The morning air is crisp, softened by the warmth of mid-morning sun. I let it kiss my skin as I stroll past the columned walkways of the inner palace. For the first time in weeks, I'm walking without a cane. No physician trailing behind me, no Esther hovering with a shawl or cup of healing tea. Just me, two guards trailing discreetly behind, and the silent language of freedom whispering through my muscles.
It feels good. Familiar. Almost like reclaiming a part of myself that had been quietly locked away since the accident.
I pass the edge of the herb courtyard, skirt the side of the conservatory, and finally ease into the cobbled path that leads to my garden. My garden. I smile faintly. The hedges are wilder than I left them, the white tulips nodding in uneven clusters, but it feels like home nonetheless.
I pause beneath the old sycamore tree, tracing its bark with my fingers like an old friend, when a flash of muted lavender catches my eye in the corridor ahead.
It's Shea.
The Queen's girl. Slipping past the south wing, clutching a basket she shouldn't be carrying herself.
I narrow my eyes. She looks around quickly, then ducks her head as though hoping not to be seen.
But I see her.
A month ago, I'd almost had her whipped when she failed to greet me properly in the hallway. Something about her eyes that day had unsettled me; too bold, too calculating for a mere maid. Cassian had stepped in, cooled my temper. Now I wonder… why was she worth protecting?
What does the Queen keep her close for?
I keep watching until she disappears around the bend. One of my guards steps forward. "Do you wish for us to follow her, Your Highness?"
I wave him off gently. "No. She won't go far."
But my curiosity is lit now, flaring brighter with each passing second.
It hits me then, how little I've truly been paying attention. Since my discharge, I've wrapped myself in books, healing baths, and Cassian's embrace. The politics of the palace, its whispers and rumors, have gone on without me, and I've let them.
Even the Queen.
I saw her just yesterday in passing. Sitting in her private garden, wrapped in shawls, her face looking far too pale for her usual steel. Her eyes met mine just for a moment. Empty. Distant. Something wasn't right.
And yet, I haven't asked. I haven't pushed.
Esther hasn't been feeding me gossip as she used to, either. She's been quieter; more focused on my recovery, my routine, my comfort. Maybe she thinks the palace drama will only slow me down.
But I'm not broken anymore.
And I don't like being left in the dark.
I turn from the sycamore and start walking back toward the royal wing, my steps deliberate now.
The palace is stirring again and I intend to know exactly who's shaking the ground beneath our feet.
By the time I return to my chambers, the afternoon light is slanting low through the stained glass, painting warm colors over the stone floors. I wave the guards off and slip inside.
Esther is already there, as if summoned by some invisible thread that binds her to me. She's pouring tea into two delicate porcelain cups. Rose and ginger, she always chooses this blend when she thinks I need calm.
"How was your walk, Highness?" she asks, without looking up.
"Peaceful," I reply, removing my shawl and settling into the wide armchair across from her. "Almost too peaceful."
She arches a brow, still not quite meeting my eyes as she passes me a cup. "Too peaceful is a luxury in this palace, if you ask me."
"I didn't ask," I say gently, then sip the tea. "But now that we're on the subject… when were you going to tell me the Queen looks ill?"
Esther stills. Just for a beat. But I see it. The way her lashes flutter lower. The way her hands curl inward over the hem of her apron.
"I wasn't sure it was my place," she says at last.
"Isn't it always your place to tell me the things others hide?" I set the cup down with a soft clink. "Esther, I need to know what's going on around me, no more softness, no more shielding. Not now."
Her eyes flick to mine, uncertain. Then she sighs and sits across from me. "The Queen hasn't been the same since the King passed. Her strength wanes and returns like the tide. But lately… she's grown weaker. Eats less and sleeps more. And she rarely entertains council matters unless absolutely necessary."
I nod slowly, letting it sink in. "And Shea? The little shadow with the basket?"
Esther blinks, caught off guard.
"You saw her?" she asks.
"Of course I saw her. Slipping past the south wing like she was smuggling secrets in her skirt folds."
Esther sighs again, lower this time, almost guilty. "I still haven't found out her main purpose in this Palace. I've talked to the other maids working for the Queen, but nobody seems to have an idea. Shea's not a typical handmaid. She's something else entirely—clever, quiet, very loyal to the Queen. She runs messages. Handles delicate errands. Things not even the head chamberlain is allowed to see."
"A pet?" I press.
"No," Esther says softly. "A protector. Of some kind. Though from what, I don't know. I think the Queen keeps her close because she doesn't trust many anymore."
I study her face. Esther knows more than she's saying. But she's careful. Loyal. She'll only push so far.
"Find out what you can about Shea," I say quietly. "I want to know why the Queen needs protecting… and from whom."
Esther hesitates for only a moment, then nods. "Yes, Your Highness."
As she stands to leave, I lean back into my chair and glance out the window where the sky is bruising toward dusk. Something is shifting again. I feel it in my bones—deep and humming.
The Queen is ill. Shea is hiding something. And somewhere in the shadows of the palace, answers are waiting.
But not for long.