To heal a Rogue

BONNIE

I reached for the soap.

The rest of the bath passed in brisk, almost methodical motions. I scrubbed the last traces of the infirmary from my skin, working the sharp scent of lye and copper from beneath my nails as though I could wash away the memories that clung to them. I washed my hair twice, massaging the lather into its short length until the water ran clear, then ducked beneath the surface and held my breath.

For a few seconds, I let the muffled silence swallow me whole.

There was something comforting about the stillness, about the way the water pressed against my ears and shut out the world beyond the bath. I stayed under longer than I needed to, until my lungs began to protest, then broke the surface with a sharp breath.

The steam had thinned, and the lavender scent had softened into something faint and soothing.

I climbed out, wrapped one towel around my body and another around my head, then crossed the warm tiles to the door, leaving damp footprints in my wake.

The bedroom looked different when I stepped through.

Someone had stripped the bed and remade it with fresh linen, smoothing the covers until not a crease remained. A large leather trunk stood beside the door, its brass clasps fastened, with a smaller satchel resting neatly against it. The curtains had been drawn wide, allowing sunlight to spill across the floor in long, golden bars.

And on the dressing table, arranged with almost unnerving precision, lay a dress.

I slowed as I approached it.

The fabric was a deep, rich green, the colour of a forest after rain. Long fitted sleeves tapered neatly at the wrists, while the high waist fell into a soft, flowing skirt that promised to drape rather than cling. The neckline was modest, the material heavy enough to hold its shape yet soft enough to move with the body. It looked expensive without being ostentatious, elegant without trying too hard.

Beside it lay a delicate necklace of tiny pearls threaded onto a gold chain, a matching pair of earrings, and polished black boots with low heels. The leather gleamed so brightly that my reflection stared back at me from their rounded toes.

”Oh,” I murmured.

Delta turned away from the window, a fresh towel draped over one arm. Her gaze swept over me before settling pointedly on the puddle forming beneath my feet.

”There she is.” She approached with the air of someone who had been waiting far too long for me to make an appearance. ”Come here, Your Majesty. You’re dripping all over the floor.”

”I’m not.”

She looked down at my feet, then back at me.

”You’re dripping all over the floor,” she repeated, with the patience of a woman who had no intention of entertaining my stubbornness.

Before I could argue, she snapped the towel open and gave it a brisk flap in my direction.

”Please, sit,” she instructed, gesturing towards the dressing table. ”Unless you’d prefer to soak the floorboards before I’ve even had the chance to dress you.”

I sat, and Delta unwound the wet towel from my head. She began by squeezing the excess water from my hair, then worked through it in sections with the second towel, her movements firm and practiced. Her fingers were quick but gentle, and I closed my eyes, letting her take over.

It was a small mercy, being cared for without having to ask for it. An ally’s quiet competence, her easy touch, the absence of hesitation or suspicion.

”The others went to load the car,” Delta said, working the towel through the ends of my hair. ”I told them I’d finish up here. They’re quite enthusiastic.”

I opened my eyes, watching her reflection in the mirror.

”I don’t know.” I hesitated, searching for the words. ”Isn’t it strange how fickle our people can be? What if I really were a monster, and all of this was just an elaborate game? What if I’d planned the witch’s spell from the beginning, knowing exactly how to keep it from affecting me so I could win their hearts?”

”But you clearly didn’t,” she said, tugging a comb through a stubborn knot.

”You know that, but they don’t.” I watched her work through my reflection, my fingers curling in my lap. ”That’s the difference, Delta. It feels...” I trailed off, struggling to put the unease into words. ”I’m not sure how to explain it. I just have this feeling that they’re not truly on my side yet. The only reason things are like this for now is simply because they have to be at least somewhat rational about this, but the moment anything remotely suspicious happens around me in the future, I’ll be the first person they suspect.”

Delta sighed, though she continued combing my hair with the same steady patience.

”Don’t be such a Debbie Downer. You’re allowed to accept it, you know.”

I glanced at her in the mirror, but she seemed determined to continue.

”I used to work for someone I rubbed badly against. We made each other miserable, sharpening all the worst parts of ourselves until neither of us knew how to behave any differently.” She paused to separate another section of my hair. ”But even at that, I was constantly reminded that I didn’t have the privilege of behaving badly like her. But I still did terrible things for her, and with her. For the longest time, I didn’t think I deserved anything good because of it.”

Her hands slowed, just slightly, before she resumed her work.

”But I do,” she said. ”And so do you.”

Something in me loosened at those words, easing a tension I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. It didn’t make my doubts disappear, but it gave me something else to hold on to, something gentler than the suspicion I’d been feeding all morning.

I let the thought settle and decided not to pick at it any further.

Instead, I studied my reflection and frowned at the unruly strands framing my face.

”My hair is a mess.”

Delta gave an approving hum, as though I’d finally said something sensible.

”Right. This hair deserves better than a damp tangle.” She set the towel aside and reached for the comb again. ”Let’s make it presentable.”

She guided me closer to the dressing table, adjusting my position until I could see my face clearly in the mirror. Then she settled behind me with a comb and a handful of hairpins, ready to make sense of the damp mess on my head.

I watched her reflection as she worked, her brow furrowed in concentration, her mouth set in a firm line. A strand of her own hair had escaped and fallen against her cheek, but she seemed entirely oblivious to it.

”Can I tell you something?” I asked.

”You can tell me anything, you know that.” She didn’t look up. ”Within reason, of course. If it involves a body, perhaps keep it hypothetical. But I have a feeling that if anyone ever pushed you far enough to put one in the ground, they probably deserved it.”

I almost smiled.

”Well, there’s no body.” I paused, watching her guide the comb through another section of my hair. ”It’s just that... half the reason I’m going to Lily of the Valley is because of what you said to me.”

Her fingers stilled.

”What did I say?”

”That the system could be better.” I met her eyes in the mirror. ”That maybe the pack I came from wasn’t as rotten as I’d always remembered it.”

She resumed her work, though I could tell she was listening more closely now.

”I’ve been thinking about it for days. I hope I’m not exaggerating what you meant, because I need faith, Delta. I’m running so low on it, and that’s saying something, considering I’m about as pessimistic as they come.”