Chapter 6

The next morning, Amelia woke to the pale light of dawn streaming through the tiny window of her servant's quarters.

She sat up slowly, her body stiff from another night spent on the hard cot. It had been weeks since she’d left the dungeon, and though her body had regained some strength, the weight of her memories and the relentless tasks of her new life left her feeling just as drained.

Today, she decided to wear her veil again. After yesterday’s encounter with Queen Julian, Amelia felt an overwhelming urge to hide herself, to blend into the shadows and make herself small. Very small.

The guard's advice echoed in her mind: "Stay in the corners of the palace"

She adjusted the veil, pulling it low over her face, and headed to the kitchen to begin her morning routine.

The older maid who had been supervising her handed her a tray and a pitcher of wine.

“Today, you’ll refill the drinks in the courtroom,” the woman said curtly.

Amelia froze, her stomach knotting. “Please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Can I do something else? Anything else?”

The older maid’s lips thinned into a straight line. “No, girl. The court doesn’t care for excuses, and neither do I. If you disobey, you’ll face punishment.”

Amelia’s hands tightened around the tray as dread settled over her. There was no escape.

Amelia entered quietly, the tray and pitcher of wine trembling in her hands. She felt every pair of eyes in the room turn toward her, and her instinct was to shrink into herself, to disappear. She lowered her gaze, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, and moved quickly to her task.

The courtroom was a grand space, its vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to climb endlessly toward the heavens. Tall windows lined the walls, casting slants of golden light across the polished stone floor.

At the center of the room was a long table surrounded by nobles, each draped in fine silks and brocades, their expressions ranging from bored indifference to sharp curiosity.

The faint hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by occasional laughter or the clink of silverware against goblets.

Whispers of nobles and advisors mingling like the faint rustling of leaves. Amelia stood in the corner of the grand room, her head bowed, clutching the heavy wine bottle.

She dared not meet anyone's gaze, her body tense with the weight of eyes that she knew were occasionally drifting her way.

Amelia moved cautiously, her hands trembling slightly as she approached the table to refill the glasses. Her veil low over her face, hiding her from the piercing gazes of the nobility seated around the long table.

The nobles murmured to one another, their voices barely more than whispers. Despite their supposed disinterest, she could feel their eyes on her as she poured the crimson liquid into the goblets, curiosity gnawed at her resolve.

As she stepped back into the corner after her first round, her eyes flickered upward, unable to resist taking in the figures seated at the grand table.

Her gaze settled on the man sitting at the center—a presence that demanded attention, even in silence. He exuded authority, his massive frame clad in a dark, richly embroidered tunic.

His sharp jawline, strong cheekbones, and piercing eyes spoke of a man used to command. A golden crown rested atop his head, its intricate design glinting in the sunlight. He looked every bit the warlord, the ruler of men.

Amelia’s breath hitched. Malcolm.

The memory struck her like a blow to the chest, dragging her back to a time long ago.

The palace halls had been her playground, a maze of wonders where she was allowed to roam––within limits. One day, she had wandered into a room, she hadn't seen before, her curiosity piqued by the sound of music floating through the air.

The room was grand yet understated, with high ceilings, tall windows draped in thick velvet curtains, and a gleaming black piano at it's centre. Seated at the piano was Prince Malcolm, his posture straight, his long fingers moving across the keys with precision. The melody he played was somber, each note resonating with a sense of discipline rather than joy.

Amelia had crept closer mesmerized.

"Do you intend to lurk there all day?" Malcolm's voice startled her, low and clipped, his eyes never leaving the piano.

Amelia froze, then stepped into the room timidly. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

He glanced at her then, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "If you are to stand there, be slient."

She nodded quickly, clasping her hands on front of her.

For a while, he continued playing, the music filling the room. Then, without warning, he stopped and turned to her. "Do you know how to play?"

Amelia shook her head.

"Come," he said, gesturing to the bench beside him.

She approached cautiously and sat beside him, her feet dangling above the floor.

"Place your hands here," he instructed, guiding her fingers onto the Keys. His touch was cool and precise, adjusting her grip without hesitation.

He began to play a simple melody, his hands moving over hers to show her the motions. "You must strike the keys with intention. Not too soft, not too harsh. Balance is everything."

Amelia tried to mimic his movements, her clumsy attempts earning a faint sigh from him.

"You lack focus," he said bluntly, though there was no malice in his tone. "Try again."

She bit her lip determined to prove herself. This time, she struck the keys more deliberately, and though the melody was far from perfect, she saw the faintest flicker of approval in his eyes.

For weeks after that day, Malcolm continued to teach her, though his lessons were far from gentle. He was strict correcting her mistakes with a sharp word or a firm hand guiding hers back to the proper position. Yet, there were moments when his cold exterior softened–– when she managed to play a piece correctly, or when she asked him about the stories behind the songs he choose.

"Why do you only play sad songs?" She had asked once, her head tilted as she looked up at him.

"Because happiness is fleeting," he had replied his voice distant. "But sorrow lingers."

At the time, she hadn’t understood his words. To her, Malcolm had been her guardian angel—a quiet, stern figure who took the time to teach her something beautiful in a world that often felt cruel.

Amelia’s hands trembled as she poured wine into the goblets, the memory fading into the oppressive reality of the courtroom. Her grip on the bottle tightened as she approached Malcolm, the weight of his gaze nearly unbearable.

She kept her head bowed as she poured the wine, her veil hiding her face. But when she reached his goblet, her hands shook so badly that the wine nearly spilled.

His hand shot out, gripping her wrist. The contact was firm, almost painful, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Enough,” Malcolm said, his voice firm.

His expression was inscrutable, his sharp features giving nothing away. But his eyes—those piercing eyes that had once been so kind—burned with an intensity that made her stomach churn.

The court watched in stunned silence, the tension in the air palpable. Whispers rippled through the room, but no one dared speak aloud.

Amelia wanted to pull away, to disappear, but her body refused to move. Her heart raced, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Finally, Malcolm released her, his hand lingering for just a moment before he let go completely. The absence of his touch left her skin tingling, though she hated herself for noticing it.

Amelia quickly bowed her head and retreated to the corner, her heart racing as she pressed her back against the wall. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as she clutched the wine bottle, her fingers trembling.

She didn’t understand what had just happened, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Malcolm’s gaze lingered on her for the rest of the court session, though she refused to meet it. Her mind swirled with conflicting emotions.

The man she had once adored, the man who had betrayed her, was now the king—a king who held her life in his hands. And despite everything, a part of her—the part she despised—still felt the echoes of the bond they had shared so long ago.

Queen Julian watched, her sharp eyes missing nothing. She sat in regal elegance, her emerald gown shimmering under the pale sunlight streaming through the tall windows.

The girl moved with an unassuming air, her head low and her veil hiding most of her face.

Julian’s lips pressed into a thin line as she recalled the previous evening. She had assigned the servant to massage her legs, a task that should have been mundane.

But even then, there was something about this servant that irritated Julian—something about the way she moved, the softness of her hands.

Now, watching her in the courtroom, Julian’s irritation deepened.

She poured wine into goblets with trembling hands, her task simple yet somehow commanding attention.

Julian noticed how the court members’ eyes lingered on the girl, particularly Malcolm’s.

Malcolm.

Her stepson sat at the head of the table, his broad shoulders and imposing stature exuding authority.

He had always been cold, distant, a man of few words. But now, as he watched the servant girl, something flickered in his usually impassive gaze—a spark of something more.

Julian’s jaw tightened.

"He shouldn't look at her like that. He shouldn't look at anyone like that."

As the court session continued, Julian kept her gaze fixed on the girl, watching her retreat to the corner of the room.

She pressed her back against the wall, clutching the wine bottle as if it could protect her.

Julian’s mind raced.

Malcolm had always been an enigma to her—a man of duty and discipline, a ruler who kept his emotions locked away.

He had never been one to show interest in anyone, let alone a mere servant. But now, Julian couldn’t ignore the way he had looked at the servant girl.

She was too pretty for her own good. That much was clear.

Julian thought back to the first time she had noticed her. It had been the day the servants were assigned their tasks, and Julian had chosen her without much thought.

She had seemed meek, unremarkable, the kind of servant who would do her work without complaint.

She hated the way the court’s eyes lingered on the girl, the way Malcolm had looked at her.

Julian’s attention snapped back to the present as The servant girl approached her with the wine bottle. She moved carefully, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for Julian’s goblet.

Amelia poured the wine, the crimson liquid swirling into the gold-rimmed cup. She kept her head down, her veil low, but Julian could see the tension in her movements.

“Look at me,” Julian said softly, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the court.

Amelia hesitated before lifting her gaze, her eyes wide and uncertain.

Julian studied her, her sharp gaze taking in every detail. Her features were delicate, her eyes dark and full of emotions she couldn’t hide.

Julian’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “You were the one assigned to me yesterday, were you not?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Julian leaned back in her chair, her fingers curling around the stem of the goblet. “You have soft hands for a servant.”

Amelia said nothing, her head bowing slightly.

Julian took a sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving the girl. “Be careful, girl. Soft hands have a way of attracting trouble.”

Amelia’s hands tightened on the wine bottle, but she didn’t respond. She simply bowed her head and stepped back, retreating to the corner of the room.

Julian watched her go, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn’t quiet.

She thought of Malcolm again, of his coldness and distance. He had always been a man of discipline, but Julian had hoped to change that. When she married his father, she had seen an opportunity to secure her place in the kingdom.

Malcolm is her way back to the throne.

But now, as she watched him steal glances at the servant girl, Julian felt a surge of jealousy that she couldn’t ignore.

"He is mine."

Not in the way a lover belongs to another, but as a pawn belongs to the hand that moves it. Malcolm was her key to power, her way to control the court and secure her future.

She wouldn’t let a mere servant girl jeopardize that.

Julian’s gaze hardened as she watched the girl. She had no idea what kind of danger she was in, but Julian would make sure she understood.