Witch's Daughter And The Devil's Son Chapter 2: The Mystery Man

"My lady, it's time to wake up." The insistent voice of my nanny dragged me from my slumber.

"Can't I sleep a bit longer?" I snapped at her in irritation.

Martha drew nearer to my bed. "Princesses are bound by royal rules and etiquette…"

I tugged the quilt over my head, hiding my face entirely to put off this loathsome day, and said, "Etiquette serves those who wed for the kingdom's benefit and bring pride to the King and Queen. It's not as if I'll ever marry anyone."

Even after my retort, Martha attempted to yank the quilt away. "Nevertheless, my lady must prepare. Today holds great importance in the palace."

"Not for me," I protested.

The tugging on the quilt halted abruptly, prompting me to peek out—and spot something unpleasant.

Martha had retreated a step, her fingers twisting together while her gaze fixed on them. A white mist gathered, enveloping her fingertips.

"What are you up to?" I demanded, though I knew exactly what she planned.

"My final trick to rouse my lady from bed," Martha answered.

I vividly recalled her previous stunt. She had flung me from the bed, a deeply embarrassing ordeal.

"Hold on, hold on!" I leaped from the bed. Frowning deeply, I grumbled, "I can't believe I'm the princess while you're just the servant."

Martha folded her arms, and the mist around her fingers vanished. "My lady, your bath awaits."

As I entered the bath chamber, Martha followed as always to assist me.

I shed my nightgown, left with only the ever-present veil over the lower half of my face. Though unwilling, I eased myself into the wooden tub brimming with steaming water.

"Do witches cherish their children as well?" I murmured.

Martha offered a gentle smile. "Mothers are all alike."

"She wouldn't have left me if she cared."

"Everyone carries their own reasons." True to form, Martha refused to side with me, defending instead the woman no one had ever glimpsed.

"Leave me be."

With those words, I settled into the warm tub, leaning back against the wooden side and extending my legs.

Obeying my command, Martha departed at last, granting me a moment to soak. I shut my eyes, savoring the soothing heat against my skin.

Moments into this short respite, an odd force yanked me downward into the water. I gasped as it dragged me under.

My eyes flew open in alarm, revealing I was no longer in the tub but submerged deep in water, with a towering figure gripping my right hand firmly.

Panic surged as I scanned my surroundings.

Faint sunlight filtered through the water's surface, yet it failed to illuminate the tall figure's features clearly.

"A man?" I realized once composure returned.

My other hand darted to safeguard the veil across my face, terrified the enigmatic stranger might strip it away. The veil meant little to me personally, yet habit from childhood lessons kicked in: never remove it myself, never allow another to do so.

But before my fingers reached it, the stranger seized that hand too. He loomed so near, yet his face stayed shrouded in shadow. Amid the gloom, only a shimmering tattoo on one side of his neck caught my eye.

That tattoo made me scream inwardly, my eyes widening in thrilled recognition.

"It's him!"

Fear evaded me; excitement bubbled at reuniting with him.

The urge to behold his face overrode all reason.

My stare shifted from his marked neck to his countenance. In the dark, a pair of red irises glowed fiercely.

"Red eyes?"

Those intense red eyes bored straight into mine.

This moment offered a perfect view of his face, especially with him holding both my hands fast.

Regrettably, a distant but recognizable woman's voice echoed, "My lady."

That call wrenched me from his hold. Blinking my eyes open once more, I discovered myself back in my tower, immersed in the tub as though I had never departed.

"Just a dream?" I pondered, examining my wrists.

Faint red imprints marked them, and the stranger's firm grasp still tingled on my skin, nearly painful in its intensity.

"If not a dream, then what?" I wondered.

Martha had entered to sprinkle scented herbs into the water, and I silently cursed her untimely arrival. Her interruption prevented another glimpse of the man.

"But why did he gaze at me so intently? Who might he be? Does he recognize me?" My mind swirled with endless queries.

Soon, I emerged from the bath, and Martha draped a silk robe over me.

Settling before the dressing table, I allowed Martha to tend to my look. The expansive oval mirror reflected us both. As she dried my hair, I gazed at my veiled face, longing to unveil it but unable.

"Am I so hideous that my face stays hidden always?"

Martha released my hair and worked her fingers deftly. The veil drifted down to my lap.

Through the mirror, she met my eyes. "My lady may judge for herself."

Staring at my reflection, I felt uncertain. "How can I judge without knowing what beauty looks like?"

"My lady can measure against the other princesses," Martha mentioned my father's other daughters, those supposed stepsisters.

"Better to be ugly than compete in looks with them," I shot back.

Martha gave a faint smile. "A woman bearing such exquisite, uncommon purple eyes—how could she lack beauty?"

"Then why must I hide my face constantly?" I questioned, lifting the veil from my lap.

"To safeguard you, my lady."

"I understand, but from what?"

Martha offered no reply, leaving a heavy silence.

Once my hair dried, she applied makeup to my face.

"Do I require this? What purpose when no one sees my face?" I muttered.

"The upper half remains visible," Martha countered.

I scowled. "Then apply it only there."

Martha unveiled the fresh gown for today's event, sent by the King with abundant matching jewels.

Though cast aside as a daughter, my father—the King of Abetha—ensured I lacked for nothing.

From childhood, I pondered if his provisions stemmed from true affection or mere pretense to uphold his image, proving he cared for his witch-born daughter. Likely, he wished to avoid shame should the kingdom spot me in rags.

Martha dressed me in the ice-blue silk gown. Its multi-layered folds swept the floor, adorned with intricate silver and deep blue embroidery along the hems. It hugged my form flawlessly, from the rounded neckline to the waist-cinching ribbon.

Finally, I donned the long-sleeved outer robe of sheer fabric, reaching the floor and parted at the front to reveal the gown beneath.

Satisfied with my readiness, Martha recast the spell, securing the veil once more. The white fabric shifted hue to complement my ice-blue attire.

Despite witnessing this spell many times, I remained unable to perform it alone. I daydreamed of wielding such magic to transform my fate entirely.

In the mirror, I appraised myself: the red-brown hair neatly combed and adorned with jewels by Martha, the small flame-shaped birthmark centering my forehead, those rare purple eyes, the rest veiled, and the lavish gown...

I scrutinized the veil anew. Constant wear blurred my memory of my bare face; it felt inseparable now.

Turning around, I found Martha positioned before me, poised for the final touch. Anticipating it, I held still.

Martha shut her eyes, whispered an incantation, and snapped her fingers.

I faced the mirror to observe tiny dark-blue scales edged in gold emerging. They first dotted the right forehead corner, then the right neck side, and finally the back of my right hand.

"Now I truly resemble a witch's daughter," I whispered.

My gaze held no feeling, unsure how to react to this change.

Martha directed, "Time to depart."

I heaved a sigh. "Why these markings?"

"For your protection, my lady."

I shot her a glare. "The same excuse every time."

Regrettably, pressuring answers from secretive Martha proved futile. I longed for leverage to pry the truth, yet none existed now.

"Let's go."

Martha led the way out.