Free Betrothed by Jill Myles Page B

her waist awkwardly. She hadn’t paid much attention to Lady Mila’s clothing, her mind assessing it as “foreign” and leaving it at that. But now this servingwoman was determined to dress her in layer after layer of clothing. First came a thin, gauzy gown made out of a fabric softer than anything she’d ever worn. Next came a pair of puffy short-pants that the servant indicated were to be worn underneath the gown to cover her privates. Seri giggled to herself as she thrust her legs through the appropriate holes and hitched the garment around her waist—silly Athonites. As if covering your body with layers hid what was truly underneath.
    Next came the hideous stiff garment that she was being laced into now, and on the corner of the bed, she could see another gauzy skirt and a dress made of a thick, deep-blue material.
    “Stand straight,” the woman said, and that was all the warning that Seri got. In the next moment, she tugged on the laces and the breath was sucked out of Seri’s lungs. She groaned in protest and tried to jerk away, but the woman had her trapped and continued to lace the cage of fabric around her body, tighter and tighter as Seri struggled to catch her breath. “What is this thing?”
    “It’s a corset. It will keep your waist small so you can fit in the dress that Prince Graeme has provided to you.”
    Seri sucked in a shallow breath—not as easy as it once was. “Is this truly necessary?”
    The woman made no response other than a satisfied grunt, then finished the laces with one final jerk. “Now for the dress,” she said and tossed the thick swath of dark fabric over Seri’s head.
    After a modicum of primping and fussing and more of the wretched laces, the woman released Seri with a cluck. “It’ll do. I’m afraid you’re quite a bit taller than the previous owner of this dress, but it’ll have to work until your garments are made for you.” She eyed Seri’s form critically. “Indecent, the amount of ankle it shows.”
    Seri glanced down, then shrugged. It hung below her calves, which made it the longest dress she owned. She was more concerned with the corset and how it constricted the very breathing she took for granted—that, and it made her breasts rather prominent and noticeable. Odd, given the high neckline of the dress and the nearly choke-tight collar that wrapped around her neck. She felt swathed in blankets, not dressed in elegant finery. “Can I go?” She couldn’t help the impatience in her voice—if she had to stand here another moment to be poked and prodded into what Athonites considered “acceptable attire,” she was going to scream.
    “Your hair,” the woman sniffed. “It’s wet. You’ll ruin the dress if you leave it down. Wait for it to dry.” She offered Seri a towel, which was promptly ignored.
    They compromised a few minutes later; Seri’s wet hair was done up in a thick braid and knotted at the back of her head, which was irritating, but at least the servingwoman was nodding instead of frowning. “Very well,” she said. “I shall go and find the prince’s vizier and let him know your complaints.”
    From the delicate stool in front of the mirror, Seri frowned at the reflection that stared back at her, noting that when she scowled, at least it still looked like herself—the rest looked like a stranger. “What do you mean, vizier? I want to see the prince—or Lady Mila. Whichever is going to pay me.”
    “You cannot see the prince,” the woman snapped, giving Seri yet another look of disgust. “You will have to settle for his vizier. I am told Lady Mila has retired to her apartments and will see no one.”
    No doubt in a dramatic snit over Seri’s unfortunate luck, Seri thought with a scowl. “Fine,” she said, clasping her hands on her knees and trying to look patient. “I’ll wait here and concentrate on trying to breathe.”
    The servant harrumphed and turned on her heel, exiting the room in a swirl of gray skirts. Seri waited a