Free Web NovelChapter 23: The Door at the End of the Wing I
Chapter 22: The Door at the End of the Wing I
Lyria’s POV
I returned to the palace with my head lowered and my steps measured, as though I were nothing more than a shadow drifting back to its assigned corner.
The encounter by the lake still lingered in my thoughts in faint, unsteady fragments—the Duke of Blackmere’s careless ease, Lucian’s sharp and unsettling gaze. I did not understand why he had even tried to get me to call him by his name.
He did not even apologize to me for everything he had done in the past, but was instead insistent on me calling him by his given name, which was not done—especially given the fact that I was nothing but a shadow in the palace. A princess by birth, but an illegitimate one who did not have any weight.
One whose name was not even recognized by the people of the kingdom. I shook my head, choosing not to dwell on the encounter.
I could not afford to, after all.
The moment I slipped into my narrow chamber, I shut the door softly behind me and leaned my forehead against the cool wood for the briefest moment. I inhaled deeply, then exhaled.
But there was no time to waste. I had no idea if the breakfast the suitors were having with Jacinta would be over yet, but this was my opportunity to slip out.
I crossed the room quickly.
My fingers went immediately to the edge of the bed, finding the loose plank near the wall without searching for it. I slid the mattress aside just enough and lifted the board with practised care.
The little hidden space beneath it yawned open to me immediately. I smiled to myself when I noticed the herbs were still in the exact same position I had left them.
Sometimes I get scared that someone would find out about my hidden space, but it has been years now and no one has found out... there was also the fact that no one came to my chambers.
Moonpetal root—thin, pale slivers wrapped carefully in waxed cloth.
A small stoppered vial of silverthorn resin.
And the narrow glass tube containing distilled frostbloom extract, sealed with a cork and dark wax.
Everything I needed for one proper dosage was perfectly safe and in fine condition too.
The Queen might have withheld the palace physician from visiting my mother, but she could not stop me from visiting my mother and being a physician to her.
I immediately stood up and picked a cloak, then leaned back down and picked the herbs gently, then tucked them into the inner fold of my cloak.
My hands moved with quiet urgency, but they did not tremble. I had done this too many times to allow myself fear now.
Once everything I needed was in place, I carefully placed everything back, made sure the hood covered my head so as to avoid attention—especially since I would be using the shadows to move—then I was gone again.
Down the back stair. I made sure to check if anyone was coming. While the hood would help me remain discreet in the shadowed corridors, it would alert anyone who was walking past. I would stand out after all, and perhaps I might be labeled a thief. I could not have that happening and then risk my mother’s treatment too. If I was caught, the Queen would obviously learn about it, and when she did, she would find out that I had been sneaking out to get herbs for my mother and that I was also working when I was not supposed to.
I moved quietly past the servants’ corridor, along the quieter passages where the carpets softened my footsteps and the light hardly reached, making it the perfect cover.
My mother was kept along the same wing as the Queen’s sleeping chambers.
The Queen did not do it out of the goodness of her heart. I had once thought she did, but now I was certain she did not. She only kept my mother along the same wing so she could monitor my mother’s condition and use it to threaten me.
My mother’s room lay at the dead end of the passage. A small room that could pass for a minor storage room.
I whispered a silent prayer as I turned into the narrow corridor that led there, praying that the guard who would be stationed in front of my mother’s room would not be present so I could slip in quietly.
The wing was unnervingly still.
The air carried that peculiar scent of polished wood, faint incense, and something medicinal that never quite faded from this part of the palace. I kept my head down and took the longer route, slipping through a smaller intersecting passage rather than walking directly past the Queen’s doors.
The guards stationed before Her Majesty’s chambers were not meant to see me.
If they did, they would ask questions.
And I had no time for questions, nor could I risk getting caught.
I should have gone to see my mother first. I should have gone immediately after I left Jacinta’s chambers.
Instead, I had gone to the lake to sketch.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose, half a sigh and half a rebuke to myself.
What would Mother say if she knew I had chosen charcoal and paper before her medicine?
I could almost hear it.
A soft, tired laugh.
A gentle scolding wrapped in kindness. But that would be all, because at the end she would tell me that I deserved to enjoy the pleasures of the world, and that hurt even more.
The fact that I knew she would not have been cross with me but would have encouraged me to sketch more.
I drew my hood lower as I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the thought. The heavy cloak pulled tightly around my shoulders.
The Queen did not permit unnecessary movement in this part of the palace, and servants who had no business here were not meant to linger. I walked faster and quieter, on the lookout, just in the rare occasion that I ran into someone, though I doubted that.
