Chapter 2: Bathroom discussions
The steam held us in a warm, private world. For a few minutes, there was just the sound of water lapping against stone, the scent of lavender, and the simple, profound comfort of skin against skin in the silken heat. The terrifying scale of the ice palace, the confusion of the maids’ words—it all receded, leaving only the four of us in a bubble of quiet.
Nancy broke the silence. Her voice was contemplative, not troubled, as she watched the droplets trace paths down her mother Ellie’s arm. “Mom?” she said, her gaze shifting between Ellie and me. “I was just thinking. Back in the other world, I never really… wondered about it, I guess. It just was. But here, where everything is so strange, it’s clearer. Why do I look so much like you, Ellie? And act like you? I’m Amy’s daughter.”
The question floated in the steam. Mary, who had been studying the geometric pattern of the runes beneath the water’s surface, looked up. Her practical mind seemed to latch onto the parallel. “Yeah,” she said, turning to Ellie. “And why do I look and think like Amy? I’m your daughter, Ellie.”
Ellie and I exchanged a glance over the milky water. It was a conversation we’d had in snippets over years, in bedtime stories and casual remarks, but never framed so starkly, and certainly not while naked in a magical bath in another dimension. The surreal context made the truth feel both more weighty and more simple.
Ellie reached out and tucked a wet curl behind Nancy’s ear, her touch infinitely tender. “Biology is a clumsy tool, my love,” she said softly. “A delivery system for… for us. You are my daughter because I loved you from the moment your soul flickered into being. Long before you were born. Amy carried you, Nancy. You grew under her heart. But you… you have always been mine.” She said it with a possessive, nurturing warmth that was entirely her. “You got my hands. My eyes. My need to make things beautiful. Amy gave you the canvas of your body, but I poured the colors.”
Nancy’s eyes glistened, and she nodded, a small, understanding smile on her lips.
I turned to Mary. She was watching me, her expression the familiar, analytical mask that hid deep feeling. “And you,” I said, my voice a little rough. “Ellie carried you. You have her strength, her resilience—the kind that bends instead of breaks. But somewhere, in the alchemy of all that love, you ended up with my wiring. You see systems. You solve puzzles. You get frustrated when things don’t have a logical reason.” I managed a weak smile. “Sorry about that part.”
Mary’s mask cracked into a real grin. “It’s useful right now. We’re a giant, illogical puzzle.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Your mother gave you life. I just… passed on the user manual for my particular brand of crazy.”
Ellie chuckled, the sound rich and warm in the cavern. “It was never about blood,” she said, sweeping her gaze to include all of us. “It was about choice. We chose each other. We chose this family. Every single day. The how of it… that’s just mechanics. The why is everything.”
The truth of it settled over us, warmer than the steam. It was the foundational code of our lives, more real here than the magical stones. Nancy scooted through the water, the movement sending gentle waves, and rested her head on Ellie’s shoulder. Mary leaned her back against my chest, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around her, feeling the steady beat of her heart.
For a long moment, we just existed. A family unit, redefined and reaffirmed in the most bizarre circumstances imaginable.
The water was finally beginning to lose its fierce heat. The practical world, with its throne rooms and expectations, was intruding.
“We should probably figure out what to wear,” Mary said, ever the one to point us toward the next actionable item. “I doubt jeans and a hoodie are court-appropriate here.”
As if summoned, the two maids from earlier entered silently, their footsteps soft on the wet stone. They carried armfuls of fabric—rich velvets, heavy brocades, impossibly soft linens in deep, royal colors: sapphire, emerald, crimson, and a violet so dark it was nearly black.
“Forgive the intrusion, Majesties,” the first maid said, her head bowed. “We took the liberty. The previous… arrangements… seemed unsuitable.” She carefully avoided looking directly at our discarded modern clothes, which lay in a sad, synthetic pile on the bench.
Nancy was out of the pool in a fluid motion, reaching for a towel. Her artist’s eye was already assessing. “The cut is similar to what you were wearing,” she said to the maids. “But the fabrics… this is incredible work.” She ran a finger over a tunic embroidered with silver thread that mirrored the room’s runes.
We dried off and faced the clothing. It was complex. Layers upon layers. Undergarments of linen, then long, shift-like dresses for Ellie and Nancy, and tunics and tight leggings for Mary and me. Over-tunics, belts of tooled leather, and finally, for each of us, a long, open-fronted robe of that sumptuous, heavy velvet.
There were no instructions, but the maids helped with silent efficiency, their hands skilled and quick. They laced, they fastened, they adjusted. Ellie in deep blue looked like a winter queen, her blonde hair a stunning contrast. Nancy in the rich violet seemed both innocent and wise, the color making her skin glow. Mary in forest green looked like a sharp, young huntress, the practical tunic allowing for movement. They handed me the crimson robe. I felt like an impostor in a theatre production.
But as I looked at my family, something shifted. We didn’t look like confused tourists anymore. We looked… cohesive. A unit. The clothing, bizarre as it was, acted like a uniform, aligning us with a shared purpose.
“One last thing, Your Majesty,” the other maid murmured to Ellie, offering a delicate silver circlet. Ellie hesitated, then bent her head. The maid placed it on her brow. It was simple, elegant, and it transformed her entirely. It was no longer just a piece of jewelry. It was a crown.
The maid produced three more. A similar circlet for me. Smaller, finer ones for Mary and Nancy. We were all silent as they were placed. The metal was cool, then warmed against my skin. The weight was negligible, but the symbolism was a crushing, incredible gravity.
The maids stepped back and curtsied deeply. “The Steward awaits to escort you to the Throne Room.”
The steam had dissipated. The water was cooling. Our private world was gone. We stood there, dressed for a role we didn’t understand, crowned by hands we didn’t know.
Ellie reached out, first for my hand, then for Nancy’s. Mary took my other hand and Nancy’s, completing the circle. We stood linked between the bath and the door, between the intimate and the immense.
“Ready?” Ellie asked, her voice steady.
“No,” I said honestly.
“Good,” Mary replied. “If you were ready, you’d be an idiot.”
We shared a look, a flash of our old, normal selves in the absurd grandeur. It was enough.
Together, we turned toward the archway, toward the sound of distant, echoing footsteps and the waiting, frozen court.