"The fever burned away more than just your strength, didn't it, My Lady?" Clara whispered.
I swallowed the cake. The sweetness masked the bitterness in my throat.
Good, I thought. Let them be terrified.
Clara's sugary smile vanished entirely. She looked at me with sharp calculation now. She realized it. The porcelain doll mask of House Alliena had cracked, revealing the rot underneath.
Finally. There she is. The real Clara of the Book.
She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the noise of the pavilion.
"Very well," she said, her tone devoid of its usual warmth. "If we are discarding pleasantries, let us speak plainly. You sit there, pretending to be calm and cold; surely inside you must be scared. The forest will swallow your future."
"Swallowing my future, huh?" I replied, meeting her gaze evenly. "Why should I be scared? My future is secured by Contract and Blood. The forest is merely scenery."
"Is it?" she countered, a cruel glint in her eyes. "Contracts are paper. Blood can be spilled. But Stories? Stories rule the people. And right now, the story being written out there isn't about a dutiful Prince and his frail betrothed. It is about a Fairytale. A Hero and a Maiden."
I let out a low, cold giggle.
"This Fairytale again… You never tire of that, do you? But remember, in every fairytale, there is always a twist."
I rested my chin on my hand, gazing at her. "The seven-year romance fairytale of Anna and the Crown Prince… that must be the work of you."
Clara didn't flinch. Instead, her smile sharpened, becoming predatory.
"You give me too much credit, Aurelia," she said, though her eyes danced with acknowledgment. "Or perhaps not enough. Does it matter who wrote the story? The ink is dry. The audience is captivated. And you? You are just the Obstacle in the final act."
She gestured toward the open side of the pavilion, where the treeline loomed.
"You may call Anna a distraction," Clara continued, her voice hardening. "But distractions have toppled kingdoms. If he comes back with her in his arms… if the Court sees him choose her over the Prize… do you really think your Title will save you? The people will demand a Love Story, not a political arrangement. They will demand her."
I looked at her with genuine pity.
She believed that emotion ruled the world. If that were the case, I would not have had to become… this.
"It seems you are living in a fairytale, Clara," I said softly. "Not the real world."
"Excuse me?"
"In the real world, the people do not eat stories," I said dismissively. "They want full bellies and safety. They cheer for whoever throws the most coins or keeps the invaders at the gate."
She thinks the world runs on applause. She doesn't understand that the stage she stands on is built on bones.
"Arrogance," Clara spat the word out. "You think you are above the game because you are a Duchess's daughter. But you are just a player like the rest of us. And you are losing. You sit here eating cake while Anna is out there winning his heart. You are not a Queen-in-Waiting, Aurelia. You are a Relic."
I let out a soft, weary sigh, feigning boredom.
"Ah, again," I whispered, shaking my head slightly. "Living in a fairytale."
Clara's jaw tightened.
"You speak of 'winning hearts' as if it were currency," I said, looking at her as if she were a child who needed a lesson. "You think I am losing because I do not play the Lover? That is why you will always be a mere Observer of your own fairytale, Clara."
"Observer?" she gasped, affronted.
"Queens do not compete for hearts," I said simply. "We command Loyalty. If you think a stolen kiss in the woods outweighs years of political alliance, then you truly are lost."
Hillaria shifted uncomfortably, looking between us. "Clara, perhaps we should—"
"Quiet, Hillaria," Clara snapped, her face flushing red.
I saw it. She hated that I wasn't fighting back with anger or jealousy. She hated the stillness.
"She needs to hear this," Clara hissed. "She thinks she can just freeze us out with this fake… persona. However, ice will shatter in the warmth of true loyalty and devotion."
Her determination shone through. Hillaria's eyes widened in surprise at Clara's sudden aggression.
I felt a flicker of the old me—the hurt, the fear—trying to rise. However, the tight-fitting bodice of my dress helped me. It held me together. It held me tight.
Clink.
I set the teacup down deliberately.
"You mistake the material, Clara," I said softly.
I leaned in, mirroring her posture, resting my chin on my hand as my eyes flashed at her.
"What you see isn't ice. It is a Diamond."
Clara blinked, caught off guard.
"Perhaps, do you remember Duchess Valerie's words?" I asked, my voice smooth and dangerously quiet. "She called me a Diamond."
I smiled.
"And as for Anna… she called her a Mist."
I tilted my head, enjoying her confusion.
"You speak of 'warmth', Clara. But do you know what warmth does? It makes a diamond shine brighter."
I paused, letting the words sink into the room.
"But Mist? The moment the sun rises… the moment the heat comes… the mist evaporates. It vanishes as if it never existed."
I leaned back.
"Since you love fairytales so much," I continued, "let me tell you a story."
Clara stiffened, trying to maintain her posture. "A story?"
"Once," I began, my eyes locking onto hers, "there was a girl who thought she could steal a crown with a smile and a stumble. She thought the world was a stage for her romance. But she forgot one thing."
"And what is that?"
"That the Crown is heavy," I whispered. "And necks that are used to looking up in adoration… tend to snap under the weight."
Clara stared at me, her mouth slightly open. The malice in her eyes flickered, replaced by uncertainty.
"You are threatening her," Clara breathed.
"I am educating you," I corrected. "There is a difference."
The table went silent. Hillaria lowered the tart she had been about to eat, her eyes wide and wary.
"You have changed," Hillaria muttered, her voice losing its usual brashness. "At the Palace… you were soft. You held that maid's hand. Now? You sound like you would step over her just to get to the throne."
"You… you really have become the Monster of Aurelius," Clara whispered, leaning back as if to put distance between us. "Your mother is ruthless enough for this Kingdom; now you decide to become one. The fever didn't just take your warmth. It took your soul."
I let out a low, humorless laugh. It was sharp enough to make Hillaria flinch.
"A monster?" I repeated, tilting my head.
A monster? You dare?
I have seen the ashes of what you have done, Clara. If I am a monster for surviving, what are you for feasting on the innocent?
I leaned closer, invading her personal space, my voice dropping to a whisper that only she could hear.
"Not like you, Clara," I said softly.
She froze. "What?"
"I may be cold," I whispered, my ocean-blue eyes boring into hers. "But I am clean. Can you say the same? I see the hooks your family has sunk into this Kingdom. I see the dirt under your beautiful fingernails."
I let the silence hang for a heartbeat.
"You call me a monster for playing this game," I hissed. "But we both know who the real monsters are. We know who feeds on the weak in the dark. We know what happened to the orphans, don't we?"
Her face went deadly pale. She stopped breathing.
She knows that I know.
I watched the terror take root in her eyes. The fear of exposure.
"Be careful who you call soulless," I finished. "My mother's soul and mine are merely frozen. Your family's… is missing."
She couldn't speak. Her hands trembled violently in her lap.
I leaned back, breaking the tension. I blinked, and just like that, I shifted into a mask of wide-eyed innocence. My old mask.
"Oh, my," I said, my voice light and loud enough for Hillaria to hear. "I seem to have upset you… I do apologize. The heat must be getting to everyone."
I stood up.
I looked down at her. My innocent mask vanished instantly, replaced by the new, cold visage.
"And one last thing," I said.
"Next time, address me as Lady Aurelia."
She flinched.
"Stop living in a fairytale world where we are equals," I stated coldly.
"'Aurelia'?" I repeated the name she had used earlier, tasting it with disgust. "Who do you think you are, to address me so easily?"
I didn't wait for an answer. She wasn't worth the wait.
I turned my back on her, dismissing her utterly. I fixed my gaze on the open side of the pavilion.
We moved—not toward the comfort of the Queen's dais, nor to the secluded corners where the other noblewomen whispered. I walked to the very edge of the pavilion, to the center of the encampment entrance, where the shadows conceded to the blinding light.
I stepped forth from the shade, exposing myself to the glare of the midday sun.
"My Lady," Adel whispered urgently at my shoulder. "The heat… your condition. You should not stand in the direct sun. You will faint."
I gave no answer. I didn't even incline my head. I simply stared fixedly at the tree line.
I felt the heat press against my skin. My vision swarmed, black spots dancing violently at the edges of my sight. The dress, tight as a grip, dug into my ribs with every shallow breath, forcing my spine into perfect alignment.
A single bead of sweat gathered at my temple, sliding down the curve of my neck like a tear.
I stood motionless, my arms at my sides, rigid as a statue. I endured.
My legs trembled, threatening to buckle. I locked my knees.
I will not fall. Not until he sees me standing.
And then, the earth answered.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A vibration ran through the soles of my shoes, traveling up through the floorboards of the pavilion behind me.
The crowd gasped. Behind me, the Queen stood up on the dais.
The Hunters were returning.