Back in the garden room, Ivy sat gracefully beside her mother, a soft rustle of silk accompanying each shift in her posture, Camilla, perched delicately, her hands resting over her lap, eyes scanning the tray of tea just brought in by a silent servant.
The porcelain clinked faintly as cups were placed before them. One for Iridessa, one for Ivy, and one for Camilla.
"I do hope," Camilla murmured, her voice light but sharp. "That the tea hasn't been poisoned."
Ivy froze, her fingers tightening around the delicate handle mid-sip. She coughed, just once – but enough to draw attention. Her head turned sharply toward Iridessa, eyes wide.
Iridessa gave an akward laugh, waving her hand in the air like the accusation were nonsense. "Please. Before any food or drink is served to us. It's always tasted first by the servants. And besides, all the kitchen staff have been replaced since the…..incident."
The incident. The word dropped like ash.
They all remembered.
The maid – their maid – who had died, during the royal proposal. A cup meant for Havynlee had found its way into the hands of the wrong girl. Only Iridessa and Ivy knew the truth. Only they knew what had been planned.
Camilla was about to speak again – perhaps to probe, perhaps to jest further – when a sudden, sharp shout pierced the quiet.
It came from beyond the white double doors of the garden room. The three women turned instinctively.
Camilla's brow furrowed.
"What in the world is it this time?" She rose with an exasperated sigh storming toward the door. She stood still, head tilted, listening.
More commotion. Voices in the corridor. Running footsteps. Then another cry.
Iridessa stood quickly, her dress brushing the floor as she moved forward. She opened the door with authority. "What is happening?" She demanded, her voice sharp.
A guard turned from the hall. "There's a problem…..in the eastern wing."
Iridessa froze, her pulse sharp against her throat.
"Where in the east wing?" She asked, though she already dreaded the answer.
"In the late Seraphielle's chambers."
The words sent ice into Iridessa's veins. T…that cursed room?
"Show me," she said evenly, each syllable clipped, hiding the cold weight pressing against her ribs.
The guard hurried ahead. Camilla and ivy followed closely. They turned the corner and walked into a scene of chaos: guards standing stiffly, unsure, maids whispering to each other with wide, pale eyes. One maid in particular stood in front of the easternmost door – trembling, nearly hyperventilating.
It was that door.
Seraphielle's room.
The hallway seemed darker somehow. The corridor colder. The lanterns lining the wall flickered, as if uncertain whether to stay lit.
Iridessa's breath caught.
She had not stood before his room in years. Not since the day she banished Seraphielle. Since she tried to claim the room for herself, not since she was whipped mercilessly by hands she could not see – and could not scream, not even once.
The pain had been real.
Each lash, seering. Each strike, echoing in her bones. Yet when the guards arrived, not a mark could be found on her. Her skin was unblemished. Her skin was unblemished. Her screams, denied. Her fear dismissed.
They all thought she had imagined it. That the queen had lost her mind for one night.
But Iridessa knew. She had not imagined it. She had not dreamt it
That room. Seraphielle's room – had punished her. As if the room itself had memory. As if it could grieve. As if it could hate.
The room had been sealed off. Ordered never to be entered.
Yet here they stood. Again.
"You," Camilla snapped, pointing to the trembling maid. "What happened? Speak up. You're shaking like a dehydrated dog."
Iridessa flinched at the harshness, but said nothing. She was too busy staring at the door.
The maid looked barely twenty. Her lips trembled as she tried to find words.
"I…. Was to clean, your grace…. And no one earned me… about this room," she stammered.
"You entered?" Iridessa's vice was cold now, sharp as frost.
How could it be? This room was sealed years ago….. how was the maid able to enter? Iridessa thought.
"I… I fight mean to. The door wasn't locked. Just stiff. And I – I only stepped inside for a moment. But then…." She stopped.
"Then what?" Camilla snapped again.
The girl looked at the floor. "Blood. I saw….blood. It was leaking from the walls."
Whispers broke out behind her – other servants murmuring.
"There was no blood when we arrived," One of them said. "She must've imagined it."
"She's lying," another whispered. "Trying to stir nonsense –"
"I know what I saw!" The maid cried suddenly tears in her voice now. "Something….touched me. Something cold. And the mirror…it moved. I swear, it shifted. I saw shadow in it."
Silence fell.
The air in the hallway seemed to still. No one dared speak.
Camilla scoffed first, breaking tension. "Honestly, this palace is riddled with superstition. A mirror twitches and the girls start screaming ghost stories."
But Iridessa's eyes were locked on the door.
Now, hearing the maid stutter about blood on the walls, her throat tightened.
What if the maid wasn't lying.
Her eyes flickered to the trembling girl at the door. The maid was near collapse, her eyes bulging, mouth mumbling silent prayers. It would have been easy to dismiss her. To wave off the claims as nerves, hysteria.
But Iridessa had stood in her place once.
And she knew what lived in that room was not normal.
She had never truly believed in witches.
But Seraphielle…..
Was she really just a woman?
Note:
Hey 💕loves, I know we've been building things up slowly, but buckle In –the calm is officially over. From here on out, things are about to get darker, deadlier, and a whole lot more addictive. You've been warned 😈💕😭