Redana really thought that she was prepared for anything. She’d thought it very hard when she’d woken up in the middle of the night [1], worked her way out from underneath Bella’s outstretched leg, and made her way down to the kitchens to carry out a scheme she’d had itching in the back of her head for… well, for a while.

Because that’s how it works, right? This is what they need for things to be better, going forward. This is how she apologizes, and offers herself, and balances the scales, and learns. If she wants to kiss her oldest friend, she needs to understand what it is to be a maid. And she already had readied an outfit or two, just so that Bella would be comfortable, just in case Bella demanded this balancing of the scales, even though if Dolce hadn’t been up early making breakfast she never would have been able to finish all of the details in time!

Prepared for anything. For Bella to insist on having a chair. For Bella to set her on chores. For Bella to tug on her leash and ask her if she’d been having thoughts like this forever, and how maybe that could open up how much she’d wanted to kiss a maid, but how afraid she’d been of ruining this, of ruining everything, of making Bella hate her, and how nothing Bella could do back could ever make Dany hate her, not here, not so far away from how awful they’d been on Baradissar.

But it’s one thing to pick out a dress because you want Bella to have something pretty, and it’s another thing to belatedly realize you never imagined her wearing it. And it’s one thing to imagine Bella bossing her around, and another thing entirely to see her smile and want to stare at it while stumbling forward like a snake-charmed bird, right into her claws, and it’s another thing entirely to hear how easily command comes to her, and how easy it must have been for Jil to follow her, Bella, Queen of Space.

“You can,” she says, dreamily, still staring at one of Bella’s fangs, blood racing through her cheeks, just beneath the skin. She can. It’s allowed. The door’s locked on the inside and Redana can handle anything and Bella chased her all the way here, and she’s owed something for that Hermetic station and for Baradissar and for all the places where Dany failed to protect her, and that smile is everything and she’s going to fall into it.

She takes a step forward, teetering on the edge of that condescension, unfamiliar from sweet soft gentle agreeable Bella, but intoxicating, just enough poison to let the mind spin, just like when they’d danced—

And the bell jingles.

Redana takes a step back. Continues to redden. Claps one hand over her mouth. Bella seems taller and her eyes flash amusement. [i]You can?[/i] Is that what a maid is supposed to do, Redana Claudius? Is that the example that Bella set out for you? For shame!

“I mean, yes ma’am, sorry ma’am, I’m, I’m, yes!” She curtseys again, which lets Bella see the look on [i]her[/i] face again, and, and, and? Is this really the kind of maid she is? The kind who would never be able to satisfy the standards of Bella, maid extraordinaire? The kind who begs to be punished like some sort of penitent villainess? The kind who keeps her Mistress waiting?? Not that she ever made a fuss about Bella, but Bella was always making a fuss for her about being punctual and seeing things done, Dany never would have had to say anything like that [i]to[/i] Bella! And!! Ready for anything!

Approaching Bella with the dress is almost overwhelming. All this time, back home, she’d occasionally felt awkward letting Bella help her with her outfits, aware of her maid’s physical proximity, of the pleasant smell of her body, of how gentle and careful her fingers were.

Redana will be just as careful, even if she is not as practiced. She will drape you in the colors of the True Sea and pull its sash snug around your waist, lace ribbons all the way up your battle-scared spine, make you…

She’ll make you look like a Princess, Bella. If you let her. Eyes trying not to linger too long, tongue sticking out between her lips as she ties you off with sailor’s knots, stepping up on her toes as she smoothes out your hair, and if you let her, if you allow her to go so far, she’ll even offer to comb your hair, My Lady Mistress, and she’ll self-consciously flick a stray hair behind her ear, and she’ll lose the battle of self-control stopping her from staring even as she fidgets and waits for, no, hopes that you will let her do this for you. If only this one time. Let her give it back to you.

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[1]: actually, almost exactly three-quarters of the way through the night. If we’re counting.