Chereads / Desecration of a saint / Chapter 33 - Eyes of Gold

Chapter 33 - Eyes of Gold

*Princess Aliynn's POV*

I opened my eyes, feeling the soft light of day filtering through the curtains. A gentle knock echoed from the heavy doors of my room, but I couldn't muster the energy to respond. Instead, I lazily glanced at my guard, Olivia. Her bronze-colored face remained as passive as ever. She reminded me of the many statues of my father that lined the palace halls—though, admittedly, she was far easier on the eyes.

With a stretch, I raised my arms above my head and let out a small, contented grunt. Olivia, ever attentive, moved to open the door for the servant waiting outside.

"Mistress," the servant began, her voice wavering with nervousness, "your father has instructed me to inform you to prepare for travel. You should expect it to last three weeks."

The faint tremor in her words might have irritated me on another day, but I was feeling particularly magnanimous this morning. I waved off my annoyance and allowed her to continue uninterrupted.

"Mmm, yes… yes…" I murmured lazily, stretching once more. "Thank you for that. Now, is there anything else?" I paused, noting her hesitance. "No? Then get out."

The servant scurried off, leaving the room in a hurry. Slowly, I turned my gaze back to Olivia, arching a brow and tilting my head as I spoke.

"Traveling… Mmmm, I wonder what could make Father decide on that. You wouldn't have a clue, would you?"

The stoic woman gave no reply, barely acknowledging that she'd heard me at all.

"I didn't think so. Ever the conversationalist, by the way."

I rose from my bed, my nightgown fluttering lightly in the draft from the open window. I was tempted to step out onto the balcony, but the thought of my family's disapproval at me flaunting my undergarments to the servants below quickly dismissed the idea. With a light spin on my toes, I turned to face Olivia and offered a mock curtsy.

"Now, who is it today that's going to dress me? I expect Father will be wanting me downstairs shortly and I'd imagine in a more courtly attire."

For the briefest moment, Olivia's brow twitched—just the faintest quiver.

"It would seem the servants were called off today," she replied, her voice as steady as ever. "So I'm afraid you'll be responsible for dressing yourself today, oh princess."

Shock coursed through me. Me, a princess, having to dress myself like some commoner? That simply wouldn't do.

"Olivia," I said, my tone sweet but cutting, "I see a servant right in front of me. Now, I highly recommend that you get to dressing me."

For the first time in what felt like forever, a flicker of emotion crossed Olivia's otherwise impassive face. A hint of anger—deliciously restrained but unmistakable—lit her eyes. It was exactly the reaction I craved from her. If my father insisted she shadow me day and night, I might as well enjoy getting under her skin.

I let Olivia doll me up, her movements efficient and precise as always. Once I was ready, I made my way out of the room, my steps echoing faintly in the halls of my wing. The endless corridors of the palace never failed to annoy me; hall after hall, all grand yet monotonous, stretched before me. My heels clicked sharply against the polished floor, and my feet already ached, testing the light smile I always wore as I walked.

As we neared the main halls, the activity increased. Maids and other members of the cleaning staff moved about, their presence more noticeable now. Whenever I approached, they shifted toward the walls, bowing slightly or murmuring greetings to ensure they were properly out of my way. I didn't bother acknowledging them. Why would I? They knew their place, and I had no need to remind them.

The hum of conversation grew louder as I approached the doors, a mix of casual banter and weighty tones that hinted at important matters being discussed inside. My pace remained steady, my expression composed, as curiosity flickered at the edges of my thoughts.

The palace guards opened the doors for me, their movements precise and practiced, as though every step and gesture had been rehearsed countless times. I stepped into the grand dining hall, the soft echo of my heels swallowed by the vast space. My gaze was immediately drawn to my father, seated at the head of the ornate table. His dark hair, streaked with silver, stood as a silent testament to the years spent ruling this kingdom. His sharp jawline and high cheekbones gave his face a chiseled, statuesque quality, but it was his eyes—cold and calculating, like chips of polished onyx—that truly defined him. His expression, as always, was unreadable, his brow etched with a faint, permanent furrow that gave him an air of perpetual judgment. The long, dark royal robes he wore added to his imposing presence, their intricate gold embroidery glinting faintly in the light.

To his left sat a rotund, dark-skinned man, his lavish attire adorned with gems and embroidery that strained against his bulk. Rings glittered on nearly every finger, their stones catching the light with every slight movement. His eyes darted toward me briefly, sharp and appraising, before settling back on my father. I didn't recognize him, but he must have been a high-ranking noble to be seated here. To his right was a frail, skinny old man I recognized as the physician who had overseen my younger brother's birth—Dutchmund, or something like that. His pale, papery skin and hunched posture made him seem almost spectral, as though he might vanish into the gilded surroundings at any moment.

I inclined my head in a practiced bow, every movement deliberate and precise, offering the gesture with the poise drilled into me since childhood. "Your Majesty," I said, forcing my voice into a tone I hoped resembled filial warmth. In truth, I felt little for the man beyond a vague sense of duty. I barely knew him beyond the imposing presence he wielded and the weight of his crown.

My gaze flickered briefly to the two men flanking him, lingering for a moment on the jeweled rings of the rotund man and the trembling hands of Dutchmund. Returning my focus to my father, I folded my hands neatly before me, donned the light smile I'd perfected for moments like this, and waited for the decree—or demand—that had summoned me here.