Marcus barely slept that night. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, guilt and frustration gnawing at his insides. Candy had barely spoken after… everything. She had gone to bed silently, her movements mechanical, her expression blank in a way that unsettled him. And for the first time since this nightmare began, Marcus was genuinely afraid for her.
She needed something. Some kind of hope, some small mercy, some reason to get up in the morning. Because if she lost that, if she lost herself completely, he didn’t know if he could pull her back. So he lay there in the dark, thinking.
What could she possibly look forward to? Not freedom. Not escaping the rules. Not a way out. But maybe... His eyes suddenly widened. Of course! The women’s bathhouse!
Marcus waited until mid-morning to bring it up. Candy sat at the table, picking at breakfast without interest, her face exhausted and drawn.
“I had a thought,” he said.
Candy barely glanced up. “Congratulations.”
Marcus sighed. “I know things are… bad.” Candy snorted, but said nothing. “But,” he continued, “there is one upside to this whole situation.”
That got her attention, if only a little. She lifted an eyebrow, skeptical. “Oh?”
“You can go to the women’s bathhouse now.”
Candy stilled. “The bathhouse.”
“The women’s bathhouse,” he clarified. “Hot springs, steam rooms, massage stones, lavender and vanilla in the air.” Her expression didn’t change. Marcus took a risk. “And, you know… a whole lot of half-naked women lounging around.”
Candy stared off in thought.
He pressed on. “Could be something, at least.” Candy stared at him for a long, long moment. Then, to his relief, she let out a slow exhale and rubbed her temples.
“Marcus.”
“Yeah?”
“This is the first time since this whole nightmare started that I don’t immediately want to punch you in the face.”
Marcus smirked. “That’s progress.”
Candy snorted, shaking her head. For the first time in weeks, there was a flicker of something in her eyes that wasn’t pure misery. And Marcus, for once, felt like he had done something right. Not long after Candy agreed to go, a new and entirely different anxiety settled in her chest.
“I’ll need something that covers me. Something with a skirt,” Candy continued, cheeks flushed. “Something secure. I am not flashing half my mistmatched body to every noble wife in Paddlewick.”
“That’s fair,” Marcus said, nodding carefully.
Candy turned to him. “So, where do I buy a bathing suit?”
“There’s a swimwear shop next to the bathhouse. I’m sure they’ll have everything you’ll need.”
“Oh, yeah, that’ll work,” Candy said, pleased that something was easy for a change.
A few minutes later she was halfway out the door before she realized she had no money. She hadn’t thought about it since being forced to move in with Marcus. So she asked him where her money had been moved to. He winced.
“Oh no,” Candy said flatly. “Don’t you dare say it.”
“It’s just, technically, wives can own money,” Marcus explained, choosing his words like walking on glass. “But it’s meant to be... overseen. Managed... you know, by the husband.”
Candy stared at him. “You’re telling me I need your permission to buy a bathing suit?”
“Not specifically. But I do have to issue you the coin. I didn’t write the laws,” he muttered.
She paced a slow circle around the rug. “Can I work?”
“Yes.”
“But you’d be paid...?”
“Legally, the income would be yours, but I’d be expected to determine how much of it you got to use.”
Candy groaned. “I’m going to need that bathhouse more than I thought.”
Marcus reached for the household coin pouch. “Most husbands give their wives an allowance. It’s... civilized.”
Candy took the purse from him without breaking eye contact. “It’s horrifying.”
“But civilized,” he offered weakly.
“Grrrr.”
Candy approached the bathhouse entrance, feeling the steam and faint lavender even before she reached the carved marble gate. At the front desk, a young attendant in pale blue robes smiled politely and held out a small crystal rod.
“Just a quick scan, dear,” the woman said. “We’ll need your Harmony Score before entry.”
Candy tilted her head. “My what?”
The attendant glanced up, surprised. “Your Harmony Score. You know… Courtsey Count rates, maintenance attendance, obedience pearl signals, chore tallies, oral devotion compliance… all bundled up and blessed by the Ministry of Structured Virtue. It’s how we know a wife’s in good standing. Anything below seventy means no desserts for the week. Below fifty, no bath privileges. Keeps harmony intact, you understand.”
Candy blinked. “That’s… a thing?”
“Oh, yes, honey,” the woman said with the easy certainty of someone reciting law. “Everyone’s on the Wellness Registry. It updates whenever your husband files a domestic report or the compliance gems in your home log an adjustment. Usually instant.” She waved the crystal rod toward Candy and frowned.
Nothing happened. The rod glowed faintly, pulsed once… and died.
“That’s odd,” the attendant muttered. “No maiden data. No wife data either. How long have you been married?”
“About a month,” Candy admitted cautiously.
The woman’s expression softened in understanding. “Ahhh, that explains it. Must be stuck in the transition queue. The Ministry can be slow with newlywed updates, especially if your tether was… unusual.”
“Wait,” Candy said slowly, “so right now I’m… not tracked?”
“Not yet, at least not for this part,” the woman confirmed, a conspiratorial smile tugging at her lips. “Enjoy the freedom while it lasts. Once they catch up, your Harmony Score will show, and we’ll have to check it on each visit. And you'll need the traditional movement phrase, 'accounted for' as you enter, since this is a kingdom-run building." She slid the crystal rod aside and opened the gate with a flourish. “But for now? Come on in, honey. No numbers to worry about.” Relieved and still a little baffled, Candy stepped past the desk and through the marble archway. Warm steam wrapped around her immediately, carrying the scent of jasmine and lavender.
The Bathhouse of Serene Waters was one of Paddlewick’s few genuine luxuries. A sprawling stone-and-marble retreat nestled in the city’s eastern quarter, it was fed by natural hot springs rich with healing minerals. Only wives and women were allowed entrance.
Which meant that, until now, Candy had never even set foot inside. She paused just past the entryway, taking in the faint shimmer of enchanted lanterns and the gentle hum of distant water. For the first time in weeks, she felt the absence of men’s ever-present, controlling stares. No watchful husband eyes. No enforcement officers lurking near the curtsey mats. Just quiet.
She let out a long breath. Maybe Marcus had been right. Maybe this was something worth having.
Even so, Candy had always assumed the things men said about women’s bathhouses were little more than wishful thinking—fantasies fueled by loneliness and horniness. Drunken tavern talk painted them as steamy dens of indulgence: nude women everywhere, soft voices echoing off stone, friends washing each other in candlelight, massages that somehow turned romantic…
And yet, as Candy stepped inside, she realized at least some of it was, well, kind of true.
Not all of it. No one was washing anyone else’s breasts or passionately making out in the mineral pool. But there were definitely topless women lounging on marble benches. Friends were pressed together in the sauna more closely than space required. The air was damp and warm and full of laughter, gentle, honest laughter that hadn’t been filtered through obedience or male approval.
There were soft curves and confident stances and bodies unapologetically being. Steam curled over bare shoulders, over thighs, over bellies that hadn’t been cinched into corsets in hours. And Candy just stood there, blinking.
Huh. So some of it was real.
She found a single-person changing room; clearly, she couldn't use the group areas, and slipped out of her robes and corset with a sigh that was half relief, half disbelief. Her body felt lighter without the layers. Freer. She emerged in her newly bought bathing suit, feeling a little nervous. Her new body was still unfamiliar, cleavage, hairless legs and whatnot, and now she was on full display in a woman's only space with only a bit of fabric preventing everyone from knowing she wasn't quite like them all. it had been more of an experience than she'd expected, but she had managed to buy a suit with the longest skirt attached that the store offered. She prayed it would be enough.
She stepped into the pool and sank beneath the water, the heat enveloping her in instant bliss. The water hiding her body helped her fears immensely. Her muscles loosened, her skin tingled, and for the first time in what felt like forever, her body wasn’t being pulled, pinched, pun ished, or posed.
For a brief, glorious moment, she was just a person again.
Not a wife.
Not a prisoner.
Just herself.
She leaned back against the smooth marble edge, watching the women around her. Some chatted lazily, their skin glowing in the golden candlelight. Others simply drifted in the warmth, eyes closed, lips parted in wordless relief.
A few walked slowly by, steam curling around long legs, bare hips, and quiet smiles. Candy thought to herself, for the first time since it all began, “Okay. This doesn’t suck.” And then she saw her. A woman with astounding curves was reclining in one of the corner pools, water lapping just below the generous slope of her chest. Her towel had clearly given up and floated away. Her skin glistened, her posture was relaxed, and she laughed, low and musical, as another woman whispered something nearby.
Candy looked away immediately. Then looked back. Then away again. Don’t stare, she told herself. You are not a teenage boy. You are a woman. A legally mandated wife. You do not ogle.
She inhaled through her nose, focused her gaze on the tilework near the ceiling, and repeated like a mantra: Be cool. Be normal. Look at literally anything else.
The woman shifted, stretching her arms over her head, and Candy promptly moved herself to the next nearest pool, out of sight of the busty woman, cheeks warm, not from embarrassment, she told herself, but from the steam.
Well, she’d have to work on how to look at her new peers discreetly. In the meantime, for the first time in weeks, Candy had a genuine moment of peace. She closed her eyes and let her arms float weightlessly. The tension began to melt.
Maybe she could survive this. Maybe she could find little victories in the cracks of the cage. Maybe... maybe she could make this life work. The thought terrified her. She didn’t want to become complacent. But for now? For now, she had the bathhouse. And that was enough of a victory for today.