Chapter 3 – The Gloves
The fifth morning started with the same cold.
I woke on the cot, the blanket thin against the stone floor. My knees were still sore, but the ache was duller than the first day. I sat up, swung my legs down, and felt the familiar shift in balance — shorter legs, wider hips, the dress brushing my ankles.
I washed my face, dressed, made the bed, wiped the table. I prepared the tea with even less herb and the same tiny spoon of honey.
I was setting the cup on the tray when the door opened.
She entered.
The Demon Queen. Black hair to her waist, red eyes, black velvet gown with silver embroidery. She stopped at the table, looked at the cup, took a sip.
"Good," she said.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
She nodded and opened her book.
I stood behind her, hands clasped, eyes lowered.
After a few minutes she said, "Come closer."
I stepped forward, stopping a pace behind her chair.
"Your hands," she said.
I lifted them, palms up.
She took my right hand. This time she noticed the gloves I was wearing — thin black cotton, plain, covering my fingers up to my wrists.
"You wore the gloves," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty. As you instructed."
She turned my hand over, examining the fabric, the way it fit my fingers.
"The blister is gone," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She released my hand and returned to her book.
I stayed behind her.
After a while she said, "Kneel."
I knelt.
The stone was cold through the gloves and the fabric of the dress. I kept my head bowed, hands on my thighs, back straight.
She read.
I knelt.
The pain came, slower than the first day. The gloves didn't make the floor softer, but they kept the skin of my knees from scraping. I breathed, kept still.
She turned a page.
"You are not shifting your weight," she said.
"No, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer than the day before.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were shaky, but steady enough.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot and sat down.
She left.
I sat and rubbed my knees through the gloves. The soreness was there, but manageable.
The order had been the same: kneel.
But today the gloves were new.
It was a small adjustment.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees hurt less.
My body was learning.
I closed my eyes.
---
The sixth morning the gloves were still on my hands.
I woke, went through the routine, prepared the tea with less herb and the same spoon of honey.
When she entered, she drank, said "Good," and opened her book.
After a few minutes she said, "Come closer."
I stepped forward.
"Your hands," she said.
I lifted them.
She took my right hand, turned it over, felt the fabric of the glove.
"The gloves fit," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She released my hand.
"Kneel."
I knelt.
The stone was cold.
She read.
I knelt.
The pain came, but it was duller. The gloves protected my skin, and I had learned how to position my knees to avoid the roughest spot on the floor.
She turned a page.
"You are steady," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were shaky, but I didn't sway.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot.
She left.
I sat and rubbed my knees through the gloves.
The order had been the same.
But today my steadiness was new.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees hurt less.
My body was learning.
I closed my eyes.
---
The seventh morning the gloves were still on my hands.
I woke, went through the routine, prepared the tea with less herb and the same spoon of honey.
When she entered, she drank, said "Good," and opened her book.
After a few minutes she said, "Come closer."
I stepped forward.
"Your hands," she said.
I lifted them.
She took my right hand, turned it over, felt the fabric.
"The gloves are clean," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She released my hand.
"Kneel."
I knelt.
The stone was cold.
She read.
I knelt.
The pain came, even duller than yesterday. I had learned the exact spot on the floor that was less uneven, and I positioned my knees there without thinking.
She turned a page.
"You are quiet," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were shaky, but I didn't need to catch myself.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot.
She left.
I sat and rubbed my knees through the gloves.
The order had been the same.
But today my quietness was new.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees hurt less.
My body was learning.
I closed my eyes.
---
The eighth morning the gloves were still on my hands.
I woke, went through the routine, prepared the tea with less herb and the same spoon of honey.
When she entered, she drank, said "Good," and opened her book.
After a few minutes she said, "Come closer."
I stepped forward.
"Your hands," she said.
I lifted them.
She took my right hand, turned it over, felt the fabric.
"The gloves are wearing thin," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
She released my hand.
"Kneel."
I knelt.
The stone was cold.
She read.
I knelt.
The pain came, faint now. I had learned how to distribute my weight, how to keep my back straight without locking my muscles.
She turned a page.
"You are still," she said.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."
She continued reading.
I knelt longer.
When she closed the book, she said, "Stand."
I stood. My legs were steady.
"Go and rest."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I went to the cot.
She left.
I sat and rubbed my knees through the gloves.
The order had been the same.
But today my stillness was new.
I lay back and stared at the ceiling.
My knees hurt less.
My body was learning.
I closed my eyes.