Robes and Dresses

She didn't remember the pillow being so hard in the room. It was wedged perfectly into the nape of her neck, and although it didn't have the characteristic softness or fluffiness of her usual pillows, it didn't give her a dull ache.

She had another pillow wrapped in her arms, and she was snuggled against it. It had a nice fresh scent, one of fresh trees, and she wondered whether her maids had decided to switch to a new cleaning detergent.

"Your Highness, are you awake?"

The pillow shifted from underneath her.

"Any other minute now, and I think my arm will be crippled for life."

The voice sounded familiar, and it took Daphne a moment to register her current surroundings.

The tent.

The coffin.

The Northern King.

Daphne sprang upward, her back stiff as she sat up. She uncoiled her hands from the man's bare chest, wondering how she had gotten into such a position in the first place.

The Northern King leaned his head to one neck and then to the other, stretching it before doing the same with his back.

His bare chest and chiseled abdominals flexed as he moved his body.

"Your Highness, I think you have to take responsibility for this." He feigned a groan. "I haven't been this sore in years."

Her face suddenly flushed a tomato red as she looked to the side.

The sun peeked into the room, and she could only think of how beautiful the sun was outside. She had not been expecting to see its rays ever again in her life, but now, she welcomed its warmth.

She reminded herself of her newfound purpose and vowed to repeat it to herself every morning: she would kill the man standing in front of her.

He clapped, and a string of maids hustled in with various bowls and garments. None of them seemed to be even slightly shaken by the sight in front of them, whether it be the carnage in the bed, the spots of blood on the floor, or the splintered coffin. In fact, they proceeded as if it was entirely natural, almost the norm.

They handed the Northern King the stack of new clothes and motioned to dress him. He only flicked his wrist in response, and the crowd shuffled back out the same way that they came.

The tent was once again empty.

"Your Highness had dodged her duties as consort last night, so I think it's fitting that you should dress me today instead."

That was not a question nor a suggestion, and Daphne immediately picked up the command.

She picked up the inner robe.

"Sit." Her voice was firm, and he looked at her with surprise.

"Sit," she repeated. "You're much too tall, and even if I stood on my tip-toes, I will not be able to drag this over your body."

Much to Daphne's surprise, obediently, he sat against the edge of the bed and lifted his arms.

She half-dragged the white shirt across his head, mauling his face in the process and lingering the cloth a tad too long across his nose and mouth.

Half of it was a test to see how he would respond to her partial suffocation. Half of it was that she had really never put clothes on anyone, much less a naked man. For as long as she could remember, every morning, her maids would shuffle into her room with her newest outfit, and she would only sit and talk about the fresh news while they worked to dolly her up.

And now, as she was on the other side of it, she suddenly realized how difficult the process actually was.

"Stretch out your arms more."

She ran her hand down the scars, trying to pull the shirt down.

Finally, she forced his head through the shirt. By now, the pristine white shirt was full of wrinkles, but it wasn't like the barbarian cared about his image anyway. She was in fact surprised to see that they didn't go around with their bare chests.

Looking to the pile of outer robes, she heaved a long sigh.

"It's your turn."

He looked at her chest, and only then did Daphne realize that all that had previously separated them was a thin fabric that barely covered anything.

Balling her hands into fists, she tried convincing herself that honor did not matter anymore. She no longer had the luxury of caring, she sulked as she reached for the light blue gown.

From the looks of it, this one was not as atrocious as the one she had paraded across the streets in. In fact, save for the low neckline, it was almost something she would have worn on a normal basis. It wasn't too flowery or grandiose, and a single pair of ribbons adorned its sides.

Her fingertips touched the fabric, but almost immediately, the dress was snatched from her.

"No, Your Highness, this part is up to me instead."

She stood stiffly, like a puppet waiting for its masters to do whatever they liked with her.

His palm traced against her waistline, drawing a line from one side to the other. His other hand guided her arms to the side as he tried to slide the dress onto her.

Admittedly, he struggled even more than she had, and he didn't even know that there was an inner robe that had to be wrapped around her body first.

"How do you wear this every day?" He finally heaved a sigh of frustration, the first signs of relatable emotion Daphne had ever picked up from him.

She tried to stifle a laugh. To think that the Northern King had conquered all of the land and people, but he couldn't overcome a dressing gown.

"Don't laugh, or I'll make sure that this is all you have when you go outside."

Daphne reached out for the fabric with a confident smile, beckoning for him to hand over the gown.

It took her five whole minutes to realize that she couldn't do much better than him.