Chapter 35
"Excuse me, Butler," I said as I approached the palace butler, who stood near the entrance of the main building. He had just received a fresh stack of letters from the postman.
It is customary to address a servant of his rank with the title "Butler" followed by his surname, but regrettably, I do not know it. I had asked once before, and he assured me "Butler" alone would suffice. In truth, I knew scarcely any names within this place, save for Queen Yseldra, Nerissea, and a small handful of the staff. Most, like the butler, never offered theirs.
"What may I do for you, Lady Naevia?" the butler asked, bowing his head respectfully.
"Have any letters arrived for me?" I inquired, unable to conceal the hopeful lift in my voice.
"I do apologize."
"Thank you kindly," I said, my heart sinking a little once more.
"You are most welcome, Lady Naevia."
I stepped into the cold outside. Snow blanketed the ground in great, clean swells, and the palace staff were hard at work shoveling the walkways.
But once again, no letter had come. Nothing from my family. Nothing from Sister Alethea.
I returned quietly to my chamber and composed two letters anew. One addressed to Sister Alethea, and one to my parents. Perhaps my last messages had been misplaced or never reached them at all. Such things were not impossible, though still deeply disheartening.
I handed them to the butler, then took my leave. As I had predicted, several days passed, and neither Her Majesty nor Nerissea appeared.
I wandered the palace grounds in quiet aimlessness, letting my feet carry me wherever they pleased. I paused behind one of the great stone columns outside the west corridor. Just beyond, five maids were sweeping the fresh snow from the terrace. Among them were two I had once made pray.
"Filthy slave," one of them muttered bitterly.
"That whore," another hissed. "She even managed to get Lady Naevia on her side."
My countenance tightened with silent dismay at the vile names they cast upon Nerissea.
"Because of her, Lady Naevia punished us. My knees still remember the ache to this very day!"
"I swear I shall slap that bitch myself," one threatened. "Tonight. Let us do it tonight."
"Mind yourself, new girl. Her Majesty has not slept in her own bed for years. Each night, she lies with that harlot in the girl's chamber, and the guards keep their post at the whore's door until morning."
A strange sting bloomed in my chest. Did that mean… I would never lie beside Her Majesty at night? The thought hurt.
No.
I pressed my hands to my heart, willing the feeling away. Nightfall belonged to them, just as mealtime did. How unbecoming of me to think it unjust. They had shared their nights long before I ever came into Her Majesty's life. In truth, it was unfair to Nerissea that Her Majesty spared even a sliver of time for me.
I must respect their hours together. It was a blessing that Nerissea was protected each night. Her Majesty's love for her needed no words. It was evident in every act.
I nodded to myself, my heart a touch steadier. Yet… my joy was dulled. Nerissea did not love Her Majesty. And one-sided love is a brutal ache.
The maids' voices carried on, though I could no longer tell which mouth each line belonged to.
"Are you certain?"
"At times, I pass her chamber before first light. The hallway is always still. No guards."
"There are occasions when Her Majesty does not pass the night there, but such instances are rare and without pattern."
"I know well that you are all angry, and so am I. But it seems she has yet to tell Lady Naevia, else we would be bent on our knees in another round of wretched torment. This was the first time we struck her, so let us proceed with caution. Should punishment come again, I have a plan."
"What sort of plan?"
"You shall know when the time comes."
I sank slowly upon the snow as their voices faded into silence. Tears welled in my eyes. That prayer session… it had been sincere. Holy. How could they twist it so, and take vengeance upon Nerissea?
They said it had been the first time they struck her.
And it was because of me.
My lips quivered. I had wronged her deeply. I had prevented her from eating from that bowl, and yet I was not there to protect her when they struck her. Had I simply left her be, perhaps she might have managed it all in her own quiet way, without violence.
I rose, brushing the snow from my cloak and wiping the tears from my cheeks. I swore silently to Ombrithar that I would never meddle again. I would offer my hand only if she were to ask for it. For now, I must write her a letter of apology, for I know not when we shall meet again. The sooner I atone, the better.
I returned to my chamber and sat at the writing desk, quill in hand. I dipped the tip in ink, yet paused midair.
Was I truly about to write her a letter of apology when she was not meant to know how to read?
I let the quill fall from my fingers and sank back in my chair, sorrow pooling within me. Tears gathered once more, and I wiped them away before they could fall. After a few unsteady breaths, I reached for the quill again.
If I could not write to beg her pardon, then I would speak it when next we meet. For now, I would do what I could. She had once confessed her penmanship to be poor, so I would prepare examples in varied styles to aid her improvement.
'It was in the year she reached her nineteenth,' I wrote. The script was plain and unadorned, but the letters stood firm and clear.
'That she met a woman at her favorite shop for children's toys,' I continued, letting the hand slant gently forward, as if the line leaned fondly toward the memory.
'Alas, they met but briefly.' This I wrote in one continuous stroke, each letter bound to the next in a smooth, unbroken current of ink.
'The next time they met, the woman resolved a difficulty that would have otherwise proved most troublesome for her.'
As I wrote, the heaviness in my chest began to ease. A quiet warmth stirred within me. This was the tale of how Nerissea and I came to know one another.
I pressed on with newfound delight, allowing each sentence its own character. One style flowed gracefully, another looped with elegance, the next stood upright and proper. I invented flourishes without planning, letting the pen play freely. When luncheon came, I ate with haste and returned straightaway to my writing.
But as I reached the part where Nerissea was to serve the Duchess, my quill came to a halt. The joy in my chest withdrew and the warmth faded.
I laid the quill aside and turned the page face down. I must never allow her to read that. It would only deepen her sorrow.
I would begin again. Perhaps I could simply repeat a single line in various scripts. Yet… would that not be dull? Would it not bore her?
"Lady Naevia?"
I turned, surprised. A maid stood in the doorway.
"Forgive me," she said, "I knocked several times and feared something was amiss."
"I… no, all is well."
"Her Majesty requests your presence in the study."
At once I hurried to go to her, heart fluttering.
When I arrived, what first caught my gaze were the rows of maids assembled with precision, five lines deep, standing shoulder to shoulder in silent obedience.
"Good afternoon, Your Majesty," I said with affection.
Queen Yseldra sat with poise upon her seat, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Naeviaaa…" she cooed, drawing out my name as she beckoned with a slow curl of her finger.
I approached swiftly.
She drew forth the beast collar and let it fall before me. "Off with your clothes," she said sweetly, almost playfully. "And fasten the collar yourself."
I glanced nervously at the assembled crowd.
"It is my life's most wicked little fantasy," she purred, stepping nearer. "Strip. And put the collar on."
"…Your Majesty…"
"Drink this first," she said, removing the lid from that all-too-familiar vial.
I did not wish to drink it again. Yet she stood before me, her eyes already steeped in hunger.
"On your knees, my sweet little bitch…"
I reminded myself that whatever occurs within the palace remains within the palace.
Slowly, I sank to my knees and parted my lips.
"Good bitch…" she murmured.
Moments later, the warm, bitter stream flooded forth. I swallowed as best I could, though my body shuddered with each gag.
When it was done, I stood and removed every layer of fabric. Thankfully, I was accustomed to standing bare before the maids, as they bathed me each day. What did bring me shame… was wearing the collar. Naked and collared.
"Perfect," Her Majesty said once I had fastened it.
She then turned toward the silent rows of maids. "I expect nothing less than perfection," she declared sweetly.
They bowed in unison.