Like the last time, King Carvalon and I were alone in his throne room. And also like last time, he wore neat, elegant clothing that very nearly understated his title with a lack of pomp.
Cold blue eyes met mine, and he smiled. Or, he made a smile—the look had a carefully practiced ambiguity to it that served to snap my attention fully on him. This was a man who’d spent decades pretending to be a vapid dullard, and was now a reasonably well-liked, but draconian king.
The problems I had with him, now or in the future, and for the interest of my own homeland, could not be solved with fire or claw. A game of elegant social cues and statements with vicious, twisting subtext was his.
I’m not subtle enough for this. But, as Seyari told me, bluntness may be a hammer when no other tool will do. And no one expects a hammer at a tea party.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” I intoned, then bowed low.
“Greetings, Marchioness Miller.” There was a pleased hum at the end of my title. “For what reason have you sought audience.”
This is more formal than the last time. “I have received your messenger and title both, and come to you as your marchioness, to ask of my duties and expectations, beyond what I have found at home in Astrye.” I was careful enough to choose my words, and that I chose home did not go unnoticed.
“Home?”
“It is to be if I am to be Marchioness of Astrye.”
“A noble thought. It appears I’ve chosen well. As to your other duties…” King Carvalon leaned forward on his throne, and I couldn’t tell if he was feigning eagerness or hiding it. “You are to protect Astrye from incursion, and raise its prominence. Furthermore, I suspect that, without my influence, you will serve well to balance the nobility of this kingdom.”
I noticed as well that he didn’t say “my.” Truly a voice of the people, or just a façade?
“To this end, there are already rumors that I ennobled a demon in Astrye. A demon that killed a High Priest of Dhias.” The king’s voice held an edge. “What made you think such an overt act acceptable?”
“He gave me little choice. I gave him plenty.”
King Carvalon hummed. “I don’t disbelieve you. I knew of this High Priest, and I assure you he has few friends in Edath. That he was sent as aid to the south was a gesture meant to cause offense. He was, after all, involved against us in the war.”
“Is that why the Church of Dhias didn’t accost me when I returned to the city?”
“Did I give you permission to speak?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
King Carvalon smirked, and it irked me. “Regardless of your unfamiliarity with etiquette, you are correct—partially. My own influence was involved. And no, I do not expect reciprocation. You are my subject and a noble, Marchioness Zarenna Miller, and I have my duties to you just as you do to me.”
He wants something from me. So much for “not expecting reciprocation.”
“As such, I will aid in your education and introduction into Edathan nobility. There is a ball for the winter solstice, to be hosted in two weeks at Duke Reynard’s estate. All Edathan nobility are invited, and most are expected to attend, as the Duchy of Norgath is the most influential in the Kingdom.
“They are also staunchly opposed to full independence, as their family has strong Ordian ties going back to before Edath was conquered.”
I glared at King Carvalon and, to my surprise, he paused, gesturing for me to speak. “What, precisely, will you have me do?” I said, growling a little.
“I will have you attend the ball, of course. With or without an escort.”
“That’s it?”
King Carvalon laughed a hollow laugh. “Yes, Marchioness Miller. That is all. I know you, more than you know, and I know that you speak your mind. I fully expect you will not be trained in all the subtleties of the bullshit games played by those with more power than sense. In that, I look forward to the results.”
So he wants me to be the source of some kind of incident or conflict. He wants me to make a splash and he thinks he knows what and why. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me your goal?”
“I already have. You will likely be opposed to Duke Reynard as well, and he you. Although I do advise you to attend at least nominally in your human form. I don’t particularly wish to deal with a panic as large as you could cause, Demon Marchioness of Astrye.
“For the next two weeks, you will stay here in my castle. I have tutors and tailors prepared. You will learn of the most important nobility in detail and the others in passing. For the event, a dress will be prepared.”
I frowned. “How did you know I’d be coming here?”
“A good guess, nothing more.”
I restrained the urge to growl louder. “May I get a message to my family? My wife and daughter.”
“…You may. I was unaware you had adopted.”
“We’re doing the necessary paperwork in Astrye to make everything official.”
“I see. Well, a message can be arranged, at the very least. Do you plan to attend with Seyari?”
I shook my head. “No. Mordwell is somewhere south with at least one powerful demon. She is staying behind to help defend if needed.”
“Understandable given the situation. Very well then; pen a message and it will be sent.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
King Carvalon waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “If that is all, please leave the way you came. A servant will take you to your temporary quarters and explain your schedule.”
I rose, then stopped. “Actually, Your Majesty, there is one more thing.”
“Go on.”
“If I am Marchioness Miller, what should my wife, Seyari’s, title be?”
King Carvalon looked down at me, and I looked up at him. Silence dragged out, uncomfortably long in the cavernous throne room. “Marchioness,” he answered.
“But we’re both Marchioness Miller…”
“You have different personal names.”
“Yes, but—”
“You are dismissed, Zarenna Miller.”
I opened my mouth again and snapped it shut. Nodding, I rose, bowed again, and turned to leave the way I came in. If that’s the case, we’ll just have to come up with something.
The moment I walked out, I was approached by two servants: Edathan women in plain, earth-toned dresses with practiced smiles and hair pulled into buns. No guards, I noticed, but that made sense. Trying to stop me would be difficult, and presenting a force easily capable of it would draw far too much attention. At the very least, he trusts me not to act like a typical wrath demon—a step up from many.
“Marchioness Miller,” one of the servants said, the taller of the two who had piercing green eyes. “Please follow us. We’ve been informed that you need a dress for an upcoming event, that you will be staying the week as a guest of King Carvalon, and that you are to receive lessons on the nobility of the Kingdom and etiquette both.”
I blinked at the rapid-fire wall of words, then nodded, taking a quick step to keep up with the pair who’d already turned away. “Yes, that is my understanding.”
Truthfully, I wanted to get home to Astrye—I’m already thinking of it as home, aren’t I—but I understood the necessity. This was a chance to enter myself into noble society, to gain connections and take the first step towards influence. That King Carvalon had forced it upon me suddenly, on his schedule rather than mine irked me. More than irked, it pissed me off. But I understood why the King did this.
I am the Sovereign of Wrath. In order to demonstrate that I am under his control, he pulled me in a direction to see what would happen. Like a good horse being steered, I obeyed without stirrups. Frustrating as it was to play the part of a docile subject, at the same time, I had no conflict with him… well no rational conflict, assuming he was at least mostly truthful. That he trusts a demon to any extent points in that direction.
In short, I am an exceedingly powerful subject of a King leading a fractious court. As an ally, I could bolster his position, but there would be whispers and rumors. Perhaps even that I was controlling him. And so, my status as Sovereign at the very least needed to stay secret for now, and I needed to obey whatever my king asked of me. That he’d asked for something simple could be seen as an olive branch. One that I was inclined to take, and would follow through with provided his demands were kept reasonable. But he’d need to push me to maintain legitimacy.
Acceptable—for now.
As we walked through lavish halls and I thought about power dynamics of a scale I’d never imagined acting within, I noticed the first maid glancing my way, while the other not-so-subtly stared up at me.
“Yes?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?”
The maid flushed red and quickly looked away. “N-no, Marchioness. I… it is just that you are very tall.”
I fought to turn a giggle into an elegant-sounding chuckle. What came out was a snort, and the maid jumped a little, missing a step and very nearly stumbling.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to disparage you.” This time I managed the chuckle. “I’m tall—and big. They’ll probably have to use more fabric for my dress than for a pair of curtains, and short doorways give me a very real headache.”
Both maids glanced up at my joke, and I tapped my forehead with a finger. The maid who’d been staring at me—darker-eyed and darker-haired than the other, politely stifled a giggle. I noticed now that she was probably a decade or so younger than the one leading.
The older of the pair glared at me for a moment, then turned and continued walking, no doubt unwilling to issue me a reproach. “Please continue to follow; we’re almost there. The tailor will take your measurements, and she may ask you some questions about your preferences.”
“What about after? Do I have anything this afternoon?”
“Not that I am aware of. The royal tailor was available and able to be summoned at your arrival. It will take more time to organize your lessons.”
“Perhaps a few days?”
The older maid shook her head without turning around, then stopped at a door. “I cannot make a claim.”
“Tomorrow probably!” the younger maid chirped, walking around me to stand by the other. She looked a lot more relaxed than at first impression. “Tutor Mowen will probably be excited for an adult student.”
“Mary!” The older maid hissed, then bowed her head. “My apologies for any impropriety, Marchioness.”
Now this was behavior I wasn’t used to. But I need to be at least somewhat regal. “I don’t mind. I prefer to speak candidly, and appreciate the same.” I offered a small smile that was rebuffed by one and matched by the other. “Is this the door?”
The older maid nodded. “Yes.” She reached up and knocked on the door. “Marchioness Miller is here for her fitting.”
“Come in,” replied a bored-sounding voice.
In my head, I’d imagined Elena, the tailor who’d made my dress in Port Princely what seemed like a lifetime ago. Instead, as we walked in, I saw a stern-looking older woman, with long graying hair tied loosely behind her.
The dark blue dress she wore was traditional—not so outdated as to feature more hard construction than a chapel roof, but she was either very slim or fancied her corsets tighter than tourniquets.
Led between the maids, I inclined my head. In response, the tailor’s mouth dropped open.
“You’re huge!”
I raised my head, eyes wide with surprise at the tailor’s outburst. “No, I’m Marchioness Miller.” The terrible joke was the first thing that came to mind and it slipped out without warning like errant gas.
To my immense relief, the tailor smiled where the senior maid frowned. She held in a snort. “Where are my manners? I am Countess Veronika Elstein, and I do much of the royal tailoring. My apologies if my outburst offended you, but you have to be the tallest woman I have ever seen.”
In response, I shrugged and walked in further. “I can believe that. Where do you want me to stand?” For the first time, I looked around the room. It looked… well, like a sitting room, curtains drawn closed such that only thin threads of sunlight danced across lush carpets and plush furniture. A partition was set up in one corner, next to an open armoire. The top of it probably didn’t quite reach my shoulder.
“In the center. You’ll have to disrobe eventually, and you can either wait until necessary and make this process longer, or you can do it now. We’re both women anyway.” Countess Elstein said in a snippy tone. But… I could feel a little bit of mirth under her words.
“We leave her in your care then, Countess Elstein,” the older maid said with a bow. “Come, Mary.”
“Y-yes!”
The two maids left as swiftly as we entered, leaving me alone in a room with the countess. For a moment, I thought about trying to maintain my modesty for longer, but… eh, screw it.
“I’ll disrobe now, if that’s fine.”
“Preferred, in fact. Let me see if I have a ribbon long enough.” She gestured to the privacy screen.
I supposed there was a sort of benefit to having a private place to disrobe, and I quickly stepped behind it, working out of my clothes. My symbol and gem stood out on my chest, unhidden by fabric.
Right, that.
I usually kept myself well-covered, so the fact that my human transformation didn’t hide my symbol was something I’d honestly forgotten. There were dress designs to get around that easily enough, but I’d have to explain something to the countess.
“Do you have a style in mind?” I asked as I ducked low enough to try to make the screen do its job—and to buy myself more time.
“Are you dreading wearing what I am?” came the response, in amongst shuffling noises.
“Yes,” I answered bluntly. “I’d like something more modern. Closer to a chemise than an architectural marvel.”
Countess Elstein chuckled. “My, you are an interesting one, Marchioness Miller. I won’t see you introduced in undergarments parading around as real clothing, but I suppose I can come up with something simpler in design. A large crinoline would be a mistake for someone of your stature, anyway—unless you needed a tent.”
“My current tent is more than serviceable, thank you,” I said dryly, which earned a disturbingly-polite chuckle.
“Are you ready, dear?”
I loosely folded the last of my clothing and took a deep breath. Funny enough, I wasn’t nervous about parading my naked self in front of a stranger—a professional, but a stranger. No, I was nervous about what I was going to tell her.
The best lies always had a hint of truth in them, after all. Do not mention the gem, perhaps wear similar jewelry, and the symbol can be explained by a simple greater demon.
A simple greater demon.
I stood and walked out from behind cover, wearing the best smile I could muster.
“Ready!”
Countess Elstein looked up, carrying a second marked ribbon, and she froze. “My word. Are you drinking enough water, dear?”
“What?”
“Your muscles—my husband used to be a knight, you see. To show like that, you usually must—I apologize, I should not be unprofessional.” She looked me up and down clinically. “Your figure is, well, most women I work for would kill for proportions like yours. Your waist isn’t so small, but with your height and musculature, it would look uncanny. And I’m disinclined to try to ruin your stature with a thin waist anyway. Please, stand there and stretch out your arms.”
I did as she asked, and she walked up next to me, then continued, “I think I’ll need a stool. Would you mind, dear?” She pointed to a step-stool along the rear wall.
I walked over as asked, very careful about where I was facing when I bent down for it. On the way back, her eyes fixed below my neckline, right at my sternum. “What a fascinating tattoo! Most women, nobility especially, shy away from such markings, but yours is so prominent. And that jewel! Is it… embedded? Does it hurt?”
“Uhm, no? I mean—it is embedded and, no, it doesn’t hurt.” I set the stool next to her and stood again with my arms out. “How long will this take?”
“Not long at all!” She grinned. “is what I usually say, but there’s a lot of you to cover and I do wish I were a bit younger for some of these measurements. I may go against my own rules and ask you to hold the ribbon.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Wonderful!” Countess Elstein got started, first measuring around my bust. “Best get this out of the way. You know,” her eyes alighted again on my symbol, “I think I might plunge the neckline a little, really show off your unique body art.”
Oh no. “No, really. I’m fine if—”
“Nonsense! Your beauty must shine through, and I will be sure to bring it out.”
I stammered. Quick, Zarenna, think of something! She might not recognize the symbol, but someone else will for sure!
Or… I could tell her just a little bit more—like I’d thought I would have to—and get her on my side. I might also be able to get a demon-form compatible article, now or later. “Countess Elstein,” I started.
“Yes, dear?” she mumbled, a pin in her mouth as she fixed one ribbon in place.
“Would you mind if I told you a little more about my tattoo?”
MadMaxine
New dress? New dress.
If you want to read more, my Patreon's about nine weeks ahead of public posting! There are also a few side and short stories!
Also, consider checking out my other story, Scales & Shadows.
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Like the last time, King Carvalon and I were alone in his throne room. And also like last time, he wore neat, elegant clothing that very nearly understated his title with a lack of pomp.
Cold blue eyes met mine, and he smiled. Or, he made a smile—the look had a carefully practiced ambiguity to it that served to snap my attention fully on him. This was a man who’d spent decades pretending to be a vapid dullard, and was now a reasonably well-liked, but draconian king.
The problems I had with him, now or in the future, and for the interest of my own homeland, could not be solved with fire or claw. A game of elegant social cues and statements with vicious, twisting subtext was his.
I’m not subtle enough for this. But, as Seyari told me, bluntness may be a hammer when no other tool will do. And no one expects a hammer at a tea party.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” I intoned, then bowed low.
“Greetings, Marchioness Miller.” There was a pleased hum at the end of my title. “For what reason have you sought audience.”
This is more formal than the last time. “I have received your messenger and title both, and come to you as your marchioness, to ask of my duties and expectations, beyond what I have found at home in Astrye.” I was careful enough to choose my words, and that I chose home did not go unnoticed.
“Home?”
“It is to be if I am to be Marchioness of Astrye.”
“A noble thought. It appears I’ve chosen well. As to your other duties…” King Carvalon leaned forward on his throne, and I couldn’t tell if he was feigning eagerness or hiding it. “You are to protect Astrye from incursion, and raise its prominence. Furthermore, I suspect that, without my influence, you will serve well to balance the nobility of this kingdom.”
I noticed as well that he didn’t say “my.” Truly a voice of the people, or just a façade?
“To this end, there are already rumors that I ennobled a demon in Astrye. A demon that killed a High Priest of Dhias.” The king’s voice held an edge. “What made you think such an overt act acceptable?”
“He gave me little choice. I gave him plenty.”
King Carvalon hummed. “I don’t disbelieve you. I knew of this High Priest, and I assure you he has few friends in Edath. That he was sent as aid to the south was a gesture meant to cause offense. He was, after all, involved against us in the war.”
“Is that why the Church of Dhias didn’t accost me when I returned to the city?”
“Did I give you permission to speak?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
King Carvalon smirked, and it irked me. “Regardless of your unfamiliarity with etiquette, you are correct—partially. My own influence was involved. And no, I do not expect reciprocation. You are my subject and a noble, Marchioness Zarenna Miller, and I have my duties to you just as you do to me.”
He wants something from me. So much for “not expecting reciprocation.”
“As such, I will aid in your education and introduction into Edathan nobility. There is a ball for the winter solstice, to be hosted in two weeks at Duke Reynard’s estate. All Edathan nobility are invited, and most are expected to attend, as the Duchy of Norgath is the most influential in the Kingdom.
“They are also staunchly opposed to full independence, as their family has strong Ordian ties going back to before Edath was conquered.”
I glared at King Carvalon and, to my surprise, he paused, gesturing for me to speak. “What, precisely, will you have me do?” I said, growling a little.
“I will have you attend the ball, of course. With or without an escort.”
“That’s it?”
King Carvalon laughed a hollow laugh. “Yes, Marchioness Miller. That is all. I know you, more than you know, and I know that you speak your mind. I fully expect you will not be trained in all the subtleties of the bullshit games played by those with more power than sense. In that, I look forward to the results.”
So he wants me to be the source of some kind of incident or conflict. He wants me to make a splash and he thinks he knows what and why. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me your goal?”
“I already have. You will likely be opposed to Duke Reynard as well, and he you. Although I do advise you to attend at least nominally in your human form. I don’t particularly wish to deal with a panic as large as you could cause, Demon Marchioness of Astrye.
“For the next two weeks, you will stay here in my castle. I have tutors and tailors prepared. You will learn of the most important nobility in detail and the others in passing. For the event, a dress will be prepared.”
I frowned. “How did you know I’d be coming here?”
“A good guess, nothing more.”
I restrained the urge to growl louder. “May I get a message to my family? My wife and daughter.”
“…You may. I was unaware you had adopted.”
“We’re doing the necessary paperwork in Astrye to make everything official.”
“I see. Well, a message can be arranged, at the very least. Do you plan to attend with Seyari?”
I shook my head. “No. Mordwell is somewhere south with at least one powerful demon. She is staying behind to help defend if needed.”
“Understandable given the situation. Very well then; pen a message and it will be sent.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
King Carvalon waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “If that is all, please leave the way you came. A servant will take you to your temporary quarters and explain your schedule.”
I rose, then stopped. “Actually, Your Majesty, there is one more thing.”
“Go on.”
“If I am Marchioness Miller, what should my wife, Seyari’s, title be?”
King Carvalon looked down at me, and I looked up at him. Silence dragged out, uncomfortably long in the cavernous throne room. “Marchioness,” he answered.
“But we’re both Marchioness Miller…”
“You have different personal names.”
“Yes, but—”
“You are dismissed, Zarenna Miller.”
I opened my mouth again and snapped it shut. Nodding, I rose, bowed again, and turned to leave the way I came in. If that’s the case, we’ll just have to come up with something.
The moment I walked out, I was approached by two servants: Edathan women in plain, earth-toned dresses with practiced smiles and hair pulled into buns. No guards, I noticed, but that made sense. Trying to stop me would be difficult, and presenting a force easily capable of it would draw far too much attention. At the very least, he trusts me not to act like a typical wrath demon—a step up from many.
“Marchioness Miller,” one of the servants said, the taller of the two who had piercing green eyes. “Please follow us. We’ve been informed that you need a dress for an upcoming event, that you will be staying the week as a guest of King Carvalon, and that you are to receive lessons on the nobility of the Kingdom and etiquette both.”
I blinked at the rapid-fire wall of words, then nodded, taking a quick step to keep up with the pair who’d already turned away. “Yes, that is my understanding.”
Truthfully, I wanted to get home to Astrye—I’m already thinking of it as home, aren’t I—but I understood the necessity. This was a chance to enter myself into noble society, to gain connections and take the first step towards influence. That King Carvalon had forced it upon me suddenly, on his schedule rather than mine irked me. More than irked, it pissed me off. But I understood why the King did this.
I am the Sovereign of Wrath. In order to demonstrate that I am under his control, he pulled me in a direction to see what would happen. Like a good horse being steered, I obeyed without stirrups. Frustrating as it was to play the part of a docile subject, at the same time, I had no conflict with him… well no rational conflict, assuming he was at least mostly truthful. That he trusts a demon to any extent points in that direction.
In short, I am an exceedingly powerful subject of a King leading a fractious court. As an ally, I could bolster his position, but there would be whispers and rumors. Perhaps even that I was controlling him. And so, my status as Sovereign at the very least needed to stay secret for now, and I needed to obey whatever my king asked of me. That he’d asked for something simple could be seen as an olive branch. One that I was inclined to take, and would follow through with provided his demands were kept reasonable. But he’d need to push me to maintain legitimacy.
Acceptable—for now.
As we walked through lavish halls and I thought about power dynamics of a scale I’d never imagined acting within, I noticed the first maid glancing my way, while the other not-so-subtly stared up at me.
“Yes?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?”
The maid flushed red and quickly looked away. “N-no, Marchioness. I… it is just that you are very tall.”
I fought to turn a giggle into an elegant-sounding chuckle. What came out was a snort, and the maid jumped a little, missing a step and very nearly stumbling.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to disparage you.” This time I managed the chuckle. “I’m tall—and big. They’ll probably have to use more fabric for my dress than for a pair of curtains, and short doorways give me a very real headache.”
Both maids glanced up at my joke, and I tapped my forehead with a finger. The maid who’d been staring at me—darker-eyed and darker-haired than the other, politely stifled a giggle. I noticed now that she was probably a decade or so younger than the one leading.
The older of the pair glared at me for a moment, then turned and continued walking, no doubt unwilling to issue me a reproach. “Please continue to follow; we’re almost there. The tailor will take your measurements, and she may ask you some questions about your preferences.”
“What about after? Do I have anything this afternoon?”
“Not that I am aware of. The royal tailor was available and able to be summoned at your arrival. It will take more time to organize your lessons.”
“Perhaps a few days?”
The older maid shook her head without turning around, then stopped at a door. “I cannot make a claim.”
“Tomorrow probably!” the younger maid chirped, walking around me to stand by the other. She looked a lot more relaxed than at first impression. “Tutor Mowen will probably be excited for an adult student.”
“Mary!” The older maid hissed, then bowed her head. “My apologies for any impropriety, Marchioness.”
Now this was behavior I wasn’t used to. But I need to be at least somewhat regal. “I don’t mind. I prefer to speak candidly, and appreciate the same.” I offered a small smile that was rebuffed by one and matched by the other. “Is this the door?”
The older maid nodded. “Yes.” She reached up and knocked on the door. “Marchioness Miller is here for her fitting.”
“Come in,” replied a bored-sounding voice.
In my head, I’d imagined Elena, the tailor who’d made my dress in Port Princely what seemed like a lifetime ago. Instead, as we walked in, I saw a stern-looking older woman, with long graying hair tied loosely behind her.
The dark blue dress she wore was traditional—not so outdated as to feature more hard construction than a chapel roof, but she was either very slim or fancied her corsets tighter than tourniquets.
Led between the maids, I inclined my head. In response, the tailor’s mouth dropped open.
“You’re huge!”
I raised my head, eyes wide with surprise at the tailor’s outburst. “No, I’m Marchioness Miller.” The terrible joke was the first thing that came to mind and it slipped out without warning like errant gas.
To my immense relief, the tailor smiled where the senior maid frowned. She held in a snort. “Where are my manners? I am Countess Veronika Elstein, and I do much of the royal tailoring. My apologies if my outburst offended you, but you have to be the tallest woman I have ever seen.”
In response, I shrugged and walked in further. “I can believe that. Where do you want me to stand?” For the first time, I looked around the room. It looked… well, like a sitting room, curtains drawn closed such that only thin threads of sunlight danced across lush carpets and plush furniture. A partition was set up in one corner, next to an open armoire. The top of it probably didn’t quite reach my shoulder.
“In the center. You’ll have to disrobe eventually, and you can either wait until necessary and make this process longer, or you can do it now. We’re both women anyway.” Countess Elstein said in a snippy tone. But… I could feel a little bit of mirth under her words.
“We leave her in your care then, Countess Elstein,” the older maid said with a bow. “Come, Mary.”
“Y-yes!”
The two maids left as swiftly as we entered, leaving me alone in a room with the countess. For a moment, I thought about trying to maintain my modesty for longer, but… eh, screw it.
“I’ll disrobe now, if that’s fine.”
“Preferred, in fact. Let me see if I have a ribbon long enough.” She gestured to the privacy screen.
I supposed there was a sort of benefit to having a private place to disrobe, and I quickly stepped behind it, working out of my clothes. My symbol and gem stood out on my chest, unhidden by fabric.
Right, that.
I usually kept myself well-covered, so the fact that my human transformation didn’t hide my symbol was something I’d honestly forgotten. There were dress designs to get around that easily enough, but I’d have to explain something to the countess.
“Do you have a style in mind?” I asked as I ducked low enough to try to make the screen do its job—and to buy myself more time.
“Are you dreading wearing what I am?” came the response, in amongst shuffling noises.
“Yes,” I answered bluntly. “I’d like something more modern. Closer to a chemise than an architectural marvel.”
Countess Elstein chuckled. “My, you are an interesting one, Marchioness Miller. I won’t see you introduced in undergarments parading around as real clothing, but I suppose I can come up with something simpler in design. A large crinoline would be a mistake for someone of your stature, anyway—unless you needed a tent.”
“My current tent is more than serviceable, thank you,” I said dryly, which earned a disturbingly-polite chuckle.
“Are you ready, dear?”
I loosely folded the last of my clothing and took a deep breath. Funny enough, I wasn’t nervous about parading my naked self in front of a stranger—a professional, but a stranger. No, I was nervous about what I was going to tell her.
The best lies always had a hint of truth in them, after all. Do not mention the gem, perhaps wear similar jewelry, and the symbol can be explained by a simple greater demon.
A simple greater demon.
I stood and walked out from behind cover, wearing the best smile I could muster.
“Ready!”
Countess Elstein looked up, carrying a second marked ribbon, and she froze. “My word. Are you drinking enough water, dear?”
“What?”
“Your muscles—my husband used to be a knight, you see. To show like that, you usually must—I apologize, I should not be unprofessional.” She looked me up and down clinically. “Your figure is, well, most women I work for would kill for proportions like yours. Your waist isn’t so small, but with your height and musculature, it would look uncanny. And I’m disinclined to try to ruin your stature with a thin waist anyway. Please, stand there and stretch out your arms.”
I did as she asked, and she walked up next to me, then continued, “I think I’ll need a stool. Would you mind, dear?” She pointed to a step-stool along the rear wall.
I walked over as asked, very careful about where I was facing when I bent down for it. On the way back, her eyes fixed below my neckline, right at my sternum. “What a fascinating tattoo! Most women, nobility especially, shy away from such markings, but yours is so prominent. And that jewel! Is it… embedded? Does it hurt?”
“Uhm, no? I mean—it is embedded and, no, it doesn’t hurt.” I set the stool next to her and stood again with my arms out. “How long will this take?”
“Not long at all!” She grinned. “is what I usually say, but there’s a lot of you to cover and I do wish I were a bit younger for some of these measurements. I may go against my own rules and ask you to hold the ribbon.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Wonderful!” Countess Elstein got started, first measuring around my bust. “Best get this out of the way. You know,” her eyes alighted again on my symbol, “I think I might plunge the neckline a little, really show off your unique body art.”
Oh no. “No, really. I’m fine if—”
“Nonsense! Your beauty must shine through, and I will be sure to bring it out.”
I stammered. Quick, Zarenna, think of something! She might not recognize the symbol, but someone else will for sure!
Or… I could tell her just a little bit more—like I’d thought I would have to—and get her on my side. I might also be able to get a demon-form compatible article, now or later. “Countess Elstein,” I started.
“Yes, dear?” she mumbled, a pin in her mouth as she fixed one ribbon in place.
“Would you mind if I told you a little more about my tattoo?”
MadMaxine
New dress? New dress.
If you want to read more, my Patreon's about nine weeks ahead of public posting! There are also a few side and short stories!
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