"Do I answer that?" she squeaked.
"Yes," he drew out, his annoyance perfectly clear.
She rushed to answer it and welcomed the dressmaker in. Marchello came behind carrying a huge trunk and scowled at Calia's imperfect manners in regards to answering the door.
She ignored him.
Imogene set her things back up in the dressing room and handed Calia gown after gown to try one. They were deep violets and blues, stark black and whites, and there was one very lovely green dress, just the color of the king's eyes.
"I love them all," Calia gasped. The dress maker eyed her creations critically, picking at invisible lint, clipping tiny threads.
Each dress fit perfectly. Out of the heavy trunk Imogene pulled shifts and silk stockings and under things. Calia had never seen the likes of such luxury and her head swam thinking that it was all for her.
Lastly Imogene pulled out a pair of white shoes trimmed with lace. The toes were pointed and they had smart little heels.
Calia stomped out of her old boots and eagerly slid her feet into the new slippers. Then she winced.
"They pinch a little," she said, hoping not to upset the dressmaker. They more than pinched, it felt as if they had been carved from wood and the stiff material rubbed against her heels and toes as well as the sides of her feet.
"I am sure they do, you will have to break them in." Imogene began packing her things up.
"Break them in?" Calia wiggled her feet in the shoes and tried to curl her toes away from the pointed ends.
"Haven't you ever had a new pair of shoes before?" Imogene asked.
Calia shook her head.
"Well, your feet may be sore soon but you'll get used to them."
She did not get used to them.
The first day her feet pinched and ached and that night when she pulled her shoes off she found her stockings stuck to the sides of her toes and the back of her heel with blood. She held her breath and pulled them off to find large, open blisters.
The next day was even worse. She cried out when she tried to slip the shoes on and cried actual tears when they were finally on her feet. She limped down to the kitchen with red eyes.
The cook looked up at her sniffling. Spatula in hand he hesitated, then finally asked, "What's wrong?"
"My shoes," Calia mumbled.
He winced. "First pair of new shoes?"
She nodded miserably.
Cato handed her the heavy breakfast tray and said, "I'll send Iago after you today."
The stairs were torture and she paused to wipe her face before entering the king's chambers. She shuffled in on stiff legs, trying not to make any move that would cause her feet to rub against the shoes.
The Cold King sighed before looking up. "You lack a core grace most people naturally develop, whether they be farmers or royalty."
Calia blinked new tears away, cursing her inherent weakness. "I apologize Your Majesty; I am having a hard time adjusting to my new shoes."
The king cocked his head, the dreadful mask obscuring his feelings and mood as always. "Do they not suit you?"
She carefully shifted from one bloody foot to another. "Perhaps I could have my old shoes … "
He gave a harsh laugh. "Never. Never would I allow you wear those ugly things in my palace. Continue to wear the shoes I gave you, you will get used to them."
Calia gave a little nod and tottered to her chair. With great relief she settled into it and took a little of the pressure of her abused feet. It took everything she had not to kick the shoes off and away. Not only would it not be appropriate, she wasn't sure she would be able to get them back on later.
Leaving for her own lunch and returning to serve the king was torture and she did it with her jaw firmly closed against her little moans of pain. Dinner was even harder and the instant she was freed from her duties she limped over to her rooms were Iago was waiting for her.
"There's water in the tub, you'll need to soak your feet."
She nodded gratefully and stumbled past him, pulling of her evil shoes and bloody stockings as she went. The tub was only filled shallowly and steamed with fragrant water. With a sigh she eased her feet in. When the water cooled off she reluctantly dried her feet on a rug and limped back out to Iago.
He looked at her feet and grimaced. "First pair of new shoes?" he asked.
"How does everyone know?"
He gave a low chuckle. "Most of us received our first pair of new shoes here. Not the luxury we were expecting, but your feet are the worst I have seen. Have you asked the king to allow different shoes?"
She sighed and tried to not flinch as he applied ointment to her raw heels. "He wants me to wear these shoes."
Iago nodded. "Appearance is very important to him."
"But it's my feet."
"Yes, and you are his servant. He wants you to be the best representation of him you can be."
"Well I do not see how I am going to accomplish that limping around on bloody feet."
Iago sighed and continued bandaging. "I am sure the shoes will wear in soon and your feet will heal. The most important thing is to not let infection set in."
He instructed her on soaking her feet, applying ointment and how to bandage them at night so her feet would fit in the shoes in the morning. She listened with growing horror and anger. Surely the man would relent when he saw her sheer agony.
But he did not, or he chose to ignore it, and her pain lasted for several days. Help finally came from the most unexpected place.
One morning, while Calia sat miserably in her chair with her terrible stitching in hand, a knock came at the Cold Kings door. Perhaps taking pity on her, he called for the person to enter instead of making her properly answer it.
Marchello stepped in, holding a silver platter with an envelope on it. "For you, my lord," he said in his deep rumbling voice. He bowed as he presented the platter and held it up for the Cold King to take his letter. The king dismissed him with a wave of his hand and Marchello turned to leave but paused at the door.
"Miss Calia," he said, causing her head to snap up. "Might I say your shoes are absolutely delightful? That style was always my favorite when I was younger and I've waited years for them to be back into vogue. They are so much more lady like than the dreadful flat ankle boots I see on the ladies so recently. I said as much to the dressmaker but she seems to think they will soon be all the rage."
He added a wink and Calia nearly fell out of her chair but she stilled herself as the Cold King looked her up and down.
"That is all, Marchello. But please send word to Imogene that I require her. Today."
When the dressmaker arrived later that evening the Cold King cornered her, all the while pointing at his servant's feet. Calia clutched her needle and thread to her chest, hoping against hope she would finally be rid of the evil shoes.
Imogene waved her into the dressing room and Calia limped over. "No, that will never do," the Cold King said under his breath as she passed.
The dress maker gave her a little grin then pushed a finger against her lips, silencing Calia's joy. "These shoes are not to his majesty's liking. Sit, and remove them."
She did so with great relish and sighed in relief when Imogene pulled several pairs of soft, flat shoes from her trunk.
Twenty minutes later she left the small room with her tender feet encased in soft leather boots with rounded toes that did not rub her sores. They were nearly like slippers with their flexible soles and she almost danced out of the room.
The king's face broke into a brilliant smile Calia had never seen before and she jerked to a stop.
"No, no," he insisted. "There is the grace I was hoping for." He straightened up from his desk and came around to clasp her shoulders.
She shook at his sudden closeness and forced herself to look up into his face and at the dreadful mask. "You are ready," he breathed.
"For what?" she asked with a shaking voice.
"Court."
His words inspired less than courage in her. As king of the region he was judge, jury and executioner of all. And very, very harsh. It was rare for a town's person to be unable to settle a personal problem without the king's interference for fear of his harsh judgment.
But other crimes happened and so she found herself shaking at the knees, two steps behind and two steps to the right of him while he sat in his throne and waited for the accused.
Calia held the silver tray just as Marchello had and curiously it held a rose. A real rose.
She had gasped when Abelina had handed it to her but there was no time to ask any questions.
The sweet fragrance wafted up to her nose and she breathed it in deeply as she waited for the far doors on the end of the throne room to open.
Finally they did and the Cold King straightened up. They both observed a young man and woman enter the room. The long walk to the throne seemed especially taxing on her and several times the young man leaned down to whisper in her ear and coax her along.