The following morning, the first crow of the palace hens echoed through the chilled dawn air, but Elyria remained in bed, her body battered and weak from the previous day's punishment. Her back ached with fiery pain, the deep welts left by Queen Beatrix's cane a cruel reminder of her place in the palace.
She was accustomed to waking early, before the sun crested the horizon because it was the time assigned to her. But this morning, she could barely lift a finger, her strength sapped by agony and despair.
Her brief solitude was shattered by the sudden crash of her door flying open. Before she could comprehend what was happening, icy water poured over her body, soaking her to the bone. Elyria gasped, shivering violently as the cold seeped into her bruised skin.
"What are you still doing in bed, you lazy wench?" bellowed the head maid, her voice harsh and unyielding. The older woman stood over her, arms akimbo, eyes blazing with disdain. "Have you forgotten your chores? Get up! Or do you think being pregnant gives you the right to lie about like some noblewoman?"
Elyria weakly pushed herself upright, her hands trembling as she tried to wipe the dripping water from her face. She bit her lip to suppress a groan of pain, her swollen belly making every movement a struggle. She did not protest or defend herself, years of maltreatment had taught her the futility of it.
Since her arrival at the palace, no maids were assigned to her, not even the most menial ones. As a concubine, she was entitled to some form of care, but she was treated far worse than the lowliest beggar. Even the servants, who should have been beneath her, lived with more dignity and comfort.
The maid's scornful gaze bore into her. "Don't just sit there! Move!" With a final huff, the woman turned and stormed out, muttering curses under her breath.
Elyria slowly stood, clutching her belly protectively. The blood-stained dress she had worn the previous day was still clinging to her skin, now damp and heavy. She didn't bother changing. There was no time, and it wasn't as though anyone cared about her appearance.
Her room was little more than a cramped storage closet, its walls bare and cold. She reached for an old, dented bucket in the corner and stepped out into the pale morning light, her bare feet scraping against the rough stone floor.
The palace grounds were eerily quiet, the early morning mist clinging to the air. As she walked, the sharp gravel underfoot bit into her soles, but she ignored the pain. Her free hand rested on her swollen belly, gently rubbing the life growing within her.
She whispered softly, her voice tender despite the torment she endured. "You must stay strong, little one. I know it's hard now, but I promise to protect you. No matter what they do to me, I will keep you safe."
Her words seemed to reach the child within her, for she felt a faint stirring, a subtle yet unmistakable movement. A fragile smile broke across her lips, her first genuine smile in what felt like an eternity.
Her steps slowed as she approached the stream. The cold water reflected her weary face, her dark hair clinging to her damp skin, yet there was something regal about her even in her broken state. She bent carefully, filling the bucket with water, her gaze fixed on her reflection.
"When you are born," Elyria whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle ripple of the stream, "and when you are old enough, I will tell you everything. About who I truly am, about my heritage. You will know the truth of your bloodline and of the strength that runs in your veins."
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she straightened, clutching the heavy bucket. Despite the pain and the torment, a flicker of resolve burned within her. For the sake of the life she carried, she would endure. For her child, she would fight, even if it meant defying the very kingdom that had sought to break her.
Elyria's steps faltered only for a moment before she resumed her journey back to the palace. Thirty minutes later, she arrived, her body aching and her strength nearly spent. She walked slowly to the kitchen, the heavy bucket of water pulling at her weary arms.
Inside, the kitchen bustled with activity. Servants darted around, preparing breakfast for the royal household. As Elyria poured the water into a larger basin, she felt their eyes on her.
"She's nothing but a thorn in this palace," one maid whispered to another.
"I heard she was just a commoner forced into the king's bed," another muttered, her voice laced with disdain. "What right does she have to bear his child?"
"She thinks carrying the king's child makes her special," someone else added, their laughter low but cruel.
Elyria's face remained stiff, her hands steady as she worked. She pretended not to hear, but every word cut deep, the disdain of those who should have been her peers serving as a reminder of her isolation.
She picked up her bucket and headed outside, preparing for another trip to the stream when a sharp voice froze her in place.
"Elyria!"
She turned to see Queen Adessia approaching, her expression twisted with bitterness. Adessia was one of the king's older queens, yet she had never conceived a child in all her years in the palace. Her barrenness had made her resentful, and her hatred for Elyria burned brightly, especially now that Elyria was carrying the king's heir.
Elyria hesitated for only a moment before walking toward the queen. She had barely reached her when Adessia slapped her across the face with such force that she fell to the ground.
"How dare you walk when I call you?" Adessia sneered, her voice dripping with venom. "You couldn't run? Do you think your pregnancy makes you untouchable?"
Elyria tried to explain herself, her lips trembling. "My Queen, I….."
Another slap cut her off, this one even harder, causing blood to trickle from her mouth. She clenched her fists, holding back tears. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Adessia smirked at her, her eyes glinting with malice. "You think carrying the king's child makes you important? Let's see how much your life matters. I want you to fetch me a fruit."
Elyria blinked, confused. "A fruit, my Queen?"
"Yes, a fruit," Adessia said, her voice deceptively sweet. "The Moonstone Fruit, from the Crescent Expanse." The Moonstone Fruit was rumoured to cure barrenness and Adessia was willing to sacrifice Elyria to get it.
Elyria's heart sank. The Crescent Expanse was a treacherous place, filled with beasts and dangers beyond imagination. Few who ventured there ever returned.
"My Queen, please," Elyria begged, falling to her knees. "I cannot go there. It's dangerous, and I'm with child….."
Adessia's expression darkened as she raised her hand to slap her again. "You worthless concubine! How dare you disobey me? Who cares if you're pregnant? You will go, or you will suffer."
When Elyria still refused, Adessia's patience snapped. "Guards!" she barked. "Tie her up and give her one hundred strokes of the cane."
"No, please!" Elyria cried, her voice breaking. But her pleas fell on deaf ears as the guards seized her and bound her hands forward.
The first stroke landed with a sickening crack, and she clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out. Stroke after stroke tore into her back, her blood staining the courtyard's stone floor. Yet she remained silent, her lips moving in silent prayer.
"Creators, keep me alive," she whispered in her heart. "For the sake of my child, give me strength."
By the time the punishment ended, her back was open with deep cuts and wounds and bleeding, but still, she did not cry. Adessia stepped forward, her smirk widening.
"Now," she said coldly, "leave. Do not return to this palace unless you bring me the Moonstone Fruit."
The guards untied her and dragged her limp body outside the gates, dumping her on the ground like discarded waste. Elyria lay there, her breath shallow, her blood pooling beneath her.
She clutched her belly weakly and whispered, "I will not give up. For you, my child. For you."