Steam fogged the marble bathroom until the chandeliers above looked like they were drowning in mist
The bathtub was carved from stone, deep and wide, water lapping softly against Regina’s ribs as she lay back, eyes half-closed, body aching in places she hadn’t known could ache.
Vanilla and crushed flowers clung to her skin, thick and sweet, trying...failing...to drown out the coppery scent of fear that still lived under her nails.
Two bath attendants stood on either side of the tub, their movements careful but their mouths reckless.
They scrubbed her arms, her legs, her shoulders, hands gliding over bruises they pretended not to see. Their faces were smooth masks of obedience, but the poison spilt freely from their tongues.
They spoke in French.
One of them snorted softly and said,
