CHAPTER SEVEN
Two months had passed since Lady Mireya arrived at the palace, and the air had grown heavy with anticipation, whispers, and tension. Her pregnancy, now impossible to hide, had turned every glance into speculation, every word into suspicion. Courtiers shifted uneasily, caught between loyalty to the crown and curiosity about the child who would inherit both ambition and influence. Every footstep, every whispered conversation, seemed sharper, more charged than before. The palace was no longer a place of familiarity; it had become a labyrinth of observation, intrigue, and unspoken threats.
I had been summoned at dawn, as the first light struck the eastern towers. No trumpet announced it, no messenger carried ceremony—just the quiet command of a servant at my door, trembling, eyes wide. "The mistress requests your presence in the eastern gallery," he said, bowing quickly.
Before I could dress myself, a pair of maids arrived quietly, carrying a soft, flowing gown. One helped me into it, smoothing the fabric over my shoulders; the other adjusted the folds so that it fell perfectly. Their hands were practiced, precise, but I noticed the slight tension in their eyes. They, too, were aware that today's summons carried weight beyond ordinary court duties.
The gown felt foreign yet comforting, brushing softly against my skin, its color muted but elegant. I could not help but notice how the silk folded around me, almost as if it were designed to mark me, even subtly, among the other courtiers. When the maids finished, they stepped back with respectful bows, leaving me standing silently. I took a slow breath, grounding myself as my pulse raced. The palace corridors outside seemed to hum, alive with anticipation.
I passed my mother along the way. She looked as immaculate as ever—every gesture deliberate, every movement measured—but the tension beneath her serene mask was unmistakable.
"Do not speak unless you must," she murmured softly. "Today, words will be twisted into weapons."
I nodded, though uncertainty gnawed at me. The palace seemed to pulse beneath my feet, listening, waiting, every shadow poised to report.
The eastern gallery opened before me like a stage. Lady Mireya stood at its center, her crimson gown flowing around her like molten silk. She rested one hand protectively on the swell of her stomach, the other draped casually over her daughter's shoulder. The child she carried was no longer a secret; it had become a symbol of power, a quiet claim upon the palace, a silent challenge to anyone who doubted her authority.
Her daughter lingered behind her, pale and still as a shadow. Her eyes were sharp, observant, calculating with a patience that sent shivers down my spine. She followed my every movement, measuring, weighing, recording each detail in a silence that felt heavier than words.
"Princess Eunice," Lady Mireya began, voice smooth and deliberate, "come closer. I wish to speak with you."
I obeyed cautiously, aware that any movement here could be interpreted, twisted into opportunity—or weapon.
"Do you see," Lady Mireya continued, her hand caressing the curve of her belly, "what patience can achieve? Two months in the palace, and already the court whispers my name. Already they speculate whose child I carry. Already they measure loyalty against curiosity."
Her daughter stepped forward, low-voiced, deliberate. "The palace is fragile," she said. "One wrong move, Princess Eunice, and the delicate balance could shatter."
I swallowed, feeling the weight of those words pressing against my ribs. "I have no desire to interfere," I said cautiously.
"Desire is irrelevant," Lady Mireya replied smoothly. "Influence is born from presence, Princess. From knowing the right moment to act, and having the patience to wait for others to reveal themselves."
A sudden crash fractured the tension, shattering the carefully constructed calm. A servant had tripped over a carpet edge, sending a tray of silverware clattering to the floor. The noise seemed to echo through the gallery like a cannon blast. Lady Mireya's daughter reacted instantly, stepping forward with the grace and swiftness of a trained predator, hand poised to strike if needed. Lady Mireya, however, remained unnervingly calm, her smile untouched, posture perfect, as if she had anticipated the disruption.
I felt a faint flicker beneath my skin, the strange warmth I had learned to ignore pulsing softly. It was subtle, restrained, but it reminded me that something within me was awake and alert, even if the palace and its inhabitants remained ignorant of the truth.
Lady Mireya's eyes, sharp as daggers, found mine again. "Your curiosity is dangerous, Princess Eunice. Too much observation can reveal… too much."
"I do not seek to reveal anything," I replied, steadying myself. "I merely wish to understand the palace—and those within it."
Her laughter was soft, low, and chilling, like a whisper carried on wind. "Understanding is power. Power is dangerous. And danger," she said, gesturing once more toward her belly, "can be inherited."
The chamber seemed to shift, the walls themselves leaning in, listening. The girl's eyes narrowed, following the subtle motion of my hands as I clenched them to my sides, the faint warmth pulsing again, responding instinctively to tension and fear. I reminded myself: not yet. Not here.
"Patience," Lady Mireya said, her voice now almost hypnotic, "is the currency of survival in this palace. Learn it well. Watch, and wait, and act only when the moment demands it. Those who survive…" She placed her hand again over her stomach, the motion deliberate, almost ceremonial, "…inherit more than just influence. They inherit control."
I stepped back, heart hammering, uncertainty threading through every vein. Her words were both warning and lesson, veiled threat wrapped in silk. And yet beneath the fear, a spark of curiosity burned. I had to know—had to understand what I could do, even if the palace itself was unaware of the forces stirring within me.
I left the gallery as silently as I had entered, moving through the corridors with measured steps. The night air greeted me outside, carrying the scent of jasmine and torch smoke. My hands rested lightly on the stone railing, warmth flickering faintly beneath my palms. It was subtle, barely perceptible, but undeniable.
Even if no one knew, even if the empire remained unaware, I felt it. Something ancient, patient, and inevitable stirred within me. And though I did not yet understand its full nature, I knew one thing clearly: the palace was no longer a place of safety. Lady Mireya and her daughter were forces of ambition, patience, and calculation, and their unborn child promised to shift the balance even further.
I was standing at the edge of a storm I could neither name nor fully control.
But I was watching. Learning. Waiting.
Because even if they did not know my true power yet, I would not be unprepared when they discovered it.
And when the day came,nothing in the empire would ever be thesame.