Layle

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Staring up at the bathhouse’s outer walls the next morning, I take a deep breath. The building is a sprawling structure of white marble, its facade adorned with intricate carvings of wood nymphs and sea creatures. Slender columns support a series of arched entryways, each one framed by delicate mosaics in shades of blue and green.

The domed roof is topped with a golden spire that glints in the sunlight, visible from almost anywhere in the villa grounds.

You can do this, I tell myself as I open the ornate doors of the bathhouse, and the scent of lavender and rose oil immediately envelopes me. The room is a marvel of marble and gold, with high vaulted ceilings and intricate mosaics depicting scenes from ancient myths.

Steam rises from the large central pool, surrounded by smaller, more private baths. Plush divans and cushioned chairs are scattered about, where women in various states of undress lounge, gossiping, and primping.

“Your Highness!” Sorel exclaims from her spot near a bath, sitting with Alin and Marren as she waves at me. “You came!”

Dozens of eyes turn to me, wide with surprise, and I feel my cheeks warm. I’ve always avoided this ritual, finding it frivolous and beneath me. But last night, when Alin, Marren, and Sorel invited me to join them, I knew I couldn’t say no.

This is an opportunity to alliance myself with noblewomen and make myself seem more personable, approachable.

Swallowing my pride. I force a smile. “I—I was hoping to refresh my appearance. If anyone would be willing to assist me?”

The silence breaks into excited chatter as women swarm around me, their earlier shock replaced by enthusiasm. Before I can protest, I’m ushered to a cushioned chair in front of an ornate mirror.

“Oh, Your Highness, we’re going to make you absolutely radiant!” one woman exclaims as she begins to undo my simple braid.

Another tsks at my simple dress. “This won’t do at all. We have just the thing to bring out your eyes.”

I’m overwhelmed by all the commotion as women style my hair into an intricate updo. I’m helped into a gown of shimmering blue silk, which offsets my silver hair and eyes.

“You know, Your Highness,” one of the ladies says as she adjusts a pin in my elaborate updo, “we’ve always appreciated how. . . true to yourself you’ve been.”

There’s an undercurrent of something I hadn’t expected—admiration, perhaps even envy.

I blink, surprised. No one has ever told me that before. I’ve always been too masculine for everyone’s tastes, too much my father’s daughter. I’ve always been told I didn’t fit the mold of what a “proper princess” is. “What do you mean?”

“The way you’ve always done things your own way. You don’t care what others think. It’s refreshing,” another chimes in.

“And brave,” adds a third, applying a delicate swipe of kohl to my eyes as Marren nods vigorously. “Being a princess must give you such freedom.”

I bite my lip, fighting back the urge to correct them. If only they knew the truth—that my supposed “freedom” has been snatched away, replaced by an ultimatum that threatens everything I hold dear.

Instead, I force a smile. “Freedom comes with its own set of challenges,” I say carefully. “But I appreciate your kind words.”

“We’re just thrilled you’ve decided to join us,” the first lady gushes, clearly pleased to be part of this makeover. “And to think, you’re doing this all to attract a husband! How romantic!”

I swallow hard, maintaining my facade. “Yes, well. . . I suppose it was time for a change.”

“It’s not easy, is it?” a young baroness sighs as she applies a hint of color to my lips. “Always having to look perfect, to be the ideal lady?”

I meet her eyes in the mirror. “No, it’s not. Sometimes I wonder if there’s more to life than just . . . this.”

Another woman nods sympathetically as she adjusts my necklace. “I often dream of adventure, of seeing the world beyond these gilded cages we live in. But duty always calls us back, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” I agree, surprised by the candor of these women I’ve always kept at arm’s length. “We’re expected to be beautiful, charming, and silent. To secure advantageous marriages and produce heirs. But what about our own desires?”

A murmur of agreement ripples through the room.

“I wish I could just ride my horse wherever I please,” Marren says, a wistful look in her eyes. “To just take off across the countryside without a carriage and all the fuss.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? Where would you go?”

Marren’s face lights up, her blue eyes sparkling, “Everywhere! I want to see the real wilderness, not just the carefully manicured gardens we’re allowed to visit. To feel the wind in my hair as I gallop through open fields, to discover hidden valleys and climb rugged hills—”

“And get eaten by a manticore?” Sorel interjects with a laugh. “The forests are teaming with beasts, you know. It’s not all picturesque scenery out there.”

“You know about magical creatures?” I ask, surprised.

Sorel blushes slightly. “I . . . may have a bit of an interest in magizoology. My mother thinks it’s terribly unladylike, of course, but I find them fascinating. Did you know that unicorns can purify water just by dipping their horns in it?”

I can’t help but smile. “I did, actually. I’ve always been interested in magical beasts myself. My mother thinks it is quite odd.”

The other ladies join in, sharing their own secrets and desires.

“I’ve always wanted to learn swordsmanship,” one confesses with a giggle.

“And I’d love to study astronomy,” another adds. “To stay up all night charting the stars. . . ”

I smile, finding myself genuinely enjoying their company. The mood is light and humorous, a stark contrast to the usual stilted conversations at court. And I find myself struck by a sudden realization that leaves me feeling both embarrassed and humbled. For so long, I’ve viewed these noblewomen as a monolithic group, a faceless entity I dismissively labeled as “Ladies.”

They were obstacles to navigate, not individuals with their own hopes, dreams, and insecurities.

But now, listening to Marren’s wistful desire for adventure, Sorel’s hidden passion for magical creatures, and the other women’s wishes for unladylike pursuits, I’m seeing the human side of these women for the first time.

They’re not so different from me—each struggling with the expectations placid upon us. Each harboring secret desires and fears.

I feel a flush of shame creeping up my neck. How arrogant I’ve been, to dismiss them so easily. To assume I was somehow above their concerns and interests.

“What about you, Your Highness?” Alin asks. “Is there anything you wish you could do but haven’t?”

I blink, realizing I’ve been lost in thought. For a moment, I’m tempted to tell them about my dream of ruling without the constraints of marriage, of reshaping the kingdom in my own vision. But I hold back, instead offering a playful smile.

“Call me Layle. ‘Your Highness’ is such a mouthful. But I’ve always wanted to sneak into the kitchens at midnight and eat an entire chocolate cake by myself.”

The ladies burst into laughter, and I join them, reveling in this moment of camaraderie. It’s a reminder that beneath the layers of societal expectations and court politics, we’re not so different after all.

As our laughter subsides, I catch sight of myself in the mirror again. The woman looking back at me is still my usual formal appearance—polished, elegant, every inch a proper princess. But now I can see a spark of something else in her eyes. Determination, perhaps. Or hope.

Alin tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder, a coy smile playing on her lips. “You know,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I think this might be the Season I finally catch Tiernan Northgard’s eye.”

There’s an unexpected twinge in my chest at her words. “Oh?” I manage, trying to keep my voice neutral.

Alin nods enthusiastically. “He’s just so—commanding, isn’t he? And those blue eyes . . .” She sighs dreamily. “I’ve been working on my archery skills, you know. I thought I might challenge him to a friendly competition. Men love that sort of thing, don’t they?”

The other ladies giggle and nod in agreement, but I find myself gripping the arms of my chair, my knuckles turning white.

A surge of—something courses through me. Anger? Frustration? No, it’s more than that. It’s a fierce, possessive feeling that I can’t quite name.

My mind races as I try to make sense of this unexpected reaction. Why should I care if Alin, or any other woman, sets her sights on Tiernan? He means nothing to me beyond an occasional sparring partner in wit and words. We’re rivals, nothing more.

And yet. . .

The thought of him courting Alin, or any of these women, fills me with a burning sensation I can only describe as jealousy. It’s territorial, almost primal, and it makes absolutely no sense.

As I sit there, outwardly calm but inwardly reeling, one thought keeps circling in my mind: What is happening to me? And more importantly, what am I going to do about it?