Liora sat at the edge of the bed with her arms locked around her knees. She had been crying for so long that her eyes hurt, and her throat felt parched. The room was too quiet for the faint humming of her voice.
She had been humming her mother's song. She didn't even notice it at first. It was just something she'd done when things got too heavy, too hard to bear. The melody had made her feel safe when she was a little girl; her mother was there brushing her hair or holding her close. Now it reminded her of everything she had lost.
Her chest ached as she thought of her parents. If they were living, they would never have let this happen. They would not have let her be tossed aside like she did not matter, like she was some... some thing to be traded away.
Her eyes darted around the room. It wasn't what she expected. There was a proper bed, soft blankets, and no rats or damp floors. A lantern glowed warmly in the corner, casting a soft light over the simple wooden furniture. It was nicer than anything she'd been given at her uncle's house, but it didn't feel comforting. It felt suffocating, like she was trapped in a box waiting to be delivered.
Liora swallowed hard, her fingers clutching at her dress. Tomorrow, they would take her to meet the queen dowager again, and after that… him. Her new husband. Her lips quivered at the thought. A prince who wasn't a prince anymore. A man everyone seemed to hate. Why him? Why her?
Her mind spun with questions she couldn't answer. She thought about Mara's sharp words, the steward's cold orders, her uncle's nervous glances. They all seemed so sure this was her place. That she belonged here.
But Liora didn't feel like she belonged anywhere.
She lay down on the bed, pulling the blanket over her like it could shield her from the world. The fabric smelled faintly of lavender, a soft, clean scent that only made her feel smaller.
Her voice cracked as she hummed the last few notes of her mother's song. Her lips quivered, and her breath hitched, but no more tears came. She was too tired to cry anymore.
'This is it,' she thought, staring at the flickering lantern light on the ceiling. 'This is my life now.'
Her chest constricted, but she forced herself to close her eyes. Maybe if she slept, tomorrow wouldn't feel so heavy. Maybe if she dreamed, she'd see her parents again.
As the room quieted down and her breathing slowed, Liora drifted off. Her body was curled up tight, as if she could shield herself from what was coming.
Tomorrow would come, whether she was prepared or not.
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As the first rays of dawn lit up the sky, the queen dowager's household buzzed with activity. Servants ran through the hallways carrying linens, trays of breakfast, and flower arrangements, all under the sharp instructions of the head steward. The queen dowager herself had left strict orders the night before: everything must be perfect for the presentation of the new concubine.
In one of the preparation chambers, Liora stiffly sat in a tall-backed chair, her clenched hands in her lap. She couldn't even recall the last time she'd felt this awkward or this exposed. Everywhere around her, beauticians and maids flitted about, carrying brushes, pots of rouge, and rolls of fine silk.
Mara stood in the corner, arms crossed and a scowl etched on her face. She muttered something under her breath, but the head steward's sharp glare silenced her instantly.
"Not a word from you," the steward snapped before turning to the beauticians.
"Make her presentable. The queen dowager expects nothing less than perfection."
Liora swallowed hard, her throat dry. She didn't know how to handle the sudden attention. She'd spent most of her life blending into the background, wearing simple stitched clothes that her aunt discarded. Now, she was surrounded by people treating her like… like she mattered. It was overwhelming.
They moved swiftly, yet delicately, fingers sure as they wrapped her in layer upon layer of fine fabric. The dress was a soft lavender, the shimmering silk catching morning light.
"It's the queen dowager's choice," one of the younger maids whispered, smoothing the fabric over Liora's shoulders.
Another maid giggled softly and leaned closer. "She must think we can turn a duck into a swan."
Liora heard the comment but said nothing. Her heart sank, but she kept her face calm. She was used to whispers like that by now.
But when they finished draping the gown and stepped back, the room went quiet.
Liora blinked and looked around nervously. "What is it?" she asked, her voice soft.
The maids exchanged glances, their eyes wide with astonishment.
The lavender dress, paired with delicate silver embroidery, brought out the warmth in her skin and made her dark hair shine. Her features, which had often been overlooked in her plain attire, now stood out in striking contrast.
Her face was heart-shaped, high cheekbones giving her an air of quiet grace. Large almond-shaped eyes shone like the soft gray of stormy skies, set in thick lashes. Full lips, naturally plump, had been tinted with a soft berry color, making them resemble the perfect petal.
"Beautiful," one of the maids breathed.
"Like a painting," another agreed.
Even Mara, against her will, let out a slight gasp. She promptly covered it with a snort, but the elder maid standing beside her nudged her sharply in the ribs. "Mind your tongue," she hissed.
The lady steward entered the room just then, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She stopped short when she saw Liora, her sharp features softening in surprise. "Oh my," she said, a rare smile tugging at her lips. "You clean up well, child."
Liora's cheeks flushed at the compliment. She wasn't used to kind words, and they left her feeling even more out of place. She lowered her gaze and managed a small smile. "Thank you," she said quietly.
The maids beamed at her answer, and the whispers previously shared among them were no longer. The lady steward nodded at her before turning on her heel to give the report to the queen dowager.
As the room quieted down to only final adjustments, Liora stared at her reflection in the polished mirror. She barely recognized the girl staring back. For a moment, she wondered if this was what her mother had imagined for her: a life filled with silks and jewels. Reality, however, quickly knocked that thought out of place.
She was not a princess or guest. She came as a concubine.
Her hands slightly quivered as she grabbed onto the armrest for balance. 'This is not who I am,' she thought as her chest tightened up. As she looked back at him once more, she compelled herself to smile.
If she was to go out and live that new life, then so be it, with her head held high.