The next several hours passed in a painful blur.

The matronly woman in charge, named Grett, was Lady Trigg’s domestic second, which really meant Grett handled the actual maid duties that would ordinarily fall under the Princess’s Lady’s duties. Lady Trigg was apparently a fan of delegation.

Grett had several maids douse me in a caustic white powder and brushed out the burs in my fur, working the powder in up to the skin. When some of the powder hit my stump, my still almost open wound, I hissed from the horrible sensation. Grett’s reaction was to click her tongue, complain about damaged assets, and then brush the powder into the stump itself.

I yelped from the contact, the soft metal bristles digging into the silver-covered wound, pushing the powder further in. I squirmed. I tried to escape Grett’s administrations. But she tsked, and two other maids held me down and clamped my muzzle shut.

It was humiliating. It was painful. They overpowered me and trussed me up like the groomers would to a mean dog.

After the powder was brushed out, along with tangles, and the ‘fleas,’ which I still had yet to see evidence of, they shoved me into a metal tub.

It had been ages since I had a bath. For a moment I hoped that at least I could gain something from this experience.

And then one of the maids dumped a bucket of cold water over my head.

Frigid.

Surprisingly so.

Since they had so brutally held my muzzle shut the last time I had complained, I gritted my teeth and maintained a stoic front. This was hardly the worst thing I had experienced.

They used soap scented with jasmine and lavender. I assumed it was expensive, as Grett referred to it as the ‘Princess’s good stuff.’

I found the scent enjoyable. At least until they got it in my eyes. And up my nose.

They scrubbed it in. Then poured another bucket of cold water over my head.

They rinsed. They repeated. I was humiliated.

But finally, they pulled me from the bath, and they dried me with a coarse towel. If they were slightly less rough, I would have felt pampered.

Then came a different set of brushes.

My fur was left smooth and burrless, at least what fur I had left.

Then came the oils, worked in through my fur and skin, leaving both silky soft.

Then they forced me to sit upon a camp chair, and they fussed upon my claws. It was almost comparable to a pedicure. At least, it would have been, were it not for the forceful gripping of my ankles, of my arm, and were it not for the wet-stones they used.

At the end, I had to admit, my claws were smoothed and they shined and they looked better than they ever had before. My fur was silky soft, and for once, I enjoyed having it. It was comparable to a luxurious coat that a wealthy woman might wear, and that certain organizations might paint-bomb.

Grett fussed over me, then pulled me up from the camp chair.

I was still naked, except for the collar. The very same collar that sealed my Marks and left me near helpless. I still needed to locate and abscond with the key.

“Can’t have you runnin’ about naked,” Grett admonished, “And it doesn’t matter what you savages normally like. It’s not fitting.”

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“Agreed,” I managed to say, though I was unsure why I bothered at all. Especially as she continued speaking over me, uncaring of my thoughts.

“Besides, your flesh is for Her Highness alone, unless Her Highness decides to share.”

Or unless I decided to share, as my body was my own, not that I bothered to correct the woman. As long as I got clothes out of this, I could refrain from further protestations.

“But what should she wear?” Grett asked.

One of the lesser maids proffered their advice. “Could wear servants’ garb?”

“For Her Highness’s pet?!” Grett scoffed. “Too coarse.”

“Soldier’s tunic?”

“Same problem, child.”

“Maybe Lady Trigg could offer–”

“-that’s it! Those tea-robes. The off-set. We brought a spare, yes? Grab that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The lesser maid scurried off and soon returned with a silken set of robes with long sleeves and a short bottom. It was plain maroon with black trimmings, and an oleander flower was embroidered over the heart.

Grett fussed over the robe, and then gave me what could only be called a stink eye. “Beastie,” she called me. “This robe is worth more than you… keep your claws from snagging it. Move carefully in it. Avoid damaging it, if you value your hide.”

I almost wanted to ask, ‘or what.’ But I was not fool enough to taunt the woman.

However, she almost seemed to feel my doubt, or my resistance. Or perhaps, she merely wished to stack upon the severity of the issue.

“Believe me, beastie. Damage these robes, shame me, us? You’ll find lye soap to be the least of your worries. Never cross the maids.”

As Grett finished, the lesser maids joined her in glaring at me.

I swallowed any further protestations, and simply nodded. “A-as you say,” I said.

“Good,” Grett said, almost harrumphing. “Now slip this on.”

The robe slid on easily. Luxurious. The sleeves were longer than my arm, and the bottom came down to my knees. If Lady Trigg were to wear the robes, they would barely cover her backside. But as I was shorter, the robe covered more. I was thankful for the modesty. One problem, however, was my tail. It rumpled the back of the robe, and left unseemly wrinkles in the fabric.

The maids discussed the problem. They refused to modify the garment for the tail, but they worried that the unseemly ripples on the backside would offend Her Highness. Their solution was to tie a weight around the middle of my tail, so that my tail nearly dragged on the ground.

It was only a temporary solution, until either Her Highness bored of me, or they returned to Southbridge.

And with that, my humiliation with the maids was over. They stood me up, inspected their work, and then called me acceptable for camp expectations.

One of the maids left the tent, and soon Lady Trigg came to collect me.

She gave me a once over and nodded.

“Acceptable work, Second.”

Grett almost blushed. “My thanks, Lady Trigg.”

Lady Trigg snapped her fingers at me and turned to leave.

“Heel.”

I stood there in a confused shock, anger slowly building. I was not a pet dog. I was not.

“Best follow, beastie.” Grett gave me a nudge and I stumbled forward.

Lady Trigg glanced over her shoulder and raised a brow.

“Some training required,” she stated.

Without the key, I could not unseal my collar. And without my Marks, I could not even hope to resist, let alone escape. I had little choice but to oblige this petty tyrant. So I swallowed my pride, and I followed after her, reluctantly, head down.

We exited the the maids’ tent, and once again the difference between the gloomy tent and the exterior caused me to wince. Nevermind that the sky was a perpetual overcast. I wondered if some soap was still in my eye.

I followed Lady Trigg as she confidently strode towards the centermost pavilion, the largest pavilion, and the one most ornamented.

One of the soldiers catcalled. Lady Trigg tightened a hair, but made no move otherwise.

“Hey kitty! Show me the goods!” A female soldier shouted and laughed.

Irritating. On so many levels.

I did my best to ignore them all, to ignore the attention, to pretend I was invisible.

Were I unsealed, I could have made myself invisible in truth.

A familiar voice shouted as it approached.

“Lady Trigg!” Kate said, rushing towards us.

Lady Trigg halted and turned to address her.

“Sir Guardson. What do you request?”

“What’re you planning on doing with her?” Kate pointed at me. “How much for her? Can I have her? Please?”

Muleater called from the distance, “Kate!”

It appeared that Kate had gotten away from Muleater at some point. There was a commotion somewhere in the camp, presumably Muleater.

“The property of Her Highness concerns you not, Sir Guardson. I advise you return to your aunt and listen to her advice.”

“But–” Kate tried protesting.

I dared to look at her. She was eyeing me with an almost desperate hunger.

“-was there anything else?” Lady Trigg cut Kate off.

Kate steeled herself, and shook her head. “No, Lady Trigg. Thank you for your time…”

Muleater rushed from the crowd of soldiers and headed towards Kate with a stern expression.

“Then come,” Lady Trigg snapped to her side, referring to me with a simple glance. “We must present you to Her Highness.”

We left Kate and Muleater behind, and I followed Lady Trigg into the Princess’s pavilion.