Chapter 14: Chapter Twelve

The door creaked open, revealing three young women dressed in identical ankle-length navy-blue dresses with long sleeves and lace details. The lace ruffles, white and delicate, framed the high necklines of their dresses, extending in soft layers at the cuffs. Each woman wore a small navy veil pinned at the hairline, allowing just enough visibility to reveal their expressions—but not much else.

Their hair, tightly bound into high buns like my cousin Regina's, made their brows arch unnaturally high, a look that seemed uncomfortable. It gave them an almost doll-like appearance, their hair pulling their features tight. Despite the severity of their looks, I couldn't help but admire the way the dresses fit, their flowing skirts elegant in their simplicity.

The women curtsied in unison, placing a hand delicately on their hearts. "We welcome the hope of our world, Our Lady Elect Madeline," they said as one, their voices soft, reverent, and utterly formal.

My stomach churned. I hated every second of it—the bowing, the scraping, the formality. I didn't want to be anyone's hope. I wanted to figure out what was happening to my life without people treating me like a fragile ornament.

"Uh, don't bow or anything," I stammered, fidgeting nervously. "I'm not really... used to all of this. And, uh, I don't need help with my bath."

The three women stared at me, silent and somber. Then, the one with the black hair spoke up. "Please allow us, My Lady. If we don't do our duty, we will be reprimanded." Her mouth settled into a grimace. "Master Luke is quite firm on duty."

I could feel a sense of discomfiture in the lady's tone when she'd said, Master Luke is quite firm on duty. Even though he was Sovereign, it felt like her feelings were conflicted in having to serve him. The words, though polite, carried an undertone of reluctance—as if serving a man, even one in power, went against something ingrained in her.

The dark-haired woman met my gaze again, her copper eyes gleaming under her veil. "It is not just our duty to prepare you for the Becoming Ceremony, My Lady," she said softly. "It is tradition."

"Okay, but," I shifted, glancing between them, "I really don't need anyone helping me with a bath. I've been doing that on my own for a while now."

The brown-haired girl, standing to the left, twisted her fingers in the folds of her dress, her expression a mixture of concern and uncertainty. "Please, My Lady," she whispered, "we are bound by tradition. It would be disrespectful to both you and the role you must fulfill if we did not assist. Our Master... expects it."

There it was again—Luke's name, like an unspoken weight hanging in the room. Their deference to me clashed sharply with the implied resentment toward serving a man, even if that man was the ruler.

My gaze moved to the third girl—the blonde with wheat-colored hair and eyes that glinted with an almost predatory sharpness. Unlike the others, there was no nervousness in her posture, no attempt to soften her tone when she finally spoke. "If you refuse us, it will reflect poorly on you. And on us," she said, her voice edged with cold disapproval. She didn't seem to care whether or not I needed help. It was clear she was there because she had to be, not because she wanted to.

I frowned, taking in the unspoken tension in the room. These women weren't just here to perform a duty—they were walking a line, adhering to rules that grated against their own deeply ingrained beliefs about power and gender.

"I don't care about tradition," I said finally, my voice more firm than before. "And I don't need anyone getting in trouble because of me. But I can bathe myself."

The brown-haired girl blinked in surprise, glancing nervously at her companions. Her fingers fumbled with the edge of her dress. "It is not our place to question, My Lady. We only wish to serve."

I softened my stance, realizing that while I wanted to rebel against all of this formality, these women were caught in it just as much as I was.

"What are your names?" I asked, hoping to break through some of the tension. If they were going to be part of my life, I needed to know more about them.

The women exchanged uncertain glances, but it was the one with black hair who stepped forward first. Slowly, she reached up and lifted the edge of her veil, revealing sharp copper eyes and a face that was plain, but so filled with intelligence that it made her captivating.

She held my gaze for a moment longer before speaking. " In Aleria, to offer our names to you, we give you more than just a word to call us by. We give you intimacy, trust. By lifting my veil and speaking my name, I place myself in your hands, My Lady. It is not a gesture given lightly."

Her words hung in the air between us, weighty with significance I wasn't sure I fully grasped. I blinked, trying to process what she had just said. Giving her name wasn't just an introduction—it was almost like a vow. I didn't know what to do with that kind of responsibility.

"Oh," I murmured, feeling the weight of her words settle over me. "I... ?" My voice wavered, unsure what was the proper response to something that felt like it should be sacred.

Elsie's lips twitched, almost as though she understood my confusion but didn't mind it. "My name is Elsie," she said, holding my gaze with her steady, unblinking stare. "I would be honored to serve you as your banmuinen."

"Ban-mee-what?" My mouth tried to pronounce the word, but it was impossible. "What does that mean?"

The second girl, the brown-haired one with wide, anxious eyes, stepped forward then. She, too, lifted her veil with a hesitant hand, revealing a softer, more delicate face. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced nervously at Elsie before turning to me. "Banmuinen. It means we would be more than just your attendants, My Lady. We would be your companions—your shield, your support, in everything. To be a banmuinen is to be bound to you, to serve you with our lives."

"My name is Jeanne," she added in a quieter tone. "And like Elsie, I would be honored to serve as one of your banmuinen."

I stared at her, my mind reeling from the sheer gravity of what they were offering. These women were pledging their lives to me. I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very out of my depth.

Then, the blonde girl with the sharp eyes stepped forward. Unlike the others, she didn't immediately reach for her veil. Instead, she crossed her arms, her expression hard and unyielding.

"I am Beth," she said curtly, her voice lacking the warmth or deference of the others. She didn't move to lift her veil, and I got the sense that her introduction was given out of obligation, not any real desire to serve.

The silence that followed her terse words was thick with tension. It was clear she wasn't here willingly, at least not in the same way Elsie and Jeanne were. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but before I could, Elsie spoke again.

"We give you our names, My Lady," Elsie said softly, her copper eyes watching me closely. "And in doing so, we offer ourselves to you, not just as attendants but as sisters." She paused, her expression growing rapt. "More than sisters."

My breath hitched at her words, my mind struggling to catch up. More? The way she said it wasn't suggestive—it was just matter-of-fact, part of the custom of this world. But it still hit me like a ton of bricks.

"I..." I stammered, trying to process everything. "I don't know what to say."

"You do not need to decide right now," Jeanne said gently. "But know that we are here for you, My Lady, whatever you may need."

I looked between the three of them, my heart racing in my chest. This world—Aleria—was so different from everything I had ever known. The customs, the expectations, the weight of it all—it was overwhelming. But at the same time, I couldn't deny that having  more allies— these banmuinen—might be exactly what I needed to survive here.

"Okay," I said after a long moment, exhaling slowly. "I... I accept. You can be my banmuinen."

As soon as the words left my mouth—"I accept"—the atmosphere in the room shifted. Jeanne's eyes gleamed with excitement, and she practically bounced on her toes, unable to contain her joy. Elsie, though more reserved, nodded approvingly, as though I'd passed some unspoken test. Even Beth, despite her stony expression, seemed to relax slightly, though she still didn't move to lift her veil.

"We shall prepare your robes now, My Lady," Jeanne said, her voice filled with a reverence that made me feel more like royalty than I was comfortable with.

With a flick of her wrist, she motioned toward the open doorway. A set of racks were rolled into the room. One of the racks held three black robes, perfectly tailored and adorned with intricate embroidery along the sleeves and neckline. The other rack, however, caught my eye immediately—it held only one garment, the same gray color I had seen on Regina earlier. It hung heavily, its somber hue a stark contrast to the elegant, dark robes of my new attendants.

Jeanne moved toward the rack holding the black robes, her fingers brushing reverently against the fabric. "These are our robes, My Lady. We wear black as a mark of our service and loyalty to you, the Elect." She smiled softly as she began pulling the robes from the rack, laying them out carefully on the bed beside me.

Elsie stepped forward next, her movements graceful and purposeful as she reached for the gray robe. "And this," she said, holding the garment out for me to see, "is your robe, My Lady. The color of the Elect of Duir."

I grimaced slightly at the sight of the gray robe. "Do I have to wear that? It looks like a... funeral shroud."

Elsie smiled faintly, clearly amused by my reluctance. "It is tradition, My Lady. All Elect must wear gray until their court is confirmed at the Becoming Ceremony. Once your court is established, you may wear colors again in their presence."

I glanced at the black robes again, noting the subtle but beautiful embroidery along the sleeves. Despite the somberness of the color, there was something almost regal about the simplicity of the design. And then there was my robe—the dull, dreary gray of a storm cloud.

"This feels like a punishment," I said, wrinkling my nose.

Jeanne chuckled softly, a sound that was quickly stifled as Elsie shot her a look of mild reprimand. "It is not a punishment, My Lady," Elsie explained, her voice taking on a patient tone. "It is a sign of your neutrality before the trials. Until you confirm your court, you are not bound to anyone, and no one is bound to you."

"So... once I confirm my court, I can wear whatever I want?" I asked, eyeing the robe warily.

Elsie nodded. "In the presence of your court, yes. You will be free to wear the colors of your choosing."

I sighed, already resigned to my fate. "Fine. Let's just get this over with."

Jeanne's eyes sparkled as she rushed forward to present the robe for me to take. "It's a beautiful robe, really, My Lady," she insisted as she began unfolding the garment with practiced hands. "You'll look so elegant in it."

I wasn't sure about "elegant," but I didn't have much choice at this point.

After a very awkward bath with my banmuinen fussing over me, Jeanne held the robe open for me and I slipped into the heavy, gray fabric. It was as uncomfortable as it looked—scratchy and stiff—but at least it fit well, hugging my shoulders without feeling too tight.

As I adjusted the robe, Elsie stepped forward again, this time holding a thin belt that matched the robe's gray hue. "This will complete the look, My Lady," she said as she began wrapping the belt around my waist, pulling it snugly.

Finally, Beth moved forward to help. She worked in silence, her fingers deftly smoothing out the fabric, making sure everything was in its proper place.

When they had finished, Jeanne stepped back, beaming with pride. "There, My Lady," she said softly, her eyes shining. "Now you look like an Elect."

I glanced at my reflection in the tall mirror on the wall. The gray robe made me look older, more somber, but also more... powerful. There was something about the way the fabric draped over me, the way it seemed to settle heavily on my shoulders, that made the weight of everything I was stepping into feel very real.

"I still think it looks like a funeral robe," I muttered under my breath.

Jeanne giggled again, and even Elsie's lips twitched at the comment.

"I'll get used to it," I added, more for my own sake than theirs.

Elsie, ever the practical one, stepped forward again, this time holding a small silver comb. "One more thing, My Lady. Your hair must be styled appropriately for the ceremony. We will help you with the veil, but first, we must tie your hair into the proper bun."

I cringed, thinking of the tight, painful buns the women wore, but I nodded. "Okay, but make it... a little loose. I don't want a headache before I even start these trials."

Jeanne's fingers worked quickly, deftly pulling my hair into the high bun that seemed to be the standard style here. As she worked, Elsie brought forward a thin veil, similar to the ones they wore, but with a touch more intricate lace detailing. She placed it gently over my head, pinning it carefully into place.

"There," Jeanne said softly after she'd applied what felt like a copious amount of makeup. "Now you are ready, My Lady."

I took another glance in the mirror. The veil added an air of formality to the outfit, but also a sense of distance.

As I studied my reflection, the full weight of the situation began to sink in. I was about to step into a role, a duty that I wasn't sure I was ready for. But, ready or not, I had accepted it.