Chapter 225: A Door, A Bath

The room was just as opulent as I remembered. No bed without Sey could truly compare to one with her, but the four-postered and overly-pillowed expanse certainly tried. Unfortunately, before I could draw a bath and not ten seconds after Mary had left came a sharp rapping on my door.

Now, given that the hallway outside my bedroom was also part of the chambers I was staying in, the person knocking so urgently was either very high ranking or had somehow skipped through the palace’s guards.

Either way, I had to answer the door, and I had to do it in human guise. With one longing look at the closed bathroom door, I turned the knob to reveal a prim-looking royal guard. For his part, he spent little time staring at my chest and instead looked up to face me, though he paled at the no-doubt impressive glower I wore.

“Marchioness Zarenna Miller, please follow me.”

No stutter—impressive.

“Alright,” I agreed icily.

He turned and walked stiffly down the hall. I kept up with his pace easily—he came up to my shoulders if that. Several well-kept turns and twists later, we arrived at a set of stone stairs descending into near darkness. I quirked an eyebrow.

“The captain has several questions for you.”

“In the dungeon,” I clarified.

The royal guard shook his head. “This is not the dungeon, it’s—”

“A dimly lit basement,” I finished for him. “Seems an odd place to ask questions.”

“…it is imperative the answers remain secret,” he said evasively.

“Right.” Like you can’t do that with any sitting room in the palace.

Well, the king knew what I was, but not all of what I was. Or what I could do, for instance. If this were a betrayal, all it’d earn him would be a seceded territory and a Renna-shaped hole in his roof.

“Lead the way,” I gestured down the stairs.

The guard nodded, and we headed down. Dark stone stairs will always, always remind me of that fateful night with Abigail and my reunion with my sister. Here, though, the air was damp and the air held a faintly caustic tang. We passed a few too-nice-for-a-dungeon doors before he stopped in front of one and knocked in a pattern.

There was no reply, but the door swung open. Inside, a bed with clearly magical manacles sat angled mostly upright. Next to it, behind a small table, sat a surprisingly genial-featured man in fine, but plain clothing. The only thing denoting his rank was a symbol on his breast that meant nothing to me. By context, it was a safe assumption he was the captain of the royal guard. And next to him, on front of the table and looking rather nervous, was the royal guard I’d met earlier.

I stepped inside, and predictably the door was closed behind me. And locked. And a powerful-looking ward snapped in place over it. At least the door wasn’t slammed.

“Was the ale spiked?” I asked.

“No,” the genial-faced man answered, and I got a better look at his eyes. They weren’t cold per se, but they gleamed with an intensity I’d only seen in zealots. He could be under forty, he could be a touch over, with a few gray hairs in his neatly-trimmed beard. His nails were short cut and immaculate on his callused hand as he gestured to the inclined bed. “If you would, please. This shouldn’t take long.”

The bed contraption probably had a name, but I didn’t know it and didn’t care to learn.

When I brought a hand to a manacle, it felt warm. Holy magic, like back in Malich’s dungeon.

This version was a good bit more humane than anything I’d seen in his dungeon, with rudimentary neck support and a clear lack of pointy bits. But that didn’t mean I was okay with this sort of degradation anymore. Did they have reason to suspect me? Absolutely.

Was it odd that I made it all the way to my room before being called back down here? Even more so—and the bit that’d puzzled me of how the royal guard had talked to King Carvalon and returned so quickly slotted into place. He hadn’t—he’d talked to his superior and that was why I was here now. Conflicting orders from different cogs in the machine.

I glanced down at the manacle.

“It shouldn’t hurt, Marchioness. And I apologize for any perceived debasement, but—”

He cut off abruptly as I grabbed a manacle. He choked when I crushed it in one hand. Calmly, I walked to the desk and dumped the bits of metal in front of him.

“I think I’ll stand, if that’s alright.”

He looked up at me, lips a thin, pale line. “Marchioness, if you do not—”

“Debase myself?” I cut him off again. “Your words. I am a citizen of Edath, and the Marchioness of Astrye, and you may ask King Carvalon for confirmation regarding what I am and what my goals are. I may not be noble by birth, but I doubt very much the permissibility of what you’re doing here.”

He met my gaze surprisingly evenly. “…Very well. What are those goals?”

“The protection of my friends, family, and the people of Astrye.” I folded my arms under my chest. “I would also very much like to avoid further bloodshed wherever and whenever possible.”

The genial-faced man turned to the rank-and-file. “You said you were certain she was a demon.”

“She said—”

“I am. This does not change my name or my rank. I don’t suppose I could have your name and rank?”

“I am the vice captain of the royal guard,” he answered. “A demon cannot be a citizen, let alone a noble.”

The king’s definitely not told everyone, unless he’s playing chess on five boards at once.

“Captain too scared to do this?” I prodded.

The vice captain’s jaw set, but I consumed his anger before it could even manifest. His brow knit. “How dare you.”

“No, how dare you,” I answered. “Tell your captain that I am not a thing to be tested.”

“You will satisfy my questions before you leave this room, demon.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I have a name, Vice Captain.”

“You will address me by my title.”

“You will do the same.”

“If you wish to leave this room, demon, I suggest you use the manacles you’ve not broken and submit.”

“Are you honestly stupid enough to believe they will hold me?”

“I am calling your bluff.”

“And I am going to go take a bath.” I took a step toward the door. “Tell your captain what I’ve said here, in fact, tell him whatever lies you wish. I don’t care to stop you.”

“Go ahead,” the vice captain said with a sneer. “Try.”

“…Vice Captain,” the royal guard’s voice was small. “I believe—”

“Quiet.”

The guard’s jaw snapped shut.

“While I understand your processes against demons,” I said in the most neutral tone I could muster, “you’ve made an easily avoided mistake. King Carvalon knows what I am, as does the Church, as does the Gelles Company, as do many others. I only hide what I am so I do not cause undue concern; I am no demon of envy, or of avarice.” I planted one hand against the ward; it glowed angrily and tried to push me back, jolts of lightning arcing through me. “I am Wrath,” I growled, “and I’m very straightforward.”

With one good shove and a lot more of my mana than I’d assumed, my hand crashed through the wards and the door beyond. I heard a startled yelp before my booted foot sent the rest of the door slamming into the far wall, hinges twisted and smoking.

“I’m going upstairs now,” I announced with a hiss of flame. “I will be in the guest quarters that have been provided to me by the king, taking a very long and very warm bath. Unless the castle or city is in imminent danger, anyone who bothers me will be—I assure you literally—thrown out.”

Thankfully, blessedly, no one followed me. And yes, I can unironically use “blessedly.” Dhias approved or something like that. My fury ebbed as I made it into the immaculate bathroom, claws clacking satisfyingly on shining tile.

I’d dropped the glamour the moment I’d entered my room, of course. The light that seeped in through closed curtains certainly wouldn’t give anyone untoward a view that’d scare them. Just because I could, I let the tub fill with cold as I lounged beside it, tail thumping the ground as three flaming hands drew hissing, steaming circles in the water.

Once the bath was properly boiling, I stuck my tail in to keep it that way and busied myself choosing the exact right oils I’d use. One for my hair—something smokey—and another for my body. Perhaps pine?

I’d always like the smell, especially after the rain. Petrichor. Kartania had taught me the word, actually. She’d always been quite the prodigy, and I found myself worrying a little as I slipped into the bath.

My lower arms scrubbed down, while the upper pair worked through my hair, dulled claws working through the knots and tangles I hadn’t even noticed. Lately, I hadn’t been braiding it for lack of time. Today, though?

I had several hours where I was to do nothing other than wait; I would fully luxuriate in the “me” time. If it weren’t pointless, I’d sharpen and polish my claws. Perhaps I ought to find some horn caps like Quiraxa? Sonia’s piercings wouldn’t hold with my absurd regeneration, and I didn’t like the thought of holes in my horns much.

Eventually, once half the water had boiled out, been replaced, and boiled out again, I rose from the bath and stretched, catching my fanged yawn in the bathroom’s mirror. Damn.

Conceit wasn’t my domain, and I definitely had lingering self esteem issues, but… damn. I was still posing and dripping, when a polite rapping sounded at the door to my bedroom.

“Marchioness,” Mary the maid’s muffled voice sounded. “You mustn’t be late!”

One last pose, and I replied with a stifled yawn. “Coming!”

I must’ve missed dinner then. I’ll admit, missing such fine food stung, but I was certainly better off without the company.

I glanced longingly at the extremely fluffy towel provided before simply evaporating all the water off myself. Next time. This time, instead of traveling wear, I conjured a formal outfit. A combination of the dress Countess Elstein had tailored for me for the Winter Solstice ball and the purple dress Elena had given me on Port Princely. I’d even gone for heels, as though someone who was two and a quarter meters tall—Sey had insisted on measuring me recently—needed any additional height.

The result was, well, unfair. Just a little bit needlessly provocative, and every bit the stage-play villainess. If my lips weren’t already pitch black, I’d feel the need to color them. In fact, I was so enamored by my own presence that I leaned down and opened the door without bothering to don a human guise.

“Ready!” I beamed.

And poor Mary froze. I think most of us have had the dream where we’re caught by some predator and all we’d need to do is make some noise, scream, do something and all we can do is stop and stare. Eyes wide as dinner plates, the unfortunate maid certainly had that look about her.

“Sorry,” I said quickly and with the least-villainous smile I could manage. “I suppose I should have warned you if I wasn’t going to wear my human form.”

She gulped, blinked, and took a shuddering breath.

“I’ve been a demon the whole time,” I continued, well aware and well beyond caring that anyone was listening. “I don’t bite… I don’t hurt people unless they hurt me first. More than that, you’ve been nothing but lovely and welcoming to me, both times.” And if someone tried to hurt you I’d punt them through a window, I think, but leave unsaid. “I mean, come on, have you seen how tall I am?”

She blinked rapidly, then nodded stiffly. “H-heels?”

“Overkill?” I asked, looking down. “I know I don’t need them; they’re impractical and not particularly comfortable.” But they do very fun things to the way I walk. Shame Sey isn’t here to watch.

Mary nodded again.

I thought about a room full of stuffy nobles. “Hmm. Perhaps you’re right.” An exaggerated snap of my fingers and I dropped a few centimeters. For good measure, I warped the dress fully into the Countess’s design—I know many nobles consider wearing the same dress to different events gauche, but screw them—and shifted to my human form. “Better?”

“I, uhhh…”

“It’s alright.” I tried another warm smile. “I got carried away is all. Actually, will you be alright? If I’m not already late, you’re more than welcome to come in and lie down, or lie down in the sitting room if that’s better.”

“N-no!” She shook her head, then whispered, “I… it’s alright. It’ll be alright. I… follow me, please, Marchioness.”

I nodded and did so, careful not to bump the doorframe on the way out. Outside my chambers a well-kempt royal guard was waiting. His chest bore a single, complex medallion, but his presence spoke of more. Not only that, he didn’t flash when I tried aura sight on him and found a particularly strong aura of… probably fire magic.

“Marchioness Miller,” he said with an inclination of his head.

I quickly tried to remember my lessons about etiquette and rank, but I couldn’t remember what was appropriate and defaulted to a similar, respectful nod. “I presume you are the captain of the royal guard?”

“You presume correctly.” His voice, like the man himself, was neatly kept, if a little plain. No inflections outside the norm and an unplaceable, neutral accent. Black hair, blue eyes, and strong cheekbones. Dimly, I realized he was quite tall for a human to boot—coming up to my chin.

“Are you here to apologize for your subordinate?” I ventured, fervently hoping that was the case. No weapons were drawn yet, after all, and I couldn’t hear anyone else in the hall but the three of us.

“I am,” he responded evenly. “In the time since, I have verified your claims and your records. Of particular note is the response of the Church representative currently in the city.”

Oh no.

“They claim you to be an altruist.” The faintest hint of a smile played across his lips.

“Have you spoken with the king?”

The captain shook his head. “No, His Majesty has been preparing for the very meeting you are about to attend. However, I do not doubt in his studiousness, he would have overlooked information so openly available.”

“Then how did your vice captain?” I asked, before realizing it might not have been the smartest play.

The captain’s expression darkened. “You will forgive me, Marchioness, but we are under constant threat of infiltration as you witnessed firsthand. My vice captain’s loyalty is without question, and his actions decisive, though he is not perfect.”

You can say that again. I also had a sinking feeling I knew who this Church representative was. Although… it could be worse? Right?

“Who is the Church representative?”

“I cannot say.”

“Will they attend the summit?”

“I cannot say.”

I blinked. Alright, points for earnestness, I suppose. For a moment, our gazes met, and I set my jaw as I decided to just take the high road. “I accept your apology. My condolences for the costs associated with replacement of that which I damaged.”

“You have given us valuable insight into the inadequacies of our containment measures, Marchioness. I will consider that fair compensation.”

You’d better!

“If that is all.” He turned on his heel and started to walk away.

“Wait,” I called out to him. “Why did your vice captain think taking me as he did was a good idea? Why did he think it would even work?”

The captain shrugged. “There is a reason he is the vice captain, Marchioness. And you have seen how the demons trying to infiltrate act. They are not so strong in an enclosed, warded, consecrated room. Nor are they inclined to reveal their facade.”

Consecrated? Was that the other ward? I… hadn’t even noticed.

I stared down at one human-looking hand. I am an existential threat to the continued existence of any human society I attempt to be a part of aren’t I? A real monster, if I wanted.

I clenched it into a fist. Well, monsters are made by decision, not physiology.

“Marchioness?” Mary asked timidly.

“Sorry.” I rolled my shoulders and straightened my posture. “Lead the way. I’m certain this will be quite the meeting.”