The kitchen blurred at the edges, my neck was drenched in sweat—ears ringing with sounds crashing in too loudly all at once—the scrape of a chair, whispers, thoughts. The knife ticking behind me like it was counting something down.
I forced myself to straighten, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. My hands still trembling. Annoying.
Me? Anxious? Of what?
I exhaled slowly through my nose, refusing to look at anyone's face, refusing to give the room more of me than it already had.
The door swinged open. I turned,
Lauren. She was still dressing in her sleepwear and obviously ran here.
"Lady Iris." She breathed, breathe pacing.
"Hi.." I breathed, nearly giving into the pain, because seeing her brought relief over me.
Lauren didn't ask what had happened. She didn't scold as usual, didn't panic—as far as I could tell. She just jabbed to my side, one steady hand at my elbow, the other already guiding me away from the kitchen like she'd decided where to without consulting anyone.
"Come," she said softly.
I follow without question.
The corridors felt longer on the way back. Too bright in places, too narrow in others. My stomach twisted the whole way, sharp and insistent, and I made a small, undignified sound before I could stop myself.
Lauren slowed immediately.
"Just take you time," she murmured, worry threading into her voice in a way I'd never heard before. "We're headed for the nearly guest room. Just breathe for me, My Lady. Slow."
"What's wrong with me Lauren?, I can't feel my fingertips...and I feel warm."
"It's alright, Madam Rosie is waiting in the room, I'm sure she's called the physician already."
{A physician?, I've never needed one before.}
She guided me carefully, away from the noise and the stares, her body angled just enough to block curious eyes.
We reached the guest room in a few minutes, thankfully. She guided me inside and shut the door behind us with her foot, already reaching for the fastenings at my back.
"I'll undo the corset," she said, and it wasn't a suggestion.
Her fingers worked quickly—a little rushed for someone who was usually meticulous. When the corset loosened, it felt like my body remembered how to exist.
I sucked in a breath. Deep. Shuddering.
"Oh—" I muttered, sagging forward. "That's… better. Much better"
But the relief was shallow lived.
The pressure in my stomach didn't fade. It rolled instead, unsettled and mean.
Lauren's hands hesitated.
Her voice dropped. "My lady, you're sweating all over,"
Before I could answer, my gown slid loose, pooling around my ankles, and the moment the weight left my shoulders, my knees did too.
I collapsed onto the bed face-first, the world tilting sharply before settling into a dull, buzzing hum.
"Oh—Enia's graces!," Lauren breathed.
I heard her backing away, fast. "Don't move!, I'll get Madam Rosie."
The door opened. Closed.
Footsteps retreated.
And then there was nothing.
Just me, sprawled across an unfamiliar bed, breathing pregnantly, skin prickling uncomfortably warm. My underthings clung in a way that suddenly felt far too revealing—silk and lace.
I turned my face into the pillow and stared at the wall, thoughts circling uselessly.
This didn't make sense.
I hadn't eaten anything strange. I wasn't been injured—not like they ever lasted long enough to be noted. I could break an arm and it'd heal over night—Not that I ever had, but...
{I've never even been sick before, was I poisoned?. In my sleep maybe?}
Why did my body feel like it was staging a quiet rebellion?.
Five minutes stretched long. When the door finally opened again, I didn't lift my head—couldn't.
The mattress dipped—carefully. Like someone approaching a wounded animal that might bolt if startled.
"I'm back," Lauren said, softer than before. Closer.
Another presence had entered the room with her. Heavier steps, instantly recognizable.
Madam Rosie.
"You shouldn't have left her alone girl," Rosie said—not sharp, not angry exactly, just… firm. A voice that assumed obedience by default.
"I didn't want to undress her without—" Lauren started.
"Enough," Rosie said gently, and then her shadow fell across my back. "Let's see."
A hand hovered over me before making contact—warm, practiced. Rosie pressed two fingers lightly at the side of my neck.
"Hm."
That sound was less than panic.
"What is it Madam?" Lauren asked too quickly.
"Her pulse is rushed," Rosie said. "Just Irregular, not erratic." A pause. "Nothing to cause for fear."
I swallowed against the pillow. "I'm not scared," I muttered, voice muffled. "Just… tired."
"Alright," Lauren murmured, more to herself than to me. "Alright."
«Phew, she gave me a good scare there.»
{Lauren's thoughts were accessable again?,}
I smiled, and my stomach chose that moment to revolt again.
The mattress dipped beside my legs. Something cool brushed my thigh. A cloth.
I stiffened. Too late.
Rosie sucked in a sharp breath—not loud,… controlled. The kind of sound you make when you're trying noticed not to alarm the person currently unraveling in front of you. In this case Me.
Rosie took what felt like a soaked cloth, and pressed it gently in-between my thighs.
"Iris," she said gently, "don't move."
I sucked in a breath at the cool feel.
"What are you doing?..."
"Don't argue." She commanded.
I obeyed. Not that I had the strength to try. Or dignity at this point.
Her hand was steady as she cleaned me, quick and efficient, like she'd done this before. Not with me—never with me—but with enough other girls. She helped up, and sit up. And—
Blood.
Of course.
My brain latched onto the reality shamelessly, stupidly. As if understanding it made it any less humiliating.
"So that's what was it," I muttered. "How charming."
Lauren huffed—a sound probably meant to be a laugh in another life. "It happens," she said. "It's absolutely normal. Pain—"
"Not quite." Rosie cuts in, straightening. "Lauren, give her the concoction"
Lauren approached me holding a mug in hand, with some green-ish liquid inside.
I scowled. Obviously.
"Drink slowly," she said, lifting the cup to my lips.
"And don't argue." Rosie said firm.
"But I'm fine..." My hands were still shaking. "This will pass," I assured, squeezing the sheets.
"It's not bitter if that's your fear..." Lauren persisted.
"That's what you tell a three year old, not me." I leaned back.
"Iris!..." Rosie flared for a second, then exhaled. "Please drink it, for Theo at least."
"You told him?," I asked, tone accusing.
"No, but I might as well." She warning
I yanked the mug from Lauren, and drank. The liquid was warm, only slightly bitter. It settled my stomach just enough to keep it from staging another coup.
"Liar," I muttered.
Rosie smiled like someone who had been waiting years for this moment but would never admit it. "It's a concoction."
"Very funny.."
Time blurred by, Rosie fussed quietly—sending other maids to get me a change of clothes. Lauren was preparing a bath. I felt so...fliting as I stepped out of the washroom. Rosie smoothed my hair, tucking me into more blankets. No scolding. No lectures. I'd never had a moment of peace with Rosie before. And she wasn't having any intrusive thoughts either, almost like her mind was blank. That alone made the situation suspicious.
"The physician's been sent for," Rosie said. "Just to be safe."
I cracked one eye open. "That's unnecessary."
"Hush," She said immediately. "You practically fainted."
"But I didn't."
Lauren snorted.
Time blurred again. The pain ebbed and surged, never fully leaving, just shifting location like it was as bored as me. By the time the physician arrived, I was exhausted enough to let him just talk.
He was… underwhelming.
Old. Earnest. Entirely too confident for someone who had met me less than sixty seconds ago.
He put a finger over my nose. "Too warm," he announced the obvious. "Skin's flushed. Pupils?"
He leaned into my line of sight. "They're… bright. Too bright."
I squeezed my eyes shut anyway, because I couldn't roll them away.
"Any pain?" he inquired .
"My stomach," I said. "And everything feels loud."
"Loud how?"
"Like… my thoughts are ahead of me." I frowned. "And my hands won't stop moving."
As if summoned by the accusation, my fingers twitched again, curling into the sheets.
He hummed. Again. Still bad?.
"Could it be something she consumed?" Rosie asked.
"Stress," he said, after far too much nodding. "Combined with the onset of her monthly cycle. Quite common for girls her age."
I stared at the ceiling. "I'm not stressed."
He smiled the way men do when they think they've cracked a mystery. "Your body disagrees."
"My body's just being dramatic."
He ignored me, turning to Rosie like I wasn't the sick one, he prescribed pain relief, instructed rest. Typical. I took the medicine anyway—if only to prove it wouldn't work.
It did.
Traitor.
Warmth seeped through my whole, the pain dulling into something distant and manageable. The world slowed, edges blurring, heavy, reluctant calm settled in my mind. And sleep dragged me under, I heard Lauren's voice, soft and close.
"You did well, my lady."
I scoffed weakly. "I laid down and bled."
"Exactly," she said. "Very brave of you."
Unfairly… I smiled. "You're being dramatic."
.><><><.
I surfaced slowly, with an air of bitterness in my tongue. The morning light pressed faintly against my eyelids, loosening my grip on sleep. My thoughts floated, lazy, still wrapped in the dull cotton of both medicine and concoction lingering ache. My eyes stayed closed. I didn't feel like actually waking up. I turned slowly against the pillow.
Then—
Footsteps.
Not loud ones. Subtle, but fast.
The sound threaded itself passed my half awake mind, it was so quick that I almost dismissed it immediately. Mornings did that. Staff moved. Doors opened. Floors were being cleaned or brushed. Maybe I was hearing things.
I exhaled and let my face remain slack, eyes still closed.
That was usually how it went, wasn't it? Your mind invents a thing in the narrow space between sleep and waking, and you brush it off because believing otherwise was just too inconvenient.
My usually quiet consciousness spoke up.
{Ugh!!} I eyes opened, not by choice.
I let a few seconds pass—long enough to be convince anyone watching that I was still asleep.
The sound didn't repeat.
It stopped.
My brows knit faintly as awareness settled in, sharper now.
{Someone was in here.}
I concluded in my head.
If it were staff, they'd have continued moving. If it were Theo, he would have spoken—or at least hovered too closely. Whoever it was had left quietly.
Annoying. Now I had to figure out who without alerting them.
{Why not just come kidnap me upfront }
I couldn't even probe with influence—not even a little. Any Mage with two Rins of sense would note the traces, and I wasn't in the mood to explain myself to anyone. So I did the next best thing.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I stretched slowly, then yawned—an unguarded, waking motion. I sat up, rubbing my eyes,
"hmm.." the picture of a girl easing into consciousness innocently.
The room behaved. Vacant of scent, the air was crisp. My stomach groaned mildly now, Just sulking. I could work with sulking. My hands were moving freely at my will.
I slipped out of bed and into my slippers, movements unhurried, careless even. Or at least that's what I thought I looked like. I exhaled and immediately regretted it. Loose fabric pressed strangely against my abdomen, reminding me that I was, in fact, still bleeding. Soft, padded, slightly swollen with use. A Siri. A story for another time.
The loose yellow dress hung comfortably, settling just above my ankles. My hair fell where it pleased—uneven, unstyled, exactly as it should.
My intentions were simple—step out, wait a minute or two down the corridor. See who emerged.
And if they escaped?, well... at least we tried.
I yawned again "oh my gosh, what time is it?."
I reached for the door and pulled it open.
At the exact same moment, the opposite door opened as well.
I froze—a pause purely on coincidence.
Across the corridor stood His Royal Highness.
Raymond.
Wide awake. Fully dressed to prime. The walking death flag himself.
Of course.
My gaze met his, expression blanking into something mildly polite only on the surface. harmless. If he was the one in my room, he gave nothing away. If he wasn't… well. It's not good news either way.
"…Good morning," I said as calmly as I could forge. like my brain hadn't just revised it's threat assessment.
The house, it seemed, had already decided to include me to it's wake.