That morning came with another quiet knock at her chamber door.
Aurelia responded, Her head pounded softly; she had slept only in fragments — every whisper in the corridor making her startle awake, every creak reminding her she was still trapped in his palace.
"My lady," came a soft voice from behind the door. "Breakfast is ready. His Majesty awaits you in the dining hall."
Aurelia sat up slowly, her throat dry. His Majesty. The words had begun to feel like chains.
"Tell him I'll be there soon," she said faintly.
The maid bowed and disappeared.
She didn't bother with jewels or cosmetics. A queen-in-waiting, perhaps, but only in name. Not in heart.
As she walked through the corridors, the whispers followed her like ghosts. Servants bowed, courtiers turned to stare — their curiosity a blade to her composure. By the time she reached the dining hall, her pulse was already unsteady.
