Bailey forcefully freed her hand, her wrist throbbing with a reddened hue from the pain.
Her gaze fixed upon the man as she spoke in a chilly tone, elucidating, "Dandelions possess remarkable detoxifying properties. Grant's wound runs deep, and its healing would prove arduous without proper care. This is common knowledge, unless, of course, you are unaware?"
Rory's expression twisted into a sneer. "We have an abundance of physicians within the palace. Your feigned concern is unnecessary."
Disregarding his dismissive words, Bailey swiftly tended to Grant's wound, tightly wrapping it before thrusting him into Rory's embrace.
"Are you mocking me for intervening? What about the concubine's professed affection for Grant? She barely bothered to provide the poor creature with a mere cloth to cover its wound. One could easily believe she wished for the cat's infection and demise."
Having uttered her retort, Bailey pivoted on her heel and departed, leaving Rory to gaze after her retreating figure.
A disconcerting sensation lingered within his heart.
Meanwhile, the guards had already escorted Nanny Eva away for her punishment, leaving Brenna standing by, helpless to intervene.
"Nanny Eva has dutifully served by my side for countless years. It pains me to witness her suffering such chastisement," Brenna lamented.
"You may have suffered a loss in terms of servants, but I shall instruct the steward to provide replacements. There is no need for you to dwell on it,"Rory notichalantly stated.
A sudden realization dawned upon Brenna, and she delicately urged Rory, her words carrying a hint of persuasion, "Though I hold the title of a concubine, it is peculiar that I possess a greater number of attendants than the queen consort herself. Such an inequity seems unjust. Perhaps arranging for her to have an increased retinue as well would be fitting?"
Rory, however, remained indifferent to Bailey's presence.
"Pay her no heed." He dismissed in a smooth tone.
"If you refuse, then I shall forego any attendants as well," Brenna declared firmly.
"Your perpetual kindness and consideration always move me. Very well, I shall heed your suggestion." Rory nodded.
Despite Brenna's outwardly submissive demeanor, a glimmer of coldness briefly danced within her eyes After her return, Bailey discharged Meghan from her service.
Seated upon the bed, her legs crossed, Bailey closed her eyes and focused her thoughts, intently contemplating various medicinal herbs.
Before long, her hand grasped the much-needed herbs she had sought.
Yet, as she prepared to rise from the bed, a sharp pang seared her chest, forcing blood to surge forth from her mouth. It took her a while to recover from the bout of coughing.
Frowning in contemplation, Bailey realized the inherent fragility of her current physical vessel. Witch doctors possessed exceptional healing prowess and the ability to harness spiritual power to acquire medicine.
Such talents were rare, surpassing the capabilities of ordinary physicians.
It was this unique aptitude that had earned her favor from the King of Ufrurg
With her rebirth, however, employing spiritual power exacted a tremendous toll upon her physical well-being. Henceforth, she resolved to prioritize self-care. Summoning Meghan, she voiced her new directive, "From now on, instruct the kitchen to prepare a more substantial fare. A vegetarian diet alone will not suffice for my sustenance."
Meghan was surprised. "Weren't you striving to maintain a svelte figure in order to curry favor with the king? Why this sudden change in appetite?"
Bailey sighed, recognizing the previous owner's folly in foolishly sacrificing herself for love, only to be constantly criticized at every turn.
Yet, she remained undeterred by her circumstances.
"I now comprehend that health holds paramount importance. Everything else pales in comparison."
Meghan was thrilled to witness her mistress' newfound resolution and self- care.
She eagerly departed for the kitchen to make arrangements for heartier meals in the coming days
Fate had an ironic sense of timing as Meghan found herself face-to-face with Lyla, the formidable overseer of the mansion. Memories of past grievances made Meghan instinctively try to evade her presence.
Lyla's sharp gaze caught Meghan's attempt to slip away, prompting her to approach swiftly. Arms folded, she commanded, "Halt! What clandestine business are you up to?"
"Good day, Lyla," Meghan offered a cautious, respectful greeting. "I humbly convey the queen consort's desire for meat dishes. With utmost respect, I come to the kitchen to discuss the necessary adjustments commencing tomorrow.
Deep within Lyla's mind, she had never regarded Bailey as the true queen consort but rather as a simpleton, foolish as a pig.
In her eyes, the queen consort's stature paled compared to that of the favored concubine, Brenna, who held sway over the mansion and the king's heart.
She fixed Meghan with a piercing gaze. "Deliver a message to the queen consort for me. The palace resources are strained, and we mustn't squander them. The allocation of meat for each day has been carefully planned. She has no authority to dictate otherwise."
Unperturbed, Meghan implored, her voice tinged with desperation, "Lyla, I beseech your understanding. The queen consort is still recovering from her punishment. Could we not make an exception and include an additional meat dish daily?"
Lyla shot Meghan a withering glare, her eyes filled with disdain. " So, now you wish to play the role of a decision- maker? A lowly chambermaid, stepping out of line and overstepping her bounds. Do you truly believe yourself to be of such great importance?"
Suddenly, another kitchen maid interjected, attempting to mediate the tense exchange. "Lyla, enough of this bickering. Why not allow Meghan to properly handle this fish and offer a portion of the meat as a gesture to the queen consort? It would serve as a fair compromise."
Surprisingly, Lyla refrained from immediate rejection, her smile laden with hidden implications. "Very well, Meghan, do you accept this proposition?"
Summoning her courage, Meghan asked, "How should I proceed with this task?"
The kitchen maid and Lyla exchanged knowing glances, their eyes filled with mischief.
In front of Meghan lay a swordlish adorned with a dense coat of sharp spines.
This particular delicacy, carefully selected by a rural cook, was intended for Brenna, known for its rare and invigorating properties that moncy alone couldn't procure. However, the fish proved to be a slippery and uncooperative challenge, deterring others from approaching it for fear of injury. Just moments ago, someone had sought solace from Lyla, sharing their frustrations.
And now fate had led Meghan to this very moment. Could she be of use?
This was Meghan's first encounter with a fish adorned in such formidable spines, and her heart raced with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.
Indifferent to her apprehension, Lyla uttered coldly, "If you're not willing to add a dish for the queen consort, then perhaps you should leave. It seems even this simple task is beyond your capabilities. Do you consider yourself too important for such menial work?"
Meghan hesitated, her mind racing with uncertainty, before finally gathering the courage to ask, "How should I proceed with this?"
Lyla's voice was cold and instructive. "Take a knife and meticulously scrape away the thorns adorning the fish's exterior. Remember, the fish must remain alive, for it has been attested that live fish imparts the most invigorating essence to soups. Should the fish perish, its potency is lost."
Even Meghan, not the cleverest of individuals, could sense that the cook and Lyla were scheming to play a trick on her.
No wonder Lyla readily agreed to the proposition. If she were to remove the spines from the fish, it would surely cause her pain.
Merely relying on her hands to hold the fish down would inevitably result in injury. As the thought of the queen consort waiting for her crossed her mind, Meghan realized she had no choice but to endure this predicament silently.
Each touch upon the fish's surface elicited a vehement response as it thrashed vigorously, leaving several crimson marks on Meghan's palm behind.
She fought back feelings of helplessness, her trembling hands a testament to her inner turmoil.
Why were the concubines allowed to revel in sumptuous feasts with a mere beckon of their fingers while the queen consort was left to contend with meager scraps? No one regarded her with genuine concern.
Such circumstances were utterly exasperating, gnawing at Meghan's spirit like an unyielding flame.