The Alpha King Marked Me. I Still Haven't Told Him I'm A Girl novel Chapter 68

Chapter 68: Sixty Eight

Valka

"Lady Nythorn, may I assume you have been... chaste?"

The question brings me out of my spacing out. "If Lucien has not been chaste all this while, what makes you privy to ask me that sort of question?"

The Priestesses face is carved out of stone. "It is tradition to ensure the bride is unsullied. And if there has been indulgence, there must be a cleansing in time for the mating rites."

I stare at the woman. "Cleansing? Of what?"

Her eyes drop to my thighs under the pink tulle. "The cleansing of your lady parts, Your Highness, in preparation to conceive and birth the next Draemont heir. It is a sacred moment."

"Will the king’s tool be cleansed too?"

The maids gasp somewhere behind and Margot sighs heavily with the designers showing forth the dresses for the last fitting.

The High Priestess studies me like I have said something preposterous, hands flying to her mouth in such horror, you would think I killed her first born son. "T-that is such a vile thing to utter, Your Highness!"

"I don’t see how it is--"

"Stop tormenting the priestesses, Lyra," Margot chides. "You will do as you are bid. Every queen and princess before you went through the same process. It is important you carry out every ritual and no fault be found with you."

My fingers curl on the tulle. "What might it entail?"

"Nothing tedious," the High Priestess says. "A bath will be drawn. You will be anointed in blessed oils and herbs to purge the body of any remnants of past touches."

"I’ve only ever been touched by the King."

Silence.

The Priestess nose scrunches up, but she smiles meekly, lowering her head in false submission. "Well, you must understand that this is necessary, as we cannot know for sure, considering your... unknown upbringing."

What does that even mean? I lift the hem of my dress, rising abruptly. "Be done with it, then."

By the time the priestesses are done, I am raw. Inside and out. They have scrubbed and anointed and whispered prayers over my body as though I were a weapon that must be dismantled before it can be used.

But there are days when I remember Lyssandra’s words. That I am nothing but a pawn to her.

Like now.

Her eyes, like mine, are fierce and stern as they hold mine. "The title is only as strong as the one who owns it. They look down on us and this will not change until your seat is solidified. You must go through with the traditions and bear Lucien a son. It is the only way you keep that chair." Her fingers rest on my stomach. "Try keeping it inside this time, child."

My shoulders begin to curve in. The weight heavy. Instinctively, my hand flies to my neck, to the pendant resting against my chest, thumb glossing over the smooth pendant. "I do not want--"

"But you do want it, Lyra," she says, smoothing over the hair on my cheek. "You forget you are not the only one who Whispers." She leans in and whispers, "I see you, Ilya."

I gasp, stumbling back, but she grabs my arm with crushing strength, keeping me in place. "Your secret is safe with me. And House Nythorn’s succession with you."

Fear clamps around my heart. It had never occured to me to learn to place a shield on my own mind from others like me. Did she always know? How much does she know? Everything? Did she draw me close for that reason? Was it always about House Nythorn? Not because she truly cared about me?

The door swings open, the maid announcing Evadne seconds before she bursts into my bed chambers with a wine jar, looking less pale than the last time I saw her writhing in bed and fighting the poison of ash in her blood. Margot breaks apart from me, just as Katherine follows in behind Evadne, a hand on her round belly, another holding up more ale. "For the Maiden’s Farewell!"