Music recommendation: "Villain" by K/DA ft. Madison Beer and Kim Petras
Zarafea sat on her balcony, the late morning sun casting a soft glow over her as she flipped the pages of an ancient tome. The book, one she had borrowed from the royal library, was filled with old fae myths and stories about gods and creation, tales she knew better than any author could recount. Despite the heavy weight of her true identity, she found comfort in the stories of her own making. Her fingers traced the delicate, faded ink as she read, momentarily losing herself in a world she once ruled.
The sound of hesitant footsteps approaching the open door interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see her maid, eyes downcast, standing at the entrance to the balcony.
"My lady," the maid began, her voice soft and uncertain, "the ladies of the court have invited you for tea in the drawing room. They… they requested your presence."
Zarafea closed the book and set it aside, her calm expression betraying none of the unease she felt about such an invitation. She could sense the tension in the maid's voice, the unsaid warning hanging between them. This tea wasn't meant to be friendly, but she had already expected that. If anything, it was another test from the court—a chance for them to dig at her, to find her weak points. She couldn't afford to falter.
"Thank you," Zarafea said with a small smile, rising to her feet. "Please help me prepare."
The maid moved quickly, pulling out an elegant gown from the wardrobe. The emerald fabric shimmered as the sunlight hit it, delicate and perfectly fitted. Zarafea knew that she would need to look impeccable for this meeting. Every glance, every whisper would be focused on her.
Once the gown was on, the maid began braiding Zarafea's hair into a crown, her hands working swiftly but carefully. As her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, Zarafea took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the oncoming battle. "I can handle this," she reminded herself, her thoughts steadying. "They won't break me."
The drawing room was a masterpiece of fae craftsmanship, grand yet intimate, with tall arched windows framed by intricate vines carved into the stone walls. Light filtered in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. A long table stood in the center, draped with a delicate lace cloth, while silver trays of cakes and pastries were carefully placed along its length. A soft floral scent filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed tea.
As Zarafea entered the room, the eyes of the court's ladies immediately turned to her. She could feel their gazes like pinpricks against her skin, sharp and assessing. At the head of the table, Catherine sat with her usual smug expression, watching Zarafea's every move. The other ladies exchanged whispers behind their teacups, thin smiles on their faces as they appraised her.
"Lady Zarafea," Catherine purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "How wonderful of you to join us."
Zarafea inclined her head. "The pleasure is mine," she replied evenly, taking the seat offered to her. As she settled in, she felt the air thicken with tension. Whispers followed her every movement, the ladies exchanging quick glances as if gauging how best to approach their prey.
The maidservants moved efficiently around the room, refilling teacups and offering plates of sweets. Zarafea accepted a cup of tea, its floral scent soothing, though she hardly drank. Her attention remained on the women around her, reading the undercurrents of their conversation like one reads an ancient, dangerous script.
Lady Calanthe, one of the eldest fae present and known for her sharp tongue, leaned forward with a smirk. "Lady Zarafea, I do hope Thalorwen hasn't been too overwhelming for you. It must be quite the adjustment, considering your… previous station." Her eyes gleamed as she sipped her tea.
Zarafea smiled softly, her voice calm and unbothered. "It's been a lovely experience so far, Lady Calanthe. I find court life quite invigorating. There is much to observe and learn here."
Lady Lira, sitting across from Zarafea, leaned in as well, her lips curving into a mock smile. "Indeed, we were just talking about how different it must be for someone like you. After all, tending to patients is quite different from… well, attending such grand affairs. But I'm sure you'll find your footing eventually."
Zarafea tilted her head slightly, unfazed by the veiled insult. "You're right, Lady Lira. But you'd be surprised how similar court life is to a physician's work. Both require a steady hand, a sharp mind, and the ability to deal with difficult situations."
The corners of Lady Lira's mouth twitched, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. Before she could respond, one of the maids approached with another tray of tea, her hands trembling slightly as she offered a cup to Lady Sarella, a human noble who had married into fae nobility.
Sarella took the cup without a glance at the maid, raising it to her lips—only to immediately let out a gasp. Her face contorted in pain as she slammed the cup down, hot tea splashing across the table. "Are you trying to burn me alive?" she shrieked, glaring at the maid with pure venom in her eyes.
The room fell silent as the maid stammered, her face draining of color. "My lady, I—I didn't mean—"
"Silence!" Sarella hissed, standing up abruptly and slapping the maid across the face, hard enough that the sound echoed. "You useless creature. How dare you serve me tea this hot? Do you not have a brain in that empty head of yours?"
The maid recoiled, her hands trembling as she touched the red mark blooming on her cheek. Tears welled in her eyes, but she dared not speak again.
Several of the other ladies tittered behind their fans, smirking at the maid's humiliation. "Servants," Lady Calanthe muttered with a dismissive wave of her hand, "always so incompetent."
Zarafea's patience snapped. Before she realized it, her voice cut through the tense air, firm but measured. "She was only doing her duty, my lady. The tea was freshly brewed, as it should be."
Sarella turned her furious gaze toward Zarafea, her lips curling in disdain. "Of course you would defend her. You come from humble beginnings yourself, don't you? I imagine you have much in common with the likes of her."
Several of the ladies snickered, their eyes gleaming with malicious amusement, but Zarafea didn't flinch. She met Sarella's gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. "Perhaps," she said coolly, "but that only means I understand the value of hard work. It is the servants who make our food, pour our tea, and keep our homes in order. Without them, we would all be quite helpless."
The room went still for a moment, the ladies exchanging uncomfortable glances. Zarafea could feel their frustration simmering just below the surface. They had expected her to break, to lash out in anger or embarrassment. Instead, she remained calm, in control, her words carefully chosen.
Catherine, who had been watching the exchange with a smirk, finally spoke, her voice dripping with faux innocence. "Lady Zarafea, do tell us—how have you been finding your time in the palace? I'm sure it's quite different from the physician's quarters you're used to."
Several of the ladies leaned in, eager to see how Zarafea would handle yet another barb.
Zarafea took a slow sip of her tea before answering, her voice light but deliberate. "It's been an enlightening experience, Lady Catherine. I've found that the palace is filled with opportunities for learning and growth. And as I've always believed, one's background does not determine their worth—it is their actions that define them."
The room fell into a charged silence, the ladies exchanging glances. Catherine's smile wavered, but she quickly recovered, her eyes flashing with thinly veiled irritation.
One of the maids returned to refill the cups, her hands steady but her eyes darting nervously around the room, clearly aware of the tension hanging in the air. When the maid poured for Zarafea, Zarafea offered her a warm smile, subtly reinforcing her support. The maid's hands stilled, and she offered the faintest nod of gratitude before moving to the next guest.
As the conversation continued, the jabs became sharper, each lady taking turns prying into Zarafea's past, trying to find any crack in her composure. They commented on her modest upbringing, her lack of family prestige, and even her fashion choices, but no matter how they tried to dig under her skin, Zarafea remained an unshakable wall of poise.
Each insult was met with a calm response, each taunt with quiet dignity.
Finally, as the afternoon wore on and the maids moved about clearing the table, Catherine leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing as she studied Zarafea. "You handle yourself well, Lady Zarafea," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "But we all know you're not here just to enjoy court life. So tell me, what is it that you truly want?"
Zarafea set her cup down carefully, her expression serene despite the obvious challenge in Catherine's words. She met the fae woman's gaze with unwavering resolve.
"Only to serve the court," Zarafea replied softly, her voice filled with quiet confidence. "And to ensure that I leave a lasting impression on it."
The room fell silent once again, but this time, it was different. There was no laughter, no snickers of amusement. Instead, there was a palpable tension—a realization that Zarafea, despite their best efforts, could not be easily broken.
As the gathering came to a close, Zarafea rose from her seat with the same grace she had entered with, thanking the ladies for the tea before turning to leave. She could feel their eyes burning into her back, their whispered insults and taunts a futile effort to unsettle her.
But Zarafea had already won this round. She knew that, and more importantly—they knew it too.