Chapter 4: Caged Bird

MELIANTHE

The morning lesson begins in what was once my mother's private study, though Cordelia has transformed it into something that speaks of wider horizons than any single kingdom could contain. She sits across from me in pristine white silk, her blonde hair arranged in the latest fashion from the capital, while around us the room displays what she calls "the finest expressions of civilization from across the known world."

Where my mother's botanical texts once lined the shelves, I now see leather-bound volumes that span continents. Poetry from the Northern Reaches bound in sealskin, mathematical treatises from the Southern Academies with their distinctive copper clasps, even what appears to be a collection of Blackmere folk songs translated into imperial common tongue. The delicate watercolors of Ravencrest wildflowers have been replaced by a carefully curated gallery: a silk scroll painting of cherry blossoms from the Eastern Provinces, a carved wooden panel depicting harvest scenes from the Grain Lands, an intricate tapestry that might have come from the Sunset Kingdoms with its threads of gold and amber.

It's beautiful, undeniably so. Each piece speaks of mastery, of cultural achievement, of the vast scope of imperial reach. And yet something about the collection unsettles me in ways I can't quite articulate. Outside the window, a raven perches on the sill, its dark eyes fixed on the room as if bearing witness.

"Posture, darling," Cordelia says without looking up from the etiquette manual she's consulting. "Remember what we discussed about embodying grace. Your spine should create a lovely line from crown to seat, your shoulders relaxed but proud. You're representing not just yourself, but the dignity of your station."

I adjust my posture, noting how her guidance always seems to make me feel more... observed. As if I'm performing rather than simply existing. "Like this?"

"Much better. You have such natural elegance when you remember to let it shine." She makes a note in her leather journal, one of those beautiful objects that seems to have come from everywhere and nowhere, bound in what might be Northland leather with clasps that could be Southern bronze. "Now, shall we review yesterday's lesson on conversation? Can you tell me why it's important to guide discussions toward uplifting topics?"

The question feels like a test, though I'm not entirely sure what answer she's seeking. From the corner of my eye, I notice Father passing in the hallway, pausing briefly at the door. His expression is unreadable, but something flickers across his face; approval? Warning? He moves on before I can decipher it.

"Because... conversation should elevate everyone involved? Help people think about beautiful or inspiring things rather than dwelling on difficulties?"

"Exactly! You understand instinctively." Her smile radiates warmth and approval. "So many young people get trapped in provincial concerns, local grievances, old complaints, dwelling on past events that can't be changed. But a lady of refinement helps others see beyond such limitations."

Provincial concerns. The phrase settles oddly, though her tone suggests she means it kindly. I think of the old stories my mother used to tell of the first Raven Queen who used clever words and misdirection to save her people from invaders. Perhaps there's wisdom in learning these imperial games. "What sorts of topics would be more... elevating?"

"Oh, so many wonderful possibilities! Art, music, philosophy, the achievements of great minds across all the kingdoms." She gestures toward her eclectic collection. "Did you know that the mathematical principles developed in the Southern Academies have revolutionized architecture throughout the empire? Or that the preservation techniques perfected in the Eastern Provinces have allowed us to save countless historical documents that might otherwise have been lost?"

There's genuine enthusiasm in her voice, and I find myself drawn into her vision despite some nagging uncertainty. "That does sound fascinating."

"Doesn't it? This is what I mean about elevating conversation. Instead of rehashing old grievances or lamenting change, we can celebrate how different peoples contribute to the greater tapestry of civilization." She opens a different manual, this one bound in midnight blue leather with silver clasps. "Speaking of which, I understand you've been spending considerable time in the gardens with Sir Talos?"

The shift in topic brings a flutter of nervousness. "He accompanies me everywhere, as Father instructed. The gardens provide pleasant exercise."

"Of course! Fresh air and movement are so important for a young lady's health and complexion." Cordelia's expression remains warmly interested. "Though I confess curiosity about the specific nature of your exercise routine. Some of the gardeners have mentioned what appeared to be quite... vigorous activities?"

My pulse quickens, but I keep my voice steady, remembering the Raven Queen's first lesson: truth can hide within truth. "Sir Talos believes physical conditioning is important for general health. Balance, coordination, that sort of thing."

"How wonderfully progressive of him! Though I do hope you're being careful about appropriate intensity levels." Her concern seems genuine, maternal even. "Perhaps we could discuss more suitable forms of exercise? I've brought some materials about graceful movement that might interest you."

She produces a slim volume bound in sage green leather, its pages edged with gold. As she opens it, I see detailed illustrations of what appear to be dance positions and stretching exercises, each figure drawn with anatomical precision and elegant lines.

"These are conditioning exercises developed in the Eastern Provinces, originally for their temple dancers," Cordelia explains, turning pages to show increasingly complex positions. "They build strength and flexibility while maintaining the flowing grace appropriate to feminine deportment. Much more suitable than rougher forms of training."

The exercises look sophisticated, even challenging. I recognize elements that could complement what Talos has been teaching, ways to hide combat training within dance. "They look quite beautiful."

"Aren't they? And so much more refined than military-style drilling. These movements teach the body to be strong yet graceful, capable yet feminine." She pauses on a page showing a series of balance positions that would indeed require considerable core strength. "Perhaps Sir Talos could incorporate some of these techniques into your routine? I'd be happy to speak with him about appropriate modifications."

The offer feels like a gentle trap, though I can't pinpoint exactly why. I catch sight of Father again through the doorway, this time giving the slightest shake of his head before disappearing. A warning, then. "That's very thoughtful. I'll mention it to him."

"Wonderful! I do so want you to have every advantage as you prepare for your new role." Cordelia closes the exercise manual and sets it aside, her expression growing softer, more intimate. "Which brings me to something I've been hoping to discuss. I know this must be such a challenging time for you, dear one. So many changes, so much uncertainty about the future."

Something in her tone makes me look up sharply. There's a quality I haven't heard before; not the crisp efficiency of instruction, but something warmer, more personal.

"It is... a lot to adjust to," I admit carefully.

"Of course it is! And without your dear mother to guide you through these crucial months..." Cordelia's eyes soften with what appears to be genuine sympathy. "I can't imagine how difficult that must be. All these preparations, this important transition in your life, and no maternal figure to help you navigate such complex emotions."

The unexpected kindness in her voice catches me off guard, creating a hollow ache in my chest that I've been trying to ignore for months. "It's... yes. It's difficult."

"Oh, darling." Cordelia reaches across the space between us to touch my hand gently. "I hope you know that while I could never presume to replace your mother - no one could - I'm here if you need guidance or simply someone to talk with. These young lady concerns, the questions that are sometimes too delicate to ask one's father..."

The offer hangs in the air between us, laden with possibility and peril. Part of me wants to pull away, to maintain the careful distance I've cultivated. But another part - the part that still sometimes wakes in the night reaching for comfort that's no longer there - finds her unexpected warmth dangerously appealing.

"Actually," I say, seizing the opening she's provided, "there is something I've been wondering about. Prince Cassian. I know so little about him, and I thought perhaps... since you've traveled in the same circles..."

"Of course! What would you like to know?" Cordelia's expression brightens with the kind of conspiratorial delight that suggests she's genuinely pleased to be asked. "Though I should mention that I don't know him well personally. Our paths have crossed at various court functions, but he's been quite focused on his studies in recent years."

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"What sort of man is he? I mean, beyond the official descriptions of his accomplishments."

Cordelia considers the question with apparent seriousness. "From what I've observed, he's quite thoughtful. Not given to the sort of dramatic gestures some young men favor, but rather someone who watches and listens before forming opinions. The kind of person who asks interesting questions during formal discussions."

"Is he... kind?" The question slips out before I can stop it, revealing more vulnerability than I intended.

"Oh, darling." Cordelia's voice grows even gentler. "What a perfectly natural thing to wonder. Yes, from everything I've seen, he treats people with consideration. I've watched him interact with servants, minor nobles, even children at public events. He’s always courteous, never dismissive or cruel."

Relief floods through me, surprising me with its intensity. "That's... good to know."

"He's also quite intelligent. The tutors in Asterion speak very highly of his scholarly achievements, particularly in history and languages. And he's maintained correspondence with several prominent thinkers throughout the empire, not just political figures, but poets, philosophers, even some rather unconventional scholars."

This information intrigues me more than it probably should. "Unconventional how?"

"Oh, people who study cultural preservation, historical linguistics, that sort of thing. Subjects that don't have obvious political applications but suggest someone with genuine intellectual curiosity." Cordelia pauses, then adds with a slight smile, "I suspect you'll find him quite compatible in that regard. You both seem to appreciate learning for its own sake."

The conversation feels surprisingly natural, almost... normal. Like something I might have had with an older female relative, the kind of gentle guidance about matrimonial prospects that I'd imagined receiving from my mother. But underneath the warmth, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being evaluated as much as comforted.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "It helps to know something about him beyond official reports."

"Of course, dear one. And please, don't hesitate to ask about anything else that concerns you. Engagement and marriage bring up so many questions - practical matters, emotional adjustments, even simple things like household management or social expectations." Her expression grows slightly mischievous. "Though I do hope you'll ask me about some of the more... delicate topics that young ladies sometimes worry about but are too embarrassed to discuss."

Heat rises in my cheeks at the implication, but there's something reassuring about her matter-of-fact approach to subjects that usually remain shrouded in whispers and embarrassment.

"I... I'll keep that in mind," I manage.

"Good! Now, speaking of preparations, I think we should spend some time discussing your wardrobe. I've been reviewing your current clothes, and while everything is beautifully made, I wonder if we might consider some adjustments to better suit your changing role."

I glance down at my current dress, a deep rose color, chosen this morning because the shade reminded me of my mother's garden roses in late summer. Tomorrow, I'd planned to wear the blue gown hanging in my wardrobe, the one in Ravencrest's traditional color that Lyssa had helped me choose. "What sort of adjustments?"

"Well, your coloring is absolutely lovely, but I think we could find shades that are even more flattering. Blues, for instance..." She pauses, tilting her head as if considering. "Blue doesn't suit you, dear. Such a harsh color against your delicate features. But there are so many other possibilities that would be much more becoming!"

The dismissal of Ravencrest blue stings more than it should. I think of the stories, how the Raven Queen wore midnight blue to court, using the color of shadows to remind her enemies that ravens see all truths. But I keep my expression neutral as Cordelia produces a selection of fabric samples from her seemingly inexhaustible collection of materials, spreading them across the table in a rainbow of possibilities. I notice immediately that all the colors are lighter, softer than what I usually wear; pale yellows, soft lavenders, the faintest blush pinks.

"These are lovely," I say, though something about them makes me feel... diminished somehow. The absence of any blue samples feels pointed, though Cordelia gives no indication it's intentional.

"Aren't they? And so much more appropriate for someone of your age and station. These deeper colors you favor are certainly striking, but they can seem rather serious for a young bride. We want you to look fresh, approachable, radiating the joy of new beginnings."

Serious. Another of those words that feels loaded with meaning I can't quite grasp. But I think of the Raven Queen again; how she learned her enemies' ways so thoroughly she could turn their weapons against them. "I hadn't thought about it that way."

"Oh, most young ladies don't! It's such a subtle thing, but colors really do affect how others perceive us. These lighter shades will make you seem more accessible. More in harmony with the celebratory nature of your new role."

As she speaks, I find myself studying the fabric samples more carefully. They're undeniably beautiful, the kind of shades that would look well at public events, that would make me appear younger, more innocent, less... threatening? The thought comes unbidden, and suddenly I understand. They want to strip away Ravencrest's colors, make me a pale shadow easy to overlook.

"I can see the appeal," I say diplomatically.

"Wonderful! I'll speak with the seamstresses about some new pieces. Nothing too dramatic; we don't want to completely abandon your personal style. Just some gentle refinements to help you grow into your expanding role." Cordelia gathers the fabric samples with efficient movements. "Now, I thought we might spend some time on practical deportment. These skills become so much more important when one is representing not just oneself, but the harmony between kingdoms."

The next hour passes in a careful ballet of instruction and adjustment. How to enter a room to create the right impression. How to modulate my voice for different social situations. How to use gesture and posture to convey appropriate degrees of deference, confidence, and feminine grace. Each lesson feels reasonable in isolation, even helpful. But taken together, they create a pattern I'm beginning to recognize clearly.

I'm being taught to take up less space, to speak more softly, to defer more gracefully. Not obviously. Nothing that could be called oppressive or diminishing. Just gentle guidance toward a more... suitable version of myself. A version that won't threaten imperial interests, that won't remind anyone of Ravencrest's proud history or the Raven Queens who once made empires tremble with nothing more than clever words and patient planning.

"You're doing beautifully," Cordelia says as I practice entering the room with what she calls "gracious authority" - a contradictory concept that involves looking confident while somehow also appearing approachable and non-threatening. "A few more sessions, and these adjustments will feel completely natural."

Natural. As if the way I've moved and spoken for seventeen years was somehow artificial, requiring imperial improvement to achieve authenticity.

"Thank you for your patience," I reply, and mean it more than she probably realizes. Watching her work is an education in itself; the careful balance of warmth and authority, the way she makes every suggestion feel like a gift rather than a correction, the skill with which she redirects without seeming to control. These are tools I can learn to wield myself.

"It's truly my pleasure, dear one. Helping young ladies develop their potential is such rewarding work." She begins gathering her materials with the same careful organization she brings to everything. "I'll see you tomorrow at the same time. And do practice that graceful movement we worked on. Muscle memory develops so much faster with repetition."

She glides from the room with the fluid motion she's been trying to teach me, leaving behind the lingering scent of her perfume and the subtle sense that something important has shifted, though I can't quite identify what.

Alone in the transformed study, I allow myself a moment to simply breathe. The conversation about Prince Cassian had been genuinely helpful, even reassuring. And there had been something almost maternal in Cordelia's manner when she'd offered guidance about delicate topics, a warmth that had eased a loneliness I hadn't fully acknowledged.

But underneath that comfort lies a growing awareness that I'm being shaped, gently but persistently, into something different than what I am. Not obviously diminished. Cordelia is far too sophisticated for such crude methods. Instead, I'm being refined, polished, guided toward a version of myself that will fit more comfortably into imperial expectations.

I move to the window and look out at the gardens where Sir Talos waits for our afternoon session. The raven on the sill cocks its head at me, as if asking a question. The training will have to be modified now, disguised as the kind of graceful conditioning Cordelia has suggested. But perhaps that's not entirely a bad thing. Learning to hide strength beneath beauty, to develop capability while maintaining the appearance of decorative femininity… these could be valuable skills for someone in my position. The first Raven Queen knew this truth: sometimes the greatest power comes from being underestimated.

The afternoon light streams through the glass, illuminating the room's carefully curated collection of imperial treasures. Each piece beautiful, each one removed from its original context and reframed to serve a larger narrative about civilization and cultural harmony. Much like I'm being removed from my original context and reframed to serve imperial purposes, though with such care and apparent kindness that I'm supposed to be grateful for the privilege.

But understanding the process doesn't necessarily mean I have to surrender to it entirely. If they want to polish me into the perfect imperial princess, I can learn to gleam in ways they never intended. If they want to teach me grace and refinement, I can master those skills and use them for purposes they never imagined.

Through the window, I see Father crossing the courtyard below. He pauses, looking up at my window, and for just a moment his mask slips. I see exhaustion there, and something else; a fierce protectiveness that makes my heart ache. He nods once, almost imperceptibly, before continuing on his way.

The message is clear: play the game, learn their ways, survive. Just as he's surviving, though I don't yet understand the full weight of what that means for him.

The empire may be transforming me, but transformation works both ways. And perhaps the greatest danger to imperial interests would be a princess who learned all their lessons a little too well, who understood their methods so thoroughly that she could turn them against their creators.

I straighten my shoulders and check my reflection in the mirror across the room. The girl looking back appears properly instructed, appropriately grateful, acceptably refined. But behind her carefully schooled expression, I can see something they haven't managed to touch - the intelligence that learns from every lesson, the will that bends without breaking, the love for my people that grows stronger with each attempt to diminish it.

Let them teach me to be the perfect imperial princess. I'll learn every lesson they offer, master every skill they provide, and become exactly what they think they want. The Raven Queen's greatest victory came not from refusing her enemies' games, but from playing them better than anyone expected.

And then, when the time is right, I'll show them what they've actually created.

As if in agreement, the raven outside takes flight, its cry echoing across the gardens, a sound that might be warning or promise, depending on who's listening.