Chapter 11: The Servant's Thread
The palace seamstress pricked her finger.
A single drop of blood bloomed on her fingertip, bright against the ivory silk she was stitching. She hissed softly, reaching for a cloth, but before she could press it to her skin, a hand was already there.
Alaida.
"Let me," she said gently, wrapping the cloth around the woman's finger with surprising care.
The seamstress blinked. "You shouldn't be here, my lady."
"I'm not a lady," Alaida said. "I'm just… trying to help."
The woman studied her. "You're the king's chosen."
Alaida looked down. "I didn't ask to be."
The seamstress hesitated. Then, quietly: "Neither did he."
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric and the distant toll of a bell.
"I used to sew for his mother," the woman said. "Queen Serelith. She liked lavender thread. Said it reminded her of the sky before rain."
Alaida smiled. "She sounds kind."
"She was. Too kind for this place."
Alaida touched the silk. "Maybe kindness is what this place needs."
The seamstress looked at her, really looked. "You're not what they expected."
"I know."
"That's why you might survive."