My dreams were wisps of moonlight and garden solace, of a chest that rose yet fell beneath her cheek, arms wrapped around her like the gentlest chains. But when her lashes fluttered open, the warmth of Lucien's embrace was gone, replaced by the itchy roughness of straw and the scent of lye and myrrh.
The chamber was dim. Thin beams of sunlight pierced through slits in the stone wall, dancing across the worn wooden beams. The servants' quarters were already buzzing; footsteps pounded above her, and voices called out with the rhythmic urgency of a morning routine. I sat up with a soft sigh, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My body ached from the floor of her modest pallet, and for a fleeting second, she missed the plush sheets of Princess Vaeloria's chamber.
Not her own, of course. It never had been.
I dressed quickly, plain gray linens, my apron still damp from scrubbing. I tucked in between my ear and head, the blue rose, it was like a secret promise. It shimmered faintly in the dimness, holding a subtle warmth against my skin. I touched it lightly and whispered silent words. Then slipped out to begin my chores.
The castle bustled in a way it hadn't before. Whispers followed her like shadows still.
"Did you see her with him?"
"The prince himself. At the ball."
"They say he danced with her like she was royalty."
"She bewitched him."
"She must have… done something."
I kept my head down, sweeping with steady hands.
'I seriously am bored with all this.'
I scrubbed the princess's bath, brushed the royal garments, and carried pitchers of water through the endless halls of Dravenguard's great castle. Yet eyes always found me. Servant boys, emboldened by gossip, lingered too long whenever I passed. One brushed his hand against my waist as I refilled my basin. Another cornered her in the laundry cellar with a smile that dripped malice.
"Mirelleth," he drawled. "So sweet, so humble. You wouldn't mind a kiss for a friend, would you?"
I slapped him, but I was the one trembling. He stumbled back, eyes wide. A low, invisible force surged around her for a breath, and then the air stilled.
They stopped after that. Not because they respected her, but because they feared the prince who had marked her.
But that did not save her from the princess's siblings.
I was scrubbing the floors of the antechamber when the elder daughters of the court, cousins and siblings of Vaeloria, surrounded me in their silken gowns, their lips curled in cruel delight.
"Well," sneered Lady Seliana, her gold-threaded bodice glinting in the morning light, "look what the prince dragged in."
"A whore in servant's cloth," added Lady Venitra.
'A whore?' I thought to myself, surprised but unable to speak.
"She thinks she's special."
"She wears the blue rose like she's royalty."
I didn't speak still. I lowered my gaze. But they closed in, circling me like wolves.
"Do you think he loves you?" Seliana whispered near her ear. "You're a toy. A pretty, pitiful distraction. You'll be discarded the moment his interest wanes."
They didn't dare touch the rose. When Seliana reached for it, her hand halted an inch away, fingers trembling.
"It… burns," she muttered, stepping back quickly. The others stared.
"I told you. It's enchanted," one whispered. "Spiritual. Some say the prince weaves divine essence into his gifts."
"That thing isn't hers to wear," Venitra spat.
But none removed it.
They left her on the floor, surrounded by dirty water and torn cloths, the echo of laughter trailing after them.
That evening, far across the castle, Prince Alaric lay bare-chested beneath white linen, attended by a silent, hooded physician who dabbed salves across glowing red runes etched into his back. He winced, but did not cry out. His eyes were distant, cold, fixed on the tapestry above his bed, the conquest of the northern isles.
"Pain… sharpens resolve," the prince murmured. "It reminds us we are unfinished."
The physician nodded in silent agreement.
"I want more," Alaric whispered. "I want power that swells beyond my veins. I will break Artherion's gates myself. I will not be second to Elyrion."
A quiet knock. The door creaked open. A tall man stepped inside, cloaked in dark blue, silver trim brushing the floor. His face was lean, his eyes a haunting shade of iron-gray, unreadable.
Saevan.
"Alaric," he said without any expressions on his face. "The time is nigh. Our opportunity ripens."
Alaric smirked. "Speak, then."
But the scene faded into night.
Unseen by all, Saevan walked the Elyrion castle that night. A ghost among men. His steps made no sound. His presence evaded attention. And where he passed, conversations shifted. Guards argued with their commanders. A scribe grew jealous of a knight's favor. A nobleman filled with desire and greed.
Saevan did not speak spells. He merely suggested.
In whispers. In glances. In dreams.
By the time dawn broke, three small steps had been made.
Just enough.
Mirelleth was in the kitchens again when she met two girls her age, pretty in different ways. One with dark curls and laughter like honey. The other with sharp blue eyes and a tongue far too quick.
"I'm Lysa," said the first. "That's Mel."
"We've seen you, in the prince's arms."
They grinned.
"You're either dangerous or lucky," Lysa whispered.
"Maybe both," I said, blushing.
From that day, they followed me everywhere. They giggled over knights' physiques, debated which noble had the best chin, and shared secrets of midnight rendezvous.
At first, I kept silent. But their joy was infectious. And when I told them about the garden, the stars, Lucien's voice, his heartbeat beneath my ear, they stared like I'd spoken of gods.
"You're in love," Mel teased.
"No," I said, too quickly. "No… I can't be."
"Too late," Lysa smirked. "It's in your eyes."
She laughed with them, but at night, she stood by the window and touched the rose.
"Why did you choose me?" she whispered.
---
Far across the realm, Saevan stood alone beneath a black sycamore. Three men kneeled before him, their faces pale and wet with sweat.
"Are the seeds planted?" he asked.
"Yes, Lord Saevan."
"Will they grow?"
"In silence."
"Good." He turned to the night. "We do not roar. We whisper. Until kingdoms fall."
"They will fall."