Katherine awoke to the first pale light of dawn filtering through the leaded windows. She blinked, disoriented, the events of the previous night spinning just out of reach in her memory. For a moment, she thought she felt his touch—a ghostly echo of cool fingers brushing her cheek, of a whispered command. Then it all dissolved, and she opened her eyes fully, staring up at the carved beams in the ceiling. Her chamber—hers, though in truth it was only hers at his sufferance.

With a soft groan, she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She remembered the kiss and the overwhelming swell of sensation that followed. After that...nothing. Despite her fear, she felt an inexplicable certainty that nothing else had happened—no further transgression. Not because he was above taking what he wanted, she mused grimly, but because he'd prefer I remember every moment when he finally does.

She let out a shaky breath, pressing her palm against the embroidered coverlet. A strange mixture of relief and unease warred within her. Even in her semi-coherent state, she couldn't help imagining his sly grin if he knew her thoughts. Perhaps he already does.

A light knock at the door drew her attention. Before she could respond, it opened to admit a trio of maids. Their footsteps were subdued against the thick rugs, and they kept their eyes lowered respectfully.

"Good morning, my lady," one of them said, voice quiet. "We've brought water for washing. Shall we help you dress?"

Katherine glanced down at her disheveled gown from the night before, wrinkled as she had fallen into bed without ceremony. She felt a warm flush of embarrassment creep into her cheeks and nodded. "Yes, thank you."

The maids set about their duties at once. One poured water from a pewter jug into a ceramic basin, steam curling up from its surface. Another rummaged through a clothing chest for something suitable to wear. While the first maid offered Katherine a fragrant cloth, the other undid the tangled ties of her gown with deft fingers.

Katherine stood patiently, letting them remove the crumpled garment. They slipped a fresh chemise over her head, the cool linen settling on her shoulders. Next came a gown of deep blue velvet, elegantly tapered at the waist. The color reminded her of the midnight sky she'd stared into last night—though she had no wish to dwell on how that memory might connect to him.

She allowed one of the maids to lace the bodice, while another carefully arranged her hair with a bone comb. The gentle tug at her scalp was oddly soothing, a moment of normalcy in this strange existence. A sharp tap sounded on the door again, and this time a young servant entered, bearing a carved wooden box. Its surface was richly adorned with swirling patterns, shaped like intricate vines and flowers, and in the center, the Prince's dragon crest lay etched in gold leaf.

"His Grace sends a gift," the servant announced, offering the box to Katherine.

Her heart twinged. Another gift, another link in the chain that bound her here. She forced her hands to remain steady as she lifted the lid. Within, on a bed of dark velvet, was a Renaissance-style hair net of delicate seed pearls. Fine as spider silk, the strands glimmered in the early light, each pearl meticulously arranged to form a filigreed lattice. Tiny accents of opals, like drops of moonlight, flickered here and there among the pearls.

A soft gasp of admiration escaped one of the maids. "It's beautiful," she breathed.

Katherine swallowed. "Yes. It is."

Too beautiful, she thought, and too clearly a message of possession. But there was little to be gained by rejecting it. She set the box on a nearby table, carefully lifting the shimmering net free of its velvet cradle.

"May I?" the senior maid asked, stepping forward. When Katherine nodded, she gathered up Katherine's hair, twining a few sections at the crown and coaxing the net into place. The pearls shone against the dark waves, adding an unmistakably regal touch to her appearance.

Katherine examined herself in the mirror, feeling oddly detached from the reflection that stared back—like a stranger cloaked in splendor. If the Prince wished to make her look like a queen, she could only wonder at his intentions.

"That will be enough," she said softly, dismissing further fussing. She turned to one of the younger maids. "Bring me a cloak, please. A warm one."

The maid looked startled. "Of course, my lady. But it's very cold outside. Perhaps you'd prefer the solarium?"

"I'd rather walk in the courtyard," Katherine replied, keeping her tone firm but polite. "The fresh air will do me good."

She could tell the maid wanted to object—Katherine was, after all, still a prisoner in all but name. But they recognized that the Prince permitted her limited freedom of movement within the castle walls. So the maid disappeared for a short time, returning with an opulent fur-lined cloak. The fabric was a heavy damask, a forest-green hue embroidered with gold-thread vines and tiny motifs of mythical creatures. The interior boasted layers of plush sable fur.

"My lady," said another maid, stepping forward to help. Together they slipped the cloak over Katherine's shoulders. Its weight was undeniable, yet it felt reassuring in the same breath.

Katherine ran her hand over the embroidery, marveling at the detail—a testament to wealth and craftsmanship, clearly meant for someone of the highest rank. Even the clasp at her throat was carved in the shape of a dragon, matching the Prince's crest. Another reminder of where I stand, she thought, her lips curving into a wan, ironic smile.

"There." The maid's voice was gentle as she smoothed the cloak at the shoulders. "Shall I summon a guard to escort you, my lady?"

Katherine nodded, exhaling quietly. "Yes. I suppose you must."

Minutes later, cloak swirling around her ankles, pearls gleaming in her dark hair, Katherine left the chamber, her footsteps measured and her head held high. She was no less a captive than before, but for now she would relish the crisp morning air beyond the tower walls—and hope that, for one brief moment, she might forget the night's memories that lingered on her mind.