For the first time since I'd been dragged back to the palace, I was forcibly woken up. Through grumbled moans, my eyes slid open. When they came in to focus I leaped up out of the bed, throwing my arms around the maid as her face slid into recognition. I ignored the rush of dizziness and the aches of my still healing body.

"Jemima!" I beamed at her as she smiled back timidly. "It's so good to see you again. Is Dot still here too?" I thought back to the other, slightly more stern maid who had attended to me when I was a debutante.

Solemnly, Jemima shook her head. "Fled," she explained, trying to gesture with her hands. The maid stood for a moment in awkwardness, then as I sat down on the bed, she flitted to the table to fetch some pre-written cards.

I've been instructed to prepare you for your walk. His highness forbade anyone from moving your wardrobe when you escaped, so they're all still here for you to use. I've brought three of your dresses because I wasn't sure which you wanted. The rest will be moved whilst you're out.

She pointed meekly at the pile of painted cottons sitting on the heavy armchair by the window. I frowned at it for a second before realising that it was the chair in Gavrila's study which I had grown to love.

At the maid's request, I sat down in front of the vanity table. It was the first time since the morning of my capture that I had seen my face - it was not pretty. There was a fading bruise along my jawline which still hurt when I touched it. My nose certainly wasn't what it had been before and my eyes carried bags heavier than the entire contents of this room. My collarbone was also bruised, but that one was more blueish and was absolute agony to prod. Oh and my hair... My gorgeous, ringleted, curly hair. It cut a barely straight line from my chin to my neck and was knotted in about seven places. The sight of it actually brought a tear to my eye - I had been growing that hair all my life only to lose it in an instant. I supposed the same could be said of my hearing, lost before I even knew it was gone. Jemima frowned at my appearance for a good few minutes, trying to figure out how to make it presentable.

"They're not actually my dresses you know," I spoke if only to break up her sighs and nervous glances, "they're Anne-Marie Starkie's. She's betrothed now, apparently. Though it's to a Baracosian captain so I'm not sure if that's a good thing." I had always envied the painted cotton dresses Annie had worn at all the summer parties we had attended together. When her mother forced me to participate in the season in her stead, we all thanked God for our almost identical measurements.

Jemima still just stared at me in bewildered silence. In a swift and sudden movement, she swiped up the pad and scribbled down on it.

I think I'll call for a hairdresser. The seamstresses generally know how to do it. And a bath

I laughed in slight horror as she went over to the door, sticking her head around it as though there was already someone outside. My ears strained in absolute vain, hearing nothing but low, thud like noises and those incessant bells.

The bath came a mere five minutes after she had called for it, accompanied by an army of maids bearing jugs of hot water and scents. Perhaps that was one thing I had missed about the palace; the baths were first class.

Once it had been filled, Jemima helped me to the screen which separated the bath from the door, then stood dutifully on the other side. The nightdress I had found myself in slid off easily and I hissed as the hot water hit my skin. For a few moments I just lay in the water, savouring the way it matched the feeling of pressure behind my ears. Then I slipped my head under, the heat soothing the bruises I had acquired from my encounter with Gavrila's dark haired thug. There were more dark patches across my body, the biggest and worst being on my stomach, painfully reminiscent of a foot shape. My ankles showed slight discolouration as though they too had been impaired for a while. Dunking my head under again, I tried to tease the knots out of my short hair, my fingers falling out of it too early when they reached the ends.

When the heat began to feel like too much, I called for Jemima to help me out - she did so with a warmed towel robe at the ready. As we rounded the screen arm in arm, I jumped, having spotted an awkward looking man who lurking by my door.

Hairdresser. Jemima motioned to me. I glanced back to the man, whose eyes were still turned down to the floor. Without meeting my gaze, he offered up another of the writing cards I had become such a collector of. It was written in Baracosian, which surprised me, but I translated it nonetheless to understand that he was called Louis and dressed the male courtiers' hair. What a wonderful way to make me feel better about myself; by comparing me to a man.

Sighing, I sat back down in front of the vanity table, still not used to the way my nose now sat. Perhaps it was just another scar to add to my collection. I was quite sure now that I would be nearing Gavrila's record of six.

Louis took out a comb and dragged it through my drying hair, managing to take out the knots with enviable skill.

"Please don't get rid of too much more." I begged, watching as he worked in the mirror. The barber looked up for a moment then shot his eyes back down to his hands, which were holding ominous scissors. Afraid to watch what would happen next, I squeezed my eyes shut, almost jumping every time a bit of hair hit my shoulder.

When nothing else seemed to be happening, I dared to open one eye, then the other. Louis held up another mirror at the back of my head so I could inspect it.

I didn't actually look like a man.

My brown curls were back, though they were more loops than ringlets. Now it was dry, the hair sat lightly at my jawline, it's volume seeming to frame my face in a way which actually seemed a little fetching. I clapped my hands over my mouth in joy before standing up too quickly to thank and congratulate him in hasty Baracosian, almost going as far as to embrace the stranger. The barber forced a quick smile before collecting his things and darting back out the door.