Evelyn stormed into the Queen's Quarters, her heels echoing furiously against the marble floor. Her face, usually pristine and proud, was flushed with rage. One hand yanked at the golden pins in her hair until strands tumbled around her shoulders in a wild mess.
She kicked over a stool, sending it clattering to the ground.
"She disrespected me!" Evelyn cried, voice cracking with wounded pride. "That foreign weed! She looked me in the eye and dared to speak like we were equals!"
Queen Isadora, reclining on a plush velvet couch, looked up slowly from the book she had not really been reading. Her goblet of sweet wine remained undisturbed in her hand.
"Evelyn, darling," she said with a lazy drawl, "calm yourself. It's only Iridessa. She has been well-mannered long enough—it was bound to crack eventually."
Evelyn spun toward her mother, eyes wide. "Crack? She was defiant. Insolent! Right there, in front of lords and servants. If we do not act, they will start thinking she is untouchable." She tossed one of her pearl earrings across the chamber. It landed in a vase with a sharp clink. "She humiliated me!"
Isadora set her wine down and reached out, but Evelyn jerked away from her hand.
"Do not coddle me!" Evelyn hissed. "I do not want comfort. I want consequence."
Just then, Magnus entered, summoned by the commotion. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, brow raised.
"What happened now?"
Evelyn turned to him, voice immediately sharpening. "Your wife. She insulted me in front of everyone. You need to do something about her."
Magnus let out a tired sigh but did not argue. "I will," he said simply.
Isadora finally rose from her couch, walking to her children with the smooth grace of a lioness. "Enough of this. She is beneath your wrath, Evelyn. And you, Magnus, correct your wife before her mouth earns her exile."
She clapped her hands twice, and servants rushed in.
"Bring food. Something proper. Roast duck, cheese, the last of the apple preserves. And red wine—not the watered one."
"Mother," Evelyn snapped, "the treasury—"
"—will hold," Isadora cut in, waving her off. "If we cannot dine in peace, then we are already starving."
Moments later, silver trays arrived bearing steaming bread, soft cheese, thick cuts of meat, and wine that glowed like rubies in their goblets.
They sat around the low table in the golden chamber. Beyond the stained-glass windows, the city of Elareth stretched into silence—dry fields, cracking walls, and torches lit not for celebration but for mourning.
Villagers boiled roots and bitter bark to keep their children alive. And inside the palace, the royal family feasted.
Evelyn chewed with slow intensity, eyes fixed on the fire, her rage simmering just beneath her porcelain skin.
Magnus did not speak much, but when he did, it was with clipped words and clenched jaw. "I will deal with her. She will not speak to you that way again."
Isadora smiled faintly, sipping her wine. "She married into power, not earned it. She needs reminding."
No one mentioned the drought. No one mentioned the cries from the village that morning. No one mentioned the king, who had not risen from his throne all day.
They simply ate. And outside, Elareth withered a little more.
-
Days after her confrontation with Magnus and the fallout that followed, Iridessa noticed the empty space beside her bed had remained undisturbed. Magnus had not returned since that day —and that, she admitted to herself, was a relief.
Miri, ever the quiet observer, sat beside her as they folded linens one evening, her voice barely above a whisper.
"My lady… perhaps it is time to write home. To your kingdom. You should not have to suffer like this. Maybe they could bring you back—or offer help."
Iridessa gave a soft, sad smile. "What would I write, Miri? That I am surrounded by wolves? That kindness is a punishable offense in Elareth?" She shook her head. "No… But I will write. Not for myself. For the people."
That night, Iridessa penned a letter to her homeland—careful, clear, and desperate.
"Send food. Water. As much as you can spare. Not for me… for the starving. I will handle the rest."
She sealed it with her family's sigil and passed it to a trusted trader from her homeland who visited Elareth under the guise of a textile merchant.
Three nights later, the caravan arrived.
Under the cover of darkness, Iridessa and Miri slipped through the back gate where they'd already bribed a half-starved guard. Carts laden with grain, dried fish, water barrels, and root vegetables were wheeled into a hidden storage in a forgotten part of the palace stables.
From then on, night became their ally.
Iridessa and Miri would dress in plain cloaks, sneaking out with baskets beneath their arms. They left sacks of rice on doorsteps, jars of oil in alleys, and bundles of food in the arms of weeping mothers. They said nothing. Gave no names. But word traveled fast—hope had returned to the village.
It did not take long for the palace soldiers to notice.
Usually, the front gates buzzed with the chaos of beggars and starving villagers crying for aid. But suddenly, there was quiet. Three days passed, and no one shouted. No children screamed. No angry fists banged the iron gate.
Suspicious, the guards reported it to their commander, who brought it before Prince Magnus.
He sat lounging in the hall beside his mother and sister when the news reached him.
"They are quiet?" Magnus scoffed. "Quiet means plotting."
"It means something has changed," Queen Isadora added, swirling wine in her goblet.
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps they have all died. Would save us the trouble."
"No," Isadora said, her lips curling into a smirk. "Something—or someone—is helping them. Find out."
Magnus did not waste time. He stormed into the village at noon the next day with five guards. He seized a middle-aged man hauling a bundle of wood, throwing him to the ground.
"Tell me," he growled, "where you are getting food."
The man, terrified, stammered. "I—I do not know, Your Highness. We just… we find it… on our doorsteps. At night."
"Liar."
Magnus kicked him in the ribs, then yanked the man's wife by the hair as she tried to defend him. He slapped her hard across the face, and she collapsed, sobbing.
He drew a knife and held it to her throat.
"Talk."
The man cried out. "It is Princess Iridessa! She—she brings the food at night. Please, let my wife go!"
Magnus froze, nostrils flaring. He released the woman and turned away. The villagers scattered to their huts in fear as he passed.
He returned to the palace in fury.
The heavy scent of jasmine and old wine clung to the air as Magnus pushed open the tall, creaking door to his mother's chamber. The velvet curtains were drawn halfway, casting the room in a moody gold light. Queen Isadora lounged on her chaise, draped in a fur-lined robe, a goblet of dark red in hand and her expression sharp with curiosity.
Magnus stepped into the chamber without waiting to be invited.
Isadora turned her head lazily, her wine swirling in the goblet. "You storm in like a man wronged," she said, her lips barely curving. "I take it you have uncovered the mystery behind the villagers' sudden silence?"
Evelyn sat near the fire, combing through her loose hair. She glanced up, eyes glinting. "Well? Do not keep us waiting."
Magnus's jaw tightened. "It was Iridessa. She has been going behind my back," he snarled.
Isadora raised a brow, amused more than surprised. "Iridessa?"
"She has been sneaking out at night with that maid of hers," he said through gritted teeth. "Distributing food. Lots of it. Not from our stores—she sent for it from her own kingdom. Quietly. Behind all our backs."
There was a long silence.
Evelyn slammed her brush on the table. "So she is the reason the peasants have stopped groveling at our gates?" she hissed. "How dare she undermine the Crown like that?"
"She overstepped," Isadora said coolly, setting her goblet down. "Acting like a queen in a kingdom that is not hers."
"She's made me look weak," Magnus muttered, fists tight at his sides. "As if I cannot control my own wife."
Evelyn stood. "Then do not just stand here. Punish her. Make her regret it. She should have known her place."
Isadora's lips curled. "Oh, she will. Trust me, my son—this may be just the opportunity we have been waiting for."
"An opportunity," Evelyn added, lips curling. "You should punish her. Publicly."
-
The moon hung low and heavy like a judgment in the sky. Iridessa and Miri moved swiftly through the dim corridors of the palace, their cloaks drawn tight, baskets bundled in linen on their backs. This was the last of it—the final barrels of grain and skins of water sent from Iridessa's homeland. It was the last batch. Their stash had run dry.
Miri whispered, "Should we try the south path? The guard at the west gate seemed restless earlier."
"No," Iridessa said softly, scanning the hallway. "The west gate is safest. We already paid the guard. He will look the other way."
Miri nodded.
Iridessa continued "We will take the western alley tonight," Iridessa whispered. "There is a widow there. Three children."
They reached the small, creaking door that led to the palace's outer gardens
But as they turned the corner—torches flared.
A ring of soldiers surrounded them, swords drawn.
Miri gasped, dropping her basket. Iridessa's heart thundered.
Then, from behind the line, Magnus emerged. His face was twisted with rage. Before Iridessa could speak, his hand flew across her face—hard.
She hit the cobblestone with a choked gasp, blood blooming at the edge of her lip. She had never been struck before.
"My lady!" Miri cried, rushing to her side, but a guard yanked her away.
"You dare shame me in front of my court?" Magnus seethed, grabbing Iridessa by the arm. "Feeding rats behind my back?"
Iridessa coughed, forcing herself upright even as her cheek burned. "You are starving them."
"They deserve it," he spat. "Let them suffer. They are beneath us."
"And if they all died, who do you want to rule over? You are not fit to be a king. You are a coward," she said through clenched teeth.
His eyes darkened, and he dragged her to her feet.
"You will regret this…..To the court," he ordered.
The guards fell in line, escorting both women back toward the palace.
Iridessa's cloak dragged in the dust. Her cheek throbbed. Her heart beat fast—but her chin remained high.
Miri, weeping softly, kept looking back toward the dark, empty streets.
They had brought hope, if only for a while. Now, they would pay for it.