The steam from the copper tub rose in thick, mocking clouds, but no matter how hard the maids scrubbed, Cassia could still feel the grit of the service tunnel beneath her fingernails. Her hands were raw, the skin stinging as Madam Flurret personally oversaw the transformation.
The older woman's face was a mask of pinched disapproval. She hadn't asked where Cassia had been; the ruined wool shawl and the mud-caked silk slippers had told their own story.
"Hold your breath," Flurret commanded, cinching the corset with a brutal efficiency that forced Cassia's spine into a rigid line.
"I don't have time for the fine embroidery, Madam," Cassia gasped, her lungs protesting. "Jeric—the Duke—said an hour."
"If you are to stand before the Council, you will not look like a stray cat dragged straight from the slums," Flurret hissed, snapping a gown of midnight-blue velvet over Cassia's head. The fabric was heavy, almost armor like.
