RAYA BANKS

I was still breathing heavily, not being able to calm the shaking in my hands when the sandy-haired man led us through the infirmary quarters.

“The maidservants will prepare your living quarters, but you stay here for now until the nursemaids get a good look at yer,” Igor grumbled, motioning us to the low wooden canopy bed that had been covered neatly with a thick white duvet.

I settled on it embarrassedly, feeling a wave of heat creep up my cheeks as I avoided the man’s obsidian gaze, focusing instead on Mary’s slender form as she sauntered around the room, touching each and every boxed flower and sculpted...