When Cecilia entered the apartment bathroom, she stood in a daze for a solid minute.
Her reflection stared back at her from a mirror that was larger than any mirror she had seen outside a royal dressing chamber. The counter beneath it was smooth and white, while the faucet gleamed under soft, recessed lighting.
The shower stood behind a panel of clear glass, its head wide and flat like a polished disc. The tub was deep enough to submerge a grown man. And the toilet—
The toilet had buttons.
This was a royal family's bathroom, by her world's standards.
Cecilia had bathed in such bathrooms before and ever since she married three loaded or mythical men who built convenient inventions from scratch.
Except, according to Eastiel, this was not a palace. This was not even an estate.
This was an apartment, a dwelling for common people who worked jobs and paid bills and apparently had access to bathrooms that would make an Iondoran duchess weep with envy.
