Free Web NovelChapter 261: The Evening Competition
Chapter 260: The Evening Competition
Lyria’s POV
I did not finish all the food on my tray.
The soup was warm and comforting, and the bread was soft, but my body was not yet accustomed to eating after so many days of stillness. I ate what I could—perhaps half the bowl, a few slices of bread, a handful of fruit—and then I set down my spoon.
"I am f-finished," I said.
Pippa looked as though she wanted to protest, but Elara placed a hand on her arm and shook her head.
"It is enough," Elara said quietly. "She will eat more at the next meal."
Pippa nodded, though her expression remained troubled.
Margery and Debbie stepped forward then, one on each side of me, and helped me rise from the bed. My legs trembled beneath me, unused to bearing weight after so many days of lying still.
"Take it slowly, Your Highness," Elara said. "Walk around the chamber. If you feel any pain at all, you must say so immediately."
I nodded.
I took a step.
The floor was cool beneath my feet. The slippers the maids had placed on me were soft, the soles padded to cushion the healing wounds beneath.
Another step.
There was a little sting—a faint reminder that the cuts on my feet were still healing. But it was not sharp. It was not the kind of pain that demanded I stop. Kathryn really had done her job well, it seemed.
I stumbled once, my knee buckling slightly, and Margery’s hand tightened on my arm.
But I regained my balance.
I kept walking.
I noticed the pain had reduced drastically, and I could walk freely.
Elara’s eyes narrowed.
"Are there any issues, Your Highness?"
I shook my head.
Bridget stepped forward, her brow furrowed.
"Your Highness," she said, "please do not pretend that you are not hurting. Even if it is the smallest pain, you must tell us."
I laughed.
It was a weak sound, thin and breathy, but it was genuine.
"I am truly a-all right," I said. "There is no p-pain as I walk. Just... t-tiredness. My legs have f-forgotten what it f-feels like to m-move."
Pippa bit her lip.
"Are you certain, Your Highness?"
I nodded.
"I am c-certain. I-I do not feel a-any pain."
The maids exchanged glances. Then, one by one, they exhaled—long, relieved sighs that seemed to come from somewhere deep within them.
They had been worried for me.
I stared at them, this small group of women who had been placed in my service only days ago. And yet they cared more for me than most people had.
It was strange, but a part of me had to admit I quite liked it.
Time passed.
The light outside the windows shifted from pale grey to soft gold to the deep blue of early evening. Shadows lengthened across the floor, and the maids lit the lamps one by one, casting a warm glow over the chamber.
Kathryn returned to check on me within those few hours.
She pressed her fingers to my wrist, counting my pulse. She examined my feet, unwrapping the bandages and reapplying the green salve. She studied my face, my eyes, my posture.
And before she left, she gave me another cup of bitter herbs.
I drank them without complaint, though the taste was as unpleasant as it had been that morning.
The maids dressed me for the competition.
Margery laid out several gowns she had picked out earlier in the day—pale blue, soft grey, deep green. I looked at them for a long moment, considering, and then I pointed to the grey.
It was simple but quite beautiful despite its colour.
Margery nodded and set the others aside.
They helped me into the gown, their hands gentle and efficient. They used minimal makeup—a touch of powder here, a hint of colour there—enough to conceal the shadows beneath my eyes, but not enough to look as though I had painted my face for a performance.
Debbie styled my hair in a beautiful bun, some strands framing my face.
Pippa brought me my shoes.
They were flats, the soles padded with soft material that cushioned my feet with every step.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
The woman who stared back at me was not the same woman who had looked at me that morning. She was still pale, still thin, still marked by her illness. But there was colour in her cheeks. There was light in her eyes.
She looked better than she had when Diana and the others had dressed me.
Not that Diana and the others had not made me beautiful. They had. But their beauty had been a mask—a careful arrangement of cosmetics and silk designed to hide what lay beneath.
This was different.
The maids had taken my features into account. They had chosen colours that suited my skin, styles that flattered my face, fabrics that were soft against my healing body. They had not tried to make me look like someone else.
They had made me look like myself.
Yes, it was better.
Once they were done, we began our walk to the hall where the competition was being held, with Brayden and Phineas following close behind us.
When we reached the hall, the maids moved to stand in a corner with the other maids, their hands clasped before them. The guards took up positions near the walls—close enough to reach me if needed, but far enough away to be appropriate.
I walked to my seat and noticed Jacinta and the royal family were already present.
Jacinta was already there.
She sat opposite me, her golden hair arranged in elaborate curls, her gown a deep shade of sapphire that caught the light and held it. She looked like a portrait come to life.
She smiled when she saw me, though it was utterly fake.
"I heard you were awake, sister," she said. "It is nice to see that you have recovered."
I nodded without replying.
Minutes passed, and then the King rose from his seat. The chatter in the hall died immediately when he did.
