In the next room, the queen dowager sat with an air of cold authority, her fingers delicately cradling a porcelain teacup. The faint aroma of the spiced brew filled the room, blending with the subtle scent of lavender from a vase on the table. Across from her, Liora's uncle sat on the edge of a cushioned chair, his hands clasped tightly on his lap to hide the nervous tremor in his fingers.
"Liora Miral," the queen dowager said, her tone casual as if she were remarking on a piece of furniture rather than a human being. "I do hope she was well-bred."
"Of course, Your Majesty," her uncle said, forcing on a smile that didn't quite make it to the corners of his eyes. "We made sure that she was brought up to proper decorum and taught to respect the way of nobility despite, of course, her miserable situation."
The queen raised a silver brow, her lips curving slightly in what could almost be called a smile. "Unfortunate circumstances?
"Ah, yes, well," stammered the uncle, fidgeting with the collar of his coat as drops of sweat broke out on his forehead. "Her parents' untimely passing, you see. We took her in as our own. Gave her a home, an education, and saw to it that she was groomed to one day be a suitable match for... someone of status."
Her eyes never looked away from him. She continued drinking her tea, though. "And yet," she said in a voice like ice, "here she is. A concubine to a fallen prince."
The uncle's forced smile wavered. "We saw a chance to do good service to the crown, Your Majesty," he said rapidly, his voice climbing into desperation. "It was my wife's suggestion, to be frank with you. She thought it seemed to her that she really did think that this could help the crown. and Liora herself."
The queen said, softly, a bit of scoff and a good part of laughter in it as she set her cup again in its saucer. "Indeed. Let us talk over the question of indemnity, then."
Uncle's throat seemed to shut up tight on the swallow, but he gave his head a jerking nod.
"You shall get two hundred gold pieces," she said without any build-up, her tone meaning finality.
"Two hundred?" the uncle murmured, his voice uncertain. His wife's tone was ringing in his mind now: 'Be sure you bring back a good return on your investment. We're wasting enough to send her away.'
He had a hard time swallowing that one down, mustering his nerve to speak aloud. "Your Majesty, if I might…Liora was raised in luxury. Her education and her training cost nothing? Is she not worth so much more?
The queen dowager's eyes pierced through him, her face still an unreadable mask. She reached for her cup yet again, but before she could say a word, there came the steward at the door, bowing even deeper.
"Your Majesty," the steward said to him, his voice without inflection and respectful enough. "There has been an incident with the girl."
The queen set down her cup with deliberate clarity. The porcelain clinked softly against the saucer. "An incident?
The steward straightened. "She resisted the attendants who were tasked to prepare her. In the scuffle, she shoved one of them, sending her stumbling backward into a basin of hot water."
The queen's lips tightened into a thin line, and her bright gaze snapped back to Liora's uncle. "And you told me she was reared up with proper decorum?
The uncle's face flared with shame, and he cast his eyes to the floor. "I... I assure you, Your Majesty, this is most uncharacteristic of her. She is normally..."
"Spare me your excuses," the queen interrupted, her voice a sharp knife cutting through his words. "If this is the girl you bring to my court, then I question the validity of every claim you've made about her."
The uncle's head drooped further down, his palms now drenched with sweat.
The queen dowager turned to the steward. "Deal with her. Use force if you have to. Lock her up if she keeps resisting, until she knows her place."
"As you order, Your Majesty," the steward said, bowing once more before he left the room.
The queen's eyes returned to the uncle, her face cold. "Two hundred pieces," she said again, her tone leaving no room for argument. "And consider yourself fortunate that I am still willing to grant even that much after this display."
The uncle nodded, bowing his head, his voice barely audible as he muttered, "Thank you, Your Majesty."
The queen reached for her tea once again, her composure as smooth as silk, as if the entire exchange had been nothing but a minor nuisance. To her, it probably was.
For Liora's uncle, it was a humiliation he would never forget.
Liora sat on the floor, her knees curled up to her chest. She cried silently as if the weight of everything were pressing down on her. The maid, who was injured, stood there now bandaged. Her lips were curled in disdain. "I'm so sorry," Liora sobbed. "I didn't mean to hurt you… I wasn't thinking, I..."
She laughed loudly, cutting across his apology. "Save that apology. You really believe an apology will wash over it?" She planted her hands on her waist and scowled downwards, focusing on Liora. "You're only here to be some irritation to the prince, who isn't even worth that, the useless prince."
Liora's eyes leapt up, still dripping from tears."What... what did you just say?"
The maid gleams her eyes with sharp humor. "Oh? So you don't understand?"
"Mara!" the other maid hissed, pulling on her arm. "Enough of that!"
But Mara shrugged her off, setting her chin with a sarcastic smile. "She should know. She is here as a concubine, after all. For the lost prince. The one everybody hates."
Liora's breath caught in her throat, her eyes stretching wide. "What are you talking about? Why would my family..."
"Your family doesn't care," Mara interrupted, her tone sharp and biting. "You should consider yourself lucky you're even here. At least you'll have a roof over your head. Don't go acting like you're someone important."
The words hit Liora like a slap, each syllable digging deeper into her already wounded pride. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. 'A concubine? For a disgraced prince?' Her mind reeled, searching for a reason, an explanation, something that would make this make sense.
Mara, seeing the look of shock on Liora's face, smiled even wider. "And do you even know why he's called the 'lost prince'? Do you know what he did?"
"Mara, stop!" the other maid urged, stepping between them.
But before Mara could say more, the door to the room swung open, and the steward strode in. His piercing gaze swept across the room, landing on Mara.
"What is going on here?" he demanded, his voice cold and authoritative.
Mara immediately stiffened, her smirk fading. She bowed her head, stepping back. "Nothing, sir."
The steward turned his sharp eyes to Liora, who was still sitting on the floor, her face pale and her body trembling. He let out a low sigh of exasperation. "Get her on her feet," he ordered the other maid.
The second maid didn't hesitate, however. She reached out to support Liora, whose grip was firm but not unkind. Liora wobbled on her feet, her mind too clouded with the weight of Mara's words to protest.
The steward's gaze held her for a moment, judging her disheveled appearance. "The queen dowager has demanded you prepare immediately. Should another such incident occur, you'll be locked in and out of sight until she decrees otherwise."
Liora's lips parted as if to say something, but words wouldn't come out.
"Do you understand?" the steward asked, his voice without room for dispute.
She nodded faintly, her voice barely audible. "Yes, sir."
"Good." He turned to the maids. "You two, make sure this time it's done properly. And no more nonsense."
Mara muttered something under her breath but bowed obediently.
As the steward walked out, Liora's heart sank lower. The realization of her situation settled over her like a suffocating weight. She wasn't being sent away; she was being discarded, sold off to a man hated by everyone.
Her eyes fell to the floor, her fingers curling into fists as silent tears continued to fall. 'Why did they do this to me?'