposed to. On time.”
She bit her tongue but outwardly nodded.
“Good.” He motioned toward Ruckus. “The Ander here will be with you throughout this process. He knows my daughter better than anyone. If you have any questions, he should be able to answer them for you. Still, is there anything immediate you think you should know?”
Somehow, gaping at a king seemed like a bad idea, so she ended up biting her tongue even harder.
“There’s a lot, actually,” she ended up saying, unable to condense it like he clearly wanted her to do. How was she supposed to take everything she needed to know and shove it into one or two questions? Besides that, it wasn’t like she could point out that everything she had heard so far about his daughter painted her more as spoiled than independent.
“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “That’s to be expected. We want you to succeed here, Delaney. It’s important to all of us that you do. To make it easier, we’ve pushed all of Olena’s planned appearances off, except for one, but there’s no speaking involved, so you should be fine.”
“The people need to see that our daughter has returned to fulfill her duty,” Tilda added from her side of the table.
“If for any reason there’s something that the Ander can’t answer,” Magnus said, making it very clear by his tone he doubted there was such a thing, “he’s under orders to contact me.”
“It’s amazing how much you look like her.” Tilda leaned forward. “Not even I would know.” Her smile was forced, and tinged with a heavy sadness. “You’ll do just fine, Miss Grace, so long as you follow the set of rules we’ve laid out for you.”
“Which are?” She’d always rebelled against the mere concept of rules, but now part of her had to admit having them wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing. She didn’t know this world or its people; anything they could tell her to do, or not to do, as the case may be, would be helpful. Her thoughts turned back to last night, and she was reminded how well going off script had gone for her.