The two women rose to their feet as the queen entered the garden, her presence as commanding as Jean had described.
Her gown flowed with an ethereal shimmer, and her expression, though calm, was unreadable. Salviana straightened instinctively, her heart quickening as she dipped into a respectful curtsy.
"Lady Salviana," the queen greeted, her tone warm but measured. "Welcome to my garden."
"Your Majesty," Salviana replied, her voice steady despite her nerves. "Thank you for having me."
The queen's gaze flicked to Jean, who stood dutifully at Salviana's side. A faint smile touched her lips. "Your lady-in-waiting is diligent, I see. But for now, I would like to speak with you alone, Lady Salviana."
Jean hesitated, her sharp eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She turned to Salviana, seeking silent confirmation. Salviana nodded subtly, though the weight of the queen's request settled uneasily on her shoulders.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Jean said, her voice neutral but polite. She bowed and stepped back, glancing one last time at Salviana before turning to leave.
Left alone with the queen, Salviana felt the silence stretch, taut and heavy. The queen gestured toward the bench. "Please, sit."
Salviana obeyed, lowering herself onto the seat. The queen remained standing for a moment, her eyes fixed on Salviana as if assessing her. Finally, she spoke, her voice carrying an undercurrent of authority.
"You've been in the palace for some time now," the queen began, her words deliberate. "I imagine you've had time to observe how things work here."
Salviana nodded, choosing her words carefully. "Yes, Your Majesty. It's been a learning experience."
The queen smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Good. The palace can be a complex place to navigate, especially for someone new. But I must ask—how are you adjusting to your role as the prince's wife?"
Salviana hesitated, her mind racing. She met the queen's gaze, determined not to falter. "It's... a challenge, Your Majesty. But one I am committed to facing with dignity."
The queen's expression softened, though her eyes remained sharp. "Dignity is important, Lady Salviana. But so is strength. You are no longer just a girl navigating society—you are part of this family now. And this family is not without its burdens."
Salviana nodded slowly, sensing the gravity of the queen's words. "I understand, Your Majesty. I will do my best to uphold the responsibilities entrusted to me."
The queen's lips curved into a small, approving smile. "Good. Then let us see how well you can hold your place."
!
Jean's Quarters
Wyfkeep Castle
!
""We need a lock of hair," Lucius declared, breaking the heavy silence in the room.
Jean sat at her small desk, ancient trinkets and artifacts strewn across the surface. At the center of the chaos lay the stubbornly sealed book she had retrieved from the ruins of the mansion. She had been staring at it for hours, willing it to open.
She groaned, her fingers drumming impatiently on the table. "I can't believe the queen asked me to leave the garden. Who does that?" she muttered, glaring at the immovable book as if it were to blame.
"That book won't open unless we get a lock of hair," Lucius said again, his tone as persistent as ever.
Jean huffed, rolling her eyes. "Whose hair? Mine? Where does it even say that?"
Lucius's voice carried a note of exasperation. "Not yours. A divine lady's hair."
Jean shot out of her seat, her voice a mixture of disbelief and outrage. "You want me to steal a lock of my lady's hair?! Are you out of your mind?"
"You need to calm down," Lucius said, his voice maddeningly calm in contrast to her rising agitation.
"Do not tell me to relax!" Jean snapped, pacing the room.
"You cannot afford to lose your cool now," Lucius retorted, his tone firm.
Jean threw her hands in the air. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I wasn't allowed to feel things anymore!"
Lucius sighed. "We've already started this, Jean. You need to stay strong and levelheaded. This is your destiny."
Jean stopped mid-step and glared at the invisible figure she so often bickered with. "One more word about this being my destiny, and I swear I'll make you dead dead. Again."
Lucius went silent for a moment, and Jean reveled in the temporary victory. She wished she could feel his presence as strongly as she had at the mansion ruins last night. Now, he was little more than a disembodied voice, and it made her feel half-blind.
"How did you even come to the conclusion that it needs my lady's hair to unlock?" she asked, hands on her hips.
"We literally read it together," Lucius replied, his tone dripping with incredulity.
"You read it. I just saw scribbles that made no sense," Jean retorted.
"Having a curious mind doesn't necessarily make you smart," Lucius quipped, a teasing edge to his voice.
Jean snorted. "Illusion. That's what you are. A stubborn, annoying illusion."
Lucius chuckled. "You'd have to be crazy for that to be true."
"I'm not insane!" Jean shot back, her voice tight with irritation.
Lucius ignored her outburst. "It's either a lock of hair or a drop of blood to unlock the book. And we both know the blood option isn't happening."
Jean frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. "This sounds suspiciously like some kind of ritual."
"It's not," Lucius said flatly.
"It's—"
"Just get the lock of hair," Lucius cut her off.
Jean groaned, grabbing her hand fan from the table. "If she catches me—"
"Nobody's catching you," Lucius interjected.
Jean's voice rose a pitch. "If she catches me, you're dead."
"Yeah, okay," he replied, clearly unbothered.
"Dead dead! I mean it!" Jean shouted, pointing a finger into the air as if she could see him.
Lucius chuckled softly. "Yes, Jean. Dead dead. Got it."
She huffed dramatically and marched to the door. If this was her "destiny," it was shaping up to be one giant headache.
Who knew Lucius Drake was a pest before he died?