The Jewel by Amy Ewing Read Free Book Online

touch you now. I promise I will not hurt you.”
    All my muscles clench into tiny fists, and I blink harder, but I still can’t see. Then I feel a gentle pressure low on my stomach, first on the left side, then the right.
    â€œThere we are,” the voice says soothingly. “All done.”
    The glow fades from my eyes and the face behind the voice comes into focus.
    It’s the face of a man, but it’s oddly childlike, with delicate features, a narrow nose, a thin mouth, cream-colored skin. His head has been shaved except for a circle of chestnut hair on his crown, which is tied up into an elegant topknot, a hairstyle that I remember from my classes on royal culture and lifestyle. It means he’s a lady-in-waiting.
    Ladies-in-waiting are more than just the highest of servants—they’re confidantes and advisors to their mistresses. They are selected and trained from a young age, and some of them are men, castrated so they can be considered “safe” to work so closely with royal women.
    Humiliation washes over me at being naked in front of a man, and I squirm against the restraints. He waits patiently, looking only at my face, ignoring my body, and something in his expression makes me wonder if he knows how I’m feeling, what I’m thinking. I stop struggling. He smiles.
    â€œHello. I’m Lucien. I’m going to take the straps off now, all right?”
    My voice seems to have disappeared, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. As he reaches over me to undo the restraints, I notice he’s wearing a long white dress with a high lace collar and long sleeves. His fingers are manicured and his body is slim but soft, like the muscle hasn’t been toned under the skin.
    â€œYou have beautiful eyes,” he says, undoing the last strap. “Why don’t you sit up, and I’ll get you a robe?”
    He disappears and I scramble into a sitting position, hugging my knees tight to hide my body. My eyes still have a hard time adjusting; I hold up my hand to block out the brilliant light overhead.
    â€œOh yes, let’s do something about the lighting.” Lucien’s voice drifts from the darkness. The light goes out. At first, it’s terrifying—then slowly, light seeps back into the room. Different colored globes, attached to gold fixtures on the walls, begin to glow, and their colors blend together until the room is lit in a comfortable shade of pinkish yellow.
    â€œHere you are.” Lucien hands me a dressing gown made of ice-blue silk. I slip it on quickly, the delicate fabric soft against my skin, and try to pretend that it’s my mother’s bathrobe. He holds out his hand, an offering, not a command; I ignore it and hop off the table onto trembling legs.
    â€œFirst things first. Let’s get rid of this ghastly table.” He gives me a conspiratorial smile, but the muscles in my face aren’t working—I can only stare at him blankly. He presses a button on the wall and the floor underneath the table drops down, a platform being lowered into nothing, and then another piece of wood slides over the gaping rectangular hole, clicking into place and fitting so perfectly, I would never have guessed it was there. “I don’t suppose you see many false floors in the Marsh, do you?”
    I blink, and look from him to where the table used to be, and then back again. Suddenly, I feel like I’m twelve years old again, just entering Southgate, when everything seemed so new and bright and fancy.
    Lucien sighs. “You don’t talk much, do you, 197?”
    I clear my throat. “My name—”
    He holds up a finger and shakes his head. “Sorry, honey. I can’t know your name.”
    Even though I have no attachment to this man, and I’ll probably never see him again, the fact that he isn’t allowed to know my name, my name, not some number I’ve been assigned, brings tears to my eyes. My chest