She took another sip of wine, pushing her worries about the ledger to the back of her mind. Right now, she had more immediate concerns. After the dragon attack and the near-drowning with the Forgotten Ones, exhaustion burned her muscles. She propped her wine against the base of the sofa, then leaned back into the velvet. She pulled a soft, white blanket over her body, staring through the window at a perfect view of Nyxobas’s palace.
The sharp spire glimmered like a shard of glass. And as her eyelids drooped, dark clouds seemed to whirl around its summit.
Chapter 6
“Ursula.” Someone tapped her shoulder.
“Mmgghhft,” Ursula groaned, opening her eyes. Cera stood above her. It was still dark outside. Maybe it was always dark here? She still wasn’t quite sure how that worked. She pushed up onto her elbows, blinking to clear her mind. “What’s going on?”
“You need to wake up. You’re to meet the lord in fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t understand. What time is it?”
“Almost eight p.m. Earth time. You slept all day. You need to get dressed.”
“But I don’t have any clothes to wear.” Ursula’s brain was slowly turning on. “I’m supposed to meet Nyxobas now?” Cera held up a white bag. “I brought you a dress. I’m not entirely familiar with Earthly fashions, but I based it on that gold gown I saw in the picture in your apartment.”
She straightened. “The Francesco Sforza dress? With the ribbons?”
“Not quite as revealing as that one, but the same idea. The women in Nyxobas’s kingdom don’t show off their flesh quite so wantonly as Emerazel’s women do.” She shook her head. “No respect for yourselves.”
Ursula frowned. She hadn’t been a fan of the ribbon dress, but there was no need for slut-shaming. “There’s nothing wrong with female bodies, you know. Or showing them off.”
Cera’s silver eyes narrowed. “You’ll need to adapt to the culture here. I know incubi and vampires flout Nyxobas’s rules on Earth, indulging in all sorts of heresies, but you’re in the Shadow Realm now.” She thrust the bag at Ursula. “Nyxobas believes in denial of bodily urges in order to reach heavenly perfection.”
“Right.” Ursula peered inside the bag. A lilac dress nestled next to silver shoes and a bag of toiletries.
She stood, then pulled the dress from the bag—an exquisitely delicate fabric that shimmered in the candlelight. She stood, holding it up. It certainly had more fabric than the Sforza dress. This one reached the floor, but it still featured a plunging neckline and tiny shoulder straps. The fabric was practically sheer, but gathered enough around the skirts that she wouldn’t be showing too much off.
“Wow,” she breathed. “It’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?”
Cera’s chest seemed to swell. “I created it. There aren’t any designer shops here, so if you want a pretty dress, you have to make it yourself. I’m glad you can recognize fine craftsmanship when you see it.” She beamed. “There’s underwear in the bag. I figured a hellhound would like the skimpy kind.” She sniffed.
Ursula peered in the bag at a pale blue thong. “Thanks, Cera.” Weird as it was to get thongs from a stranger, it was actually very nice of the oneiroi to try to choose things she thought Ursula would like.
“Perhaps you’d like to go into the bathroom to try it on,” prompted Cera.
“Sure.” Apparently, Cera was horrified by the idea that Ursula might strip right here, even though the demon had already seen her completely naked.
“And while you’re at it,” Cera called out, “you may as well bathe and beautify yourself for the lord. It will help him warm to you, I’m sure. There are toiletries in the bag.”
Ursula frowned. “When you say ‘lord,’ are you talking about Nyxobas?”
“Honestly, child.” Cera chastised her as though it were the most absurd question in the world. “Clean yourself up. You mustn’t displease him.”
Sighing, Ursula carried the bag into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. A lantern bathed the bathroom in warm light. So, she had to make herself look good for her lord. Whoever he was, she was apparently at risk of provoking his wrath with her bedraggled appearance. This was just getting weirder by the minute. Still, she wasn’t going to argue. Makeup was its own armor, and one that made her feel like herself. A war paint of sorts.
Ursula untied her robe, hanging it from a hook on the back of the door.
She crossed to the claw-foot tub, turning a silver knob and letting the bath fill with water. Stepping into the warm bath, she grabbed a bar of floral soap. Steam curled from the water, filling the room with the scent of lavender and mint. Around the bath’s rim, candles flickered, casting dancing light over the gray tile. She lathered under her arms, and ran her fingers over her neck to clean up the grime. The water felt soothing over her skin, and she splashed warm water over her shoulders, rinsing off the soap.