When Salviana finally reached the queen's chambers, her heart gave an unsteady flutter. The ornate doors loomed ahead, flanked by two guards and a maid. Salviana stepped forward with confidence, but the welcome was anything but warm.
"I'm here to see the queen," Salviana said firmly.
The maid stepped forward, her tone sharp. "Her Majesty is busy."
"If you could, please inform her that it is I, Princess Salviana, the seventh princess of Wyfn-Garde," Salviana replied, her voice polite but resolute.
"She is not accepting guests at the moment," one of the guards added, his tone bordering on dismissive.
Salviana's lips pressed into a thin line. She exhaled softly and took a step back. "Very well," she said, turning to leave, though a small part of her ached at the rejection.
Just as she began to walk away, a voice from inside the chambers rang out.
"Thank you for everything, Your Highness."
Salviana froze mid-step.
A second voice followed, warmer and unmistakably regal. "No prob—is that the seventh princess?"
The heavy doors creaked open, and the queen appeared, her presence commanding and impossible to overlook. Nobody could miss her fiery hair, cascading like a crown of flames around her elegant features.
Salviana quickly dipped into a graceful bow. "Yes, Your Highness. Good afternoon."
The queen smiled, and the gesture sent ripples of shock through everyone present. Even Rose, the young woman who had just been thanking the queen, looked visibly startled.
"Lovely afternoon to you too," the queen replied warmly. She gestured toward Salviana. "Come inside, my dear. How have you been?"
Salviana hesitated for a fraction of a second, momentarily stunned by the queen's uncharacteristic warmth. Before she could respond, Rose spoke up, her tone edged with irritation.
"I'd be on my way now, Your Highness," Rose announced, her voice pointed as she glanced briefly at Salviana.
The queen waved her off with a dismissive gesture. "On your way, then."
Rose's jaw tightened as she curtsied. When Salviana turned to acknowledge her with a polite nod, Rose brushed past her sharply, her shoulder nearly grazing Salviana's arm.
Salviana blinked, confused. She had thought they were at least acquaintances. It appeared Rose had no intention of speaking to her.
Shrugging it off with a small smile, Salviana stepped forward and followed the queen inside, the doors closing behind her with an ominous finality. The chamber was as grand as she had expected, but Salviana's focus remained solely on the woman leading her further into its depths.
Something about this meeting felt significant, though she couldn't quite place why.
Salviana had taken extra care in dressing for her meeting with the queen. Her gown was a deep emerald green, accentuating her fiery hair, with intricate gold embroidery that hinted at her royal heritage.
She had chosen a simple yet elegant necklace, its gem reflecting the light subtly, and her makeup was understated but flawless.
Every detail was intentional, meant to convey respect and dignity.
When she stepped into the queen's parlour, Salviana was struck by its grandeur.
The room was bathed in soft golden light, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting Wyfn-Garde's rich history.
A large window overlooked the sprawling gardens, though the faint rumble of thunder hinted that the weather was about to turn.
The queen greeted her warmly, gesturing for Salviana to sit on one of the plush chairs. A maid entered moments later, setting down a tray of tea and delicate pastries.
Salviana took a moment to admire the spread—the tea set was porcelain, painted with delicate floral designs, and the pastries looked as if they'd been crafted by an artist.
As they sipped their tea, Salviana carefully placed the embroidery she had brought onto the low table between them.
"I made this recently," she said, her voice soft but steady. "It's a small gift, Your Highness."
The queen leaned forward, her brows lifting with curiosity. She picked up the piece of fabric and held it delicately, her eyes scanning the intricate design.
Salviana had embroidered a phoenix rising from flames, the vibrant threads of orange and gold creating a striking image against the cream background.
"A phoenix," the queen said, her tone thoughtful as her fingers traced the design.
"It symbolizes rebirth and resilience," Salviana explained. "I thought it fitting… for a queen who has weathered so much."
The queen's expression softened, her lips curving into a genuine smile. "It's exquisite," she said, a hint of wonder in her voice. "You have a remarkable talent, Salviana."
The praise sent a rush of warmth through Salviana, and she couldn't help the slight flush that crept up her cheeks. "I'm glad you like it, Your Highness," she said, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
The two women spent the next hour in easy conversation, their initial formality giving way to a more relaxed camaraderie. Salviana felt a rare sense of belonging in the queen's presence.
They spoke of art, the kingdom, and even shared a laugh or two—something Salviana had not expected from a meeting she'd initially approached with trepidation.
When the sky outside began to darken, the queen glanced toward the window.
The low growl of thunder was closer now, and a cool breeze swept into the room through a partially open window.
"It seems we're in for a storm," the queen remarked, rising gracefully from her chair.
Salviana stood as well, smoothing her gown. "I should take my leave before it begins."
"Nonsense," the queen replied, motioning to one of the guards stationed by the door. "Have a carriage prepared to take Princess Salviana back to her chambers."
Salviana inclined her head. "Thank you, Your Highness. For the tea… and your time. It means a great deal to me."
The queen smiled again, this time with a warmth that felt almost maternal. "And your gift means a great deal to me. I will treasure it."
Salviana hesitated for a moment before offering a deep curtsy. Then, with a final glance at the queen, she followed the guard outside.
The rain began just as she stepped into the waiting carriage.
Droplets pattered against the roof as the vehicle jolted forward, carrying her back to her chambers.
Salviana leaned back against the seat, her fingers brushing the fabric of her gown. A small smile played on her lips.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt a glimmer of hope—perhaps there was a place for her in this kingdom after all.
As the carriage swayed gently on its path back to her chambers, Salviana's thoughts drifted. She found herself recalling a time from her youth—a day she had desperately sought her mother's approval.
It had been a sunny afternoon, and Salviana, no more than ten years old, had spent hours in the kitchen with the head chef.
Her little hands had kneaded dough and carefully placed dollops of batter on a tray, imagining her mother's pleased smile when she presented the cookies.
When they were finally baked to perfection, golden brown and warm with a comforting aroma, Salviana had carried the plate to the drawing room where her mother sat, surrounded by her court of ladies.
"Mother," Salviana had said, her voice full of timid hope. She held the plate of cookies up, her small hands trembling slightly under the weight. "I made these for you. I thought you'd like them."
Her mother, the Duchess of Wyfn-Garde, barely glanced up from her embroidery. Her sharp eyes, always meticulously painted and full of disdain, flicked to the plate before returning to her work.
"Salviana," she said, her tone clipped. "What nonsense is this?"
The little girl blinked, her hopeful smile faltering. "I… I made cookies. For you."
"For me?" Her mother set down her embroidery and finally looked at Salviana properly, her expression as cold as ever. "Do you think I have the time or inclination to eat such… childish things? Cookies, Salviana? What were you thinking?"
"I-I thought you might like them," Salviana stammered, her cheeks burning.
One of the ladies-in-waiting let out a soft, pitying laugh, and Salviana's shame deepened.
Her mother rose to her full height, towering over the small girl. "Let me make something very clear to you," she said, her voice low but cutting like a blade. "You are a princess, Salviana. A daughter of the duchy. You are not some common baker or servant. Your time should be spent learning skills befitting your station, not dabbling in the kitchen like a peasant."
Salviana's lips quivered, but she forced herself not to cry.
"Take this away," her mother commanded, gesturing to the plate. "And do not embarrass me like this again. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mother," Salviana whispered, her voice barely audible.
Her mother's cold gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before she turned back to her ladies, resuming their conversation as though Salviana didn't exist.
The young girl had carried the plate back to the kitchen, her heart heavier than the tray in her hands.
Back in the present, Salviana let out a bitter sigh as she stared out of the carriage window. The memory still stung after all these years, but she took comfort in knowing that things were different now.
No one had appreciated her at home—not her mother, not her siblings. To them, she had always been a mere shadow of her sisters, an afterthought in a family full of ambition. But things would change.
Her marriage to the third prince, Alaric, would force them to respect her. She was no longer the timid girl offering cookies; she was a princess married into the royal family, with a role and importance they could no longer ignore.
She smiled faintly at the thought, but as she took a steadying breath, a sharp pain twisted in her stomach. Her breath hitched, and her hand instinctively moved to her abdomen.
The discomfort was sudden and strange, cutting through her reverie like a blade. She tried to breathe through it, her brows furrowing in concern.
"What's happening?" she murmured to herself, her voice trembling slightly.
The guard outside must have noticed her shift because the carriage slowed, and a voice called, "Your Grace, is everything all right?"
"Yes," she replied quickly, though the pain lingered, a dull ache that refused to fade. "I'm fine. Keep going."
The carriage resumed its steady rhythm, but Salviana sat rigidly, her mind now swirling with worry.
She pressed a hand to her stomach, praying the pain was nothing more than fleeting. Yet, deep down, unease settled over her like a shadow.
This all happened before Alaric had come home to meet her in front of the mirror removing her jewelry.