Dark blue-grey stone walls loomed high, adorned with towers that bore small, slit-like windows. Servants scurried about, each occupied with their respective tasks. No idleness was permitted within the palace.
A young maid, bearing a collection of used goblets from the King's chamber, traversed the halls. The King, preoccupied with his numerous mistresses, engaged in acts that ought to be reserved for a more respectable context.
Yet the King was oblivious, utterly ensnared in his indulgent pursuits, dismissive of the servant's presence.
"Begone," he commanded as the door swung open, revealing the Queen Mother. King Mansa groaned as the women hastily departed, half-clad, at the witch's behest.
"Good evening, dearest mother. What compels your visit to my humble abode?" he greeted with a note of sarcasm.
His displeasure at her arrival was palpable; she had intruded upon his revelry.
"If only you could devote such fervor to seeking a suitor for your...well, it would be preferable to this dissolute existence," remarked Theodore, surveying the room.
"Why should I concern myself with such matters? Were you not the one who allowed her to live? Had it been my choice, she would have met her end by now, her flesh picked clean by vultures."
The maid, who had paused to close the door behind her, hesitated upon overhearing the King's words. It was not her affair, and she ought to remain deaf to such conversations, as all maids were expected to be; yet, her curiosity proved insatiable.
"I shall be departing in two days for the realm of Valei," Theodore declared, his voice echoing in the dimly lit chamber, ensuring the maid caught every word.
"Those fools!" King Mansa snickered derisively, his tone dripping with contempt. "They dared to refuse their allegiance to me, as if they could afford such insolence."
"Let us see if he will dare to decline the proposed alliance," Theodore replied, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"It is but a trifling matter," the King chuckled, raising his goblet to his lips and savoring the rich, dark liquid within. "Let them prattle on. They are unaware of the greater game at play."
"They remain blissfully ignorant, as does she," Theodore continued, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Such an unsuspecting girl to believe that the curse may be undone, to hold such naïve hopes."
Meanwhile, the young maid moved restlessly about the chamber, her heart racing as she wrestled with the weight of what she had just overheard. Each step felt heavy, as though the very stones beneath her feet conspired to keep her silent.
It was no concern of hers, she reminded herself, yet an insistent urge compelled her forward, gnawing at her resolve. Her conscience would not grant her a moment's respite, whispering incessantly in her ear.
In her modest dwelling—a humble hut constructed of weathered timber and thatch—she was surrounded by the stark simplicity of her existence. The space contained but two rough-hewn wooden chairs and a bed so unforgiving that it seemed designed to ensure a lifetime of backache. Her gaze fell upon the empty chair, and tears began to gather in her eyes.
"Promise me, child, that you shall warn her. I have never asked aught of you; thus, I beseech you, promise me that you will flee this wretched place," her mother's voice echoed in her memory, a haunting plea that tugged at her heartstrings.
It had been two long days since she had eavesdropped on that fateful conversation between the King and his mother, yet the vivid images of their scheming still haunted her mind. She could not forget the way the King's laughter had reverberated off the cold stone walls, nor how close she had come to being discovered, were it not for that gallant gentleman who had distracted the guards at the critical moment.
Wiping the tears that had escaped her eyes, the young lady took a deep breath and turned her thoughts to the small missive she had prepared. It was a simple note, yet within its few words lay the potential to change the course of someone's fate—a chance to break the silence that had bound her to inaction.
She rose from the bed, the old frame creaking beneath her as she carefully concealed the carefully penned note beneath it before departing for her duties.
Upon her return to the palace, she felt a burning gaze fixed upon her, an unsettling sensation that made her skin prickle. Though she longed to dismiss it, the feeling was insistent, particularly after her near discovery the previous day. Relenting to the weight of the scrutiny, she resigned herself to the task of delivering food to the tower.
After much hassle and a fair bit of perspiration, she finally breached the threshold of the forbidden section of the palace.
"We must leave!" were the first words to escape her lips as she entered the dimly lit chamber, only to freeze at the sight before her.
This was her inaugural encounter with the fabled princess, the one said to be cursed and confined within these cold, stone walls.
She was real!
"Beautiful!" was all that escaped her in a breathless gasp. Princess Kandice, taken aback, felt a flush of warmth at the compliment but struggled to maintain her composure, for she had no knowledge of the motives behind this unexpected visitor.
"Who are you?" the princess inquired, her voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and caution. The lady appeared to be a maid, clad in a plain brown gown that spoke of servitude.
"And what do you mean by 'we need to leave'? You are not permitted to be here," Princess Kandice continued, a hint of wariness coloring her tone as she regarded the intruder, who appeared to be panting as though pursued.
"There is no time to explain!" the maid insisted urgently, her eyes darting about the room. Princess Kandice frowned at the lack of decorum this stranger had displayed since her abrupt entrance.
Though confined within the high walls of the tower, Theodore had ensured she learned to carry herself with the utmost propriety.
"No, you are mistaken, my lady. You must explain your intrusion into my chamber and at least have the decency to announce your presence first," the princess replied, her voice firm, holding the maid's gaze with unwavering authority.
Who did this girl think she was, issuing commands so casually?
Realizing she had neglected to introduce herself, the maid chastised herself inwardly before speaking again.
"I beg your pardon, my princess. I am Lisa, the daughter of Lady Damaris," she said, bowing her head in a gesture of respect.
Surprise flickered in the princess's eyes at this revelation.
"I apologize for my lack of manners, my princess. It was never my intention to disrespect you," Lisa continued, her voice now softened, as she dared to meet the princess's gaze.
A breath of relief escaped Princess Kandice, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and intrigue.
"Damaris?" the princess echoed, her voice tinged with astonishment. "You mean Lady Damaris, and you are her daughter, Lisa, of whom she spoke so fondly?" When Lisa nodded her head awkwardly, a radiant smile blossomed on the princess's face, so captivating that it nearly blinded the young maid with its brilliance.
"Please forgive me for my harshness earlier. It is not every day I encounter new faces," Princess Kandice said as she approached Lisa, who remained rooted to the spot. Gently, she took Lisa's hands in hers.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lisa. You cannot imagine how I have longed to put a face to the stories I have heard about you," the princess exclaimed, her excitement palpable.
She wondered how she had not recognized her at once, especially given the striking resemblance Lisa bore to Lady Damaris.
Lisa had dark skin and striking, cat-like black eyes framed by long lashes. She stood at the same height as the princess and appeared to be of similar age, though she was one year older than Kandice. Her hair was beautifully braided into two cornrows, framing her lovely face.
Damaris had always regaled her with tales of her spirited daughter, Lisa.
Yet now, looking at her, doubts began to creep in. Lisa seemed far from the mischievous girl described in those stories; instead, she appeared aloof and distant.
"Your mother—where is she? She has not visited me in quite some time," Princess Kandice said, her tone brimming with enthusiasm. Lisa's indifferent expression suddenly shifted, revealing an emotion reminiscent of the grief she had once witnessed in the families of three boys years ago.
"Why do you look so sad? Has your mother fallen ill?" the princess asked, concern etching her features.
"My princess," Lisa sighed, pausing, which left Kandice's heart in suspense.
"My...my mother is no more," she said in a low voice, her lips trembling. The princess gasped, clutching her chest as the weight of Lisa's words sank in.
She was no more.
It felt as if something had gripped the princess's heart, pricking it repeatedly, making it difficult to breathe. Memories began to surface, unbidden.
She recalled Lady Damaris's laughter, her warm smiles. She remembered how Damaris had played with her, bringing joy into her life. While the Queen Mother had taught her to be elegant and ladylike, Damaris had taught her the art of happiness.
She was the mother Kandice had never had.
A wave of nausea twisted in her stomach. If she felt such anguish, how was Lisa coping with her loss?
"My condolences, Lisa. She was a remarkable woman," the princess said, wishing to cry and mourn for the beloved lady, yet knowing she needed to be there for Lisa.
She was not skilled at offering comfort—after all, she had never had the need to do so.
Stepping forward, she reached to embrace Lisa, but the latter instinctively stepped back. The hurt on Lisa's face vanished, replaced by an aloof expression.
Princess Kandice frowned slightly at the unfriendly air surrounding Lisa but chose to dismiss it.
She stepped back and offered Lisa a seat, which she declined. Instead, Lisa reached into her dress and withdrew a scroll of parchment, handing it to the princess.
Princess Kandice felt a surge of confusion but accepted the parchment nonetheless. She carefully unrolled it.
To her surprise, it was a letter written by the late Lady Damaris.