Belle lay in Z’s bath, swallowed in her own floating curls, until long after the water had cooled. The entire time, she stared at the dress that hung on the pale stone wall before her. Just beside the dress was an enormous, full-length mirror framed by gold in floral patterns, so Belle could see her own empty green eyes watching her from just over the bath’s lip. The bath was cut into the floor with a carved stone seat so one could recline without drowning.
When she looked into her reflection, she saw no fear, despite the fact that in a matter of hours she, Jac, and Z would be heading back to Broken Earth. To him. She saw no joy either, despite the fact that her Kitten had been returned to her safe, or that Pait had found someone to look after her, or the fact that maybe, just maybe, Daivad was the man she thought he was. She’d had to let all of those things go the moment she stepped into the steaming water of this bath. She spent hours washing it all off her, all thought and feeling associated with these wild few weeks away from him.
The transformation had begun.
Sooner than later, she was going to have to finish it.
Belle lifted her face above the surface of the water to take a deep, steadying breath before finally sitting up. With the sound of swishing water crashing around the bathroom, Belle stepped out of the bath. Her curls plastered themselves all across her body like vines—she could imagine them begging her not to tuck them away, begging her to let them stay wild and loose, as she had since she’d headed toward Urden weeks ago.
Dripping steadily, Belle picked up the comb carved from bone that lay on the lip of the tub and the little jar of fruity-smelling cream that sat next to it before approaching the mirror. She set the comb and jar before the mirror and did her best to pull all of her hair into one mass over her left shoulder so she didn’t accidentally sit on it, then sank to the cold, wet tile.
She regarded herself in the mirror for a moment, noticing her naked body, her dripping skin, the way her eyelashes stuck together, the way her front teeth peeked out from behind her slightly parted lips, and feeling nothing. Good.
Belle was just reaching for the jar when a knock came from the doorway where only a curtain provided privacy from the rest of the house. She hadn’t even noticed Z’s magic approach.
“Come in,” she said softly.
Z, back in his more masculine face, lifted the curtain aside and stepped through. He looked ready to leave, dressed in a fitted, fashionable brown and green traveling suit that he probably thought made him look humble.
In a rumbling voice, Z said, “Your monster is terrorizing my staff.”
Belle couldn’t help but smile, even though the bubble of joy that rose in her throat felt like it belonged to someone else. Some other Belle. When she’d headed for her bath, she’d left Julius to babysit Kitten upstairs, listening to the alternating sounds of playful growls and “Fuck you, sir!”
“Which one?” she asked.
“Both of them,” Z responded. He wore his usual cocky smirk, but within his magic, tucked away at its very center, she thought she saw a ripple of fear. He wasn’t much more excited than she was to be heading back to Broken Earth. To face the queen, and his mother.
Belle faced the mirror once more and found Z’s reflection in it. To it, she said, “Thank you for letting them stay here, Z. And thank you for letting me go find him.”
So she didn’t have to watch his reaction, Belle focused once again on the jar. She opened it and daubed her fingers into the sweet-scented cream before spreading it between her hands and then dragging it gently through her curls. Z was quiet for several moments, his only sound the snap of his traveling boots across the tile as he approached her.
“Do you know where you’ll keep him?” Z asked.
“I asked Julius to keep that eye of his on Kitten. The old abandoned graveyard in the outer circle where Julius and the others live is big enough for one more little beast, and there he’ll have some friends to keep him from straying out into the city.”
“I hope there’s a whole little village in that graveyard, because from the racket I’m hearing out there, that’s what it will take to keep that little beast in one place. And even then, I don’t think we can name him Little for long.”
Sick worry squirmed in Belle’s stomach, but that too felt far away. She just nodded, then picked up the comb and began to draw it through the ends of her hair.
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After a sigh, Z sat on the wet floor behind her—only to yelp and stand back up immediately. “Ay, did those doe eyes of yours skip over the stack of towels on the counter? There’s an inch of water here, Nyx.”
She smiled at his reflection as he twisted around to look at the damp seat of his pants. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, I bet.”
He shot her reflection a look before fetching one of the towels. Then, after a moment of consideration, he grabbed two more. He laid the folded towels behind Belle and resumed his seat there so his bright, hazel eyes hovered over the top of her head.
After a moment, he leaned forward to rest his chin on her bare shoulder and asked, “Have you found her in there yet?”
Years ago, it was Z who had helped her find Lady Belle for the first time. Helped her become someone who could survive the castle. It was his specialty, after all. Becoming.
“I found her,” Belle said, “but haven’t managed to wake her yet…. She’s been asleep for weeks, you know.”
“Want help?” he asked, twirling a curl around one of his fingers.
But Belle didn’t pause in her combing, adding another heap of cream to her hair when her curls had sucked it all up. “Everything I’ve put you through—and you want to spend an hour braiding my hair?”
Z’s silence surprised her—normally he had a quip for everything. She glanced up to watch him consider his response. The mirror reflected his gaze at hers as he said, “Whatever waits for me within that carved castle, what waits for you is something worse.”
A minute smile twitched Belle’s lips. “So it’s a pity braid, then?”
“No,” a soft growl rumbled her shoulder. “I just mean I trust that your secret hoarding weighs heavy with purpose if you’d risk … poking the bear to keep them.”
She turned her head to kiss his whiskery cheek, and he smiled.
“Plus,” he added. “An hour’s worth of this sight,” he gestured to her naked figure in the mirror, “is one I’d greatly enjoy.”
“Ah, there it is.”
He returned her cheek-kiss. “Turns out, Nyx, I can’t stay mad at you.”
“Thank you,” Belle whispered. “But I think I need to tuck all the curls away myself. I need to spend time with her, tie up every stray emotion. Make sure she’s here, completely, before we pass through those jaws around the outer gate.”
“Alright,” he purred, and gifted her one last kiss before standing.
It took several more minutes to finish detangling her hair, saturating it with cream, but finally, she began to braid.
Growing up, Belle had always admired the intricate updos of the ladies of Lushale’s high society but she’d never had the patience to attempt them on her own wild mane. Besides, she had always loved the way Mama T’s own long blonde hair flew when she danced, how it fanned around her when she twirled in the silks, and Belle had wanted to be just like her Mama T.
But now, the hours spent sectioning her hair, the feel of her own curls slipping through her fingers as she twisted or braided, the steadying tug against her scalp, and the whole process of safely tucking all of that wildness away where it couldn’t hurt and couldn’t be hurt—they grounded her. There was a special magic in this quiet, private act of caring for herself. She knew that magic was there even when she couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it.
Her hair was how she steeled herself. The pale yellow curls and all the care she wove into them were often the only rope anchoring her to the true Belle. Without that lifeline, she thought she might truly lose herself.
She chose a complex style this time, one that stacked braid upon braid around and around the crown of her head, with carefully chosen curls pulled free to dust her face and shoulders, and finally at the base of her skull, a section of coils left to cascade down her spine. Eventually, at least. For now, she wrapped the section around the silk scarf that matched the dress staring down at her, to keep the curls wound safely at the nape of her neck until they reached the castle. Reached him. And she tied the scarf, a deep green to match her eyes, with a bow just above her forehead.
Now fully dry, Belle finally stood. She looked at the dress without fear.
It was one of many Richard had given her.
She never knew what mood she would find him in after some days away—when she was with him, she was usually quite skilled at managing his temper, but the longer they spent apart, the less controlled he became. Greeting him with the gift that was her body, presenting it in the wrapping he had chosen could be the difference between a warm reunion and a violent one. It was far from a guarantee, though.
Belle took the dress in her arms to regard it. An emerald green, it was far too fine a garment for someone of Belle’s status as Entertainment, but those were the “perks” of being the prince’s own personal Entertainment. The fabric was light, the dress sleeveless and scoop-necked, and the slit up the sides exposed plenty of flesh, but as she let it slide over her skin, let it fall perfectly into place, Belle felt like she was donning armor. With the final addition of the pale green shawl she draped across her shoulders, the transformation was complete.
Belle looked in the mirror and saw her. Lady Belle.
She lifted her head, pulled her shoulders back, and smiled.