Four years were enough for Emília to realize that she would never return home. Over the past few years, she had been tasked with gathering information to devise strategies for the upcoming war.
"There's little time left before the great war begins," she thought, organizing the books back on their shelves. "When I died, I was twenty-three. In two years, my parents will be imprisoned, and Oliver will be killed."
"Good morning, Emi," Eitor said sleepily. Emília smiled faintly.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she replied, gently tapping the dwarf on the back. "I had to clean up the entire mess by myself!"
"Sorry, Kátia came to visit me yesterday." Kátia was Eitor's older sister, who lived in the former kingdom of the girl.
"Did she bring any news?" Emília asked, her eyes pleading for a positive answer.
"Nothing, Emi. I'm sorry."
"It's fine, I figured," she responded, turning her attention back to the books, trying to distract her mind.
At that moment, her greatest concern was Oliver. Emília feared that the future might change and that the young man would die earlier than expected. She couldn't let that happen, even as a prisoner. There had to be a way to save her brother.
"Emília, the duke requests your presence in the side chamber," the maid said, a cruel smile on her face.
Throughout the years, Emília had received the same privileges as a noble. She had a luxurious room, her own menu, and could move freely around the castle. However, a spell had been placed on her wrist, in the form of a golden bracelet, preventing her from fleeing or escaping.
Some of the servants, upon seeing a commoner receive so many benefits and even the attention of the king and other nobles, grew furious. Marta was one such case. The woman was around thirty years old and had worked in the castle from a young age without ever being promoted. Sometimes, she would serve Emília stale food from the previous day, and when in a foul mood, she even tried more dangerous tricks, like placing nails under her pillow. If Emília hadn't read so many stories and learned about the evil in the world, she would likely have been dead by Marta's hand.
"Thank you, Marta. I'm on my way," she replied, trying not to lower her head before the maid's grotesque figure, who wore an expression of pure cruelty as she left.
"Why don't you tell someone about the things she does to you?" Eitor asked, nervously glancing at the now-empty doorway.
"No one would believe me," Emília answered.
"I'm sure the king would. Everyone in the castle adores you."
"But they know that if they so much as blink, I'll be gone," Emília retorted, looking at the bracelet.
"Emi, don't you like it here?" Eitor asked, sounding sad.
"Of course I do. But there's something I need to do. Something I can't explain to you right now."
With that, she left, walking toward the side chamber, the room reserved for meetings among the castle's nobles. Emília had discovered that in Drakondia, people were kind and had immense hearts. It was different from Londrin, where she was born. There, humans were more prevalent than elves, but here, aside from elves, there were beings who appeared human but could transform into small dragons, like the royal family. Yet this only reinforced Emília's need to return to Londrin and stop the real threat, Arthur.
"If the king knew Arthur's true plans, he wouldn't be cooperating with him," she thought. "Everything is disguised. He covers his tracks so well, and I can't reveal too much without raising suspicion."
When she arrived at the chamber, she found a dead pig on the table. She heard laughter, and Marta appeared.
"Well, well, miss. Is this what you're eating today?" she asked, grabbing Emília's arm roughly and dragging her toward the table. Emília's arms were already bruised from Marta's many abuses. "Come on, have a taste."
Flies buzzed around the meat, which was nearly rotten. Emília tried to pull away, but the woman held her tightly.
"What's going on here?" A deep, rough voice asked in a harsh, angry tone. Emília knew that voice well and smiled as she turned around.
"Your Majesty!" she said, managing to escape Marta's grip, who now had a horrified expression.
"Your Majesty," the maid curtsied. "We were just cleaning up a child's mischief. Isn't that right, miss?"
Emília remained silent as Edward gently took her arm.
"How can he hold me so much more gently than her?" she wondered as he looked sadly at the bruises and red marks.
"Get out. Leave this castle," Edward commanded, staring deeply into Marta's eyes.
"But, sir, this is my only livelihood. You have no proof—"
"Leave!" he shouted, his eyes flaring with fury. Marta fled, and Emília never saw her again.
"You," he turned to Emília, angry. "Why didn't you tell me? How long has this been happening?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't want to bother you," she explained. "Since you went to Londrin, Your Majesty—"
"It's Edward, remember?" he said, stepping closer to her. "Say it. I want to see if you've learned."
"Your Majesty… Edward," Emília said, looking at the floor. Her gaze stayed down until she heard him laugh.
"Come, I'll take you for a walk."