The palace air, once scented with roses and lavender, now carried a faint, coppery scent—the kind that clings to old iron and forgotten things. Maddy, the head maid, was a master of quiet. Her footsteps made no sound on the polished marble floors, a disconcerting silence that made the young maid's earlier outburst of disdain seem almost reassuring. She showed me to my chamber, her movements as precise and bloodless as clockwork, her expression unreadable.
"This will be your chamber, my queen," she announced, her voice as flat as her demeanor. The room was breathtaking but there was something strange about it. The room's pièce de résistance was the grand, crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling, casting a kaleidoscope of colors and light across the room. The private balcony, lined with delicate, filigree-patterned railings, offered breathtaking views of the palace gardens, where fountains danced and flowers bloomed in every color of the rainbow.
Gilded carvings twisted like delicate vines around the four-poster bed, catching the golden light from the towering windows. But the opulence felt suffocating, a gilded cage rather than a sanctuary. The frescoes on the walls, depicting mythological creatures, seemed to writhe and shift in the periphery of my vision. A familiar phantom of a feeling—a memory of being trapped, of being watched—prickled at the back of my neck.
Later, after a bath that was more ritual than relaxation,I ate a lavish meal in the dining hall, but the food tasted like ashes in my mouth, the air thick with the silent disapproval of the maids. As I was about to fall asleep Maddy returned. The palace was quiet now, the bustle of maids replaced by a heavy, profound stillness. "The King set out some rules for you," she said, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper. "He gave them to Mr. Alexander to pass on."
Rules. The word itself was a lock clicking shut.
"The King's chamber on the third floor is off-limits," she began, confirming my worst suspicions. "Only Mr. Alexander is permitted to enter." Her gaze was fixed on the middle distance, as if reciting a well-rehearsed lesson. His wife, but not his bed partner. We are strangers.
"You're not allowed outside the palace after 6 p.m., and never alone." A curfew. The golden palace wasn't just a home; it was a prison.
"And," she paused, her eyes finally meeting mine, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of something in their depths. Not jealousy, but a raw, unfiltered pity. "You are forbidden from going to the fourth floor. Failure to do so will result in serious consequences."
She left without another word, her silken dresses rustling like a serpent slithering away. The light from the chandelier glittered, turning the room into a kaleidoscope of dancing color. But all I could see was the vast, dark emptiness of the fourth floor, looming above me. What secrets could be so dangerous that a queen was forbidden from knowing them? The beautiful palace was not what it seemed. It was a beautiful trap, and I had just been given the key to my own gilded cage.