The guards handed me over to the servants, and I was whisked down winding corridors that smelled faintly of polished wood and burning herbs. The palace was unlike anything I had ever seen—walls lined with rich tapestries, floors polished to a shine that reflected the glow of lanterns. My footsteps echoed, small and uncertain, against the stone.
At the end of the hall, the queen herself appeared once more. Her green hair shimmered like emerald threads in the lamplight, and her calm but commanding eyes swept over me.
"See to it that this child is bathed," she said, her voice clear and steady. But then her gaze fixed on me with unsettling precision. "And make sure you confirm what I already know."
The servants bowed quickly, their eyes wide, and I was ushered into a warm chamber filled with steam. The heavy door shut behind us, muffling the noises of the palace. A tub waited in the center, brimming with water that shimmered under the lanterns.
"Time to wash," one maid said briskly. Her tone was professional, but her eyes flicked between me and the others with an unspoken question.
I hesitated, clutching at the rags that had been my only protection for so long. But the stern gaze of the older servant left me no choice. I slid into the bath. The hot water burned at first, then slowly eased the tension in my aching shoulders.
Two younger maids began to scrub at my skin, their movements quick and efficient. They worked in silence until their hands froze. One leaned closer, her breath catching.
"She's… not a boy," she whispered, voice trembling.
The other clapped a hand over her mouth, her wide eyes darting toward the door as if afraid someone might hear.
The older servant entered again, summoned by their shock. She studied me once, her sharp gaze softening as if confirming what she had already suspected.
"So. Her Majesty was right," she said quietly. "A girl, hidden beneath rags and lies." Her voice carried not judgment, but something closer to pity. Then she straightened, her expression hardening. "Very well. Treat her with respect. Make her presentable for the king and queen."
The maids seemed both startled and relieved, their whispers buzzing like bees as they worked with renewed energy. Dirt melted away beneath their hands, revealing pale skin I barely recognized as my own.
My hair, though short and uneven, gleamed with a vivid red that not even torchlight could dull.
"Even cropped like this," one maid murmured in awe, brushing the strands back from my face, "it shines brighter than rubies."
Another adjusted the fabric they had chosen for me, holding it up against my form as though testing how the color would fall. When the bath was done, they pulled a gown over my head—a gown of deep crimson silk. Its weight settled on me strangely, heavy where the rags had been light. The sash tied around my waist cinched me into a figure I hardly recognized.
"She looks like fire itself," one said proudly.
The older maid gave a small approving nod. "The queen will be pleased. And the king…" She trailed off, not finishing her thought, but her lips tightened with unease.
They turned me toward a polished bronze mirror. I hardly recognized the reflection staring back. My short red hair left me looking almost like a boy still, but the dress transformed me into something else—something I wasn't sure I wanted to be.
As the servants stepped back, admiring their work, my stomach twisted. I didn't feel like fire. I felt like a candle trapped in the wind, waiting to be snuffed out.
When they led me back through the corridors, whispers followed us. Guards and courtiers turned their heads, murmuring to one another as if they could already sense the shift in how I would be seen. My feet dragged with each step, but the servants pushed me gently forward until we reached the throne room.
The heavy doors opened, and the sound of their hinges seemed louder than my own heartbeat.
The king sat high upon his throne, a crown gleaming beneath the torchlight. His expression was sharp, carved from stone, as his piercing blue eyes swept over me. The prince stood at his side, his face unreadable, while the queen remained calm, her gaze soft but watchful.
I bowed my head, unsure of what else to do.
The king leaned forward slightly, his lips curling into something that might have been amusement—or disdain. "So," he said slowly, his voice carrying across the hall, "Her Majesty's suspicion was correct. A girl after all."
A ripple of surprise passed through the advisors. Some shifted uncomfortably, others visibly relaxed. The tension that had hung heavy in the room seemed to lighten, though not entirely.
The king's gaze narrowed as he studied me further. "That changes matters." He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest. "A boy of the Fire bloodline could have been dangerous. A threat to the throne. But a girl?" He waved one hand dismissively. "Women cannot rule. A queen holds no power. You are no danger to me."
Relieved murmurs passed through the council, and several advisors even smiled faintly as though some terrible burden had just been lifted.
But the queen's gaze never left me. Her expression remained calm, but something glimmered in her eyes—a spark of concern, or perhaps curiosity.
The prince's jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He said nothing, though I could feel his stare like a weight.
The king tilted his head, his gaze lingering on my short red hair, bright as flame against the crimson silk. His tone dropped low, quiet but sharp.
"Even so," he said, each word deliberate, "fire, no matter how small, has the power to spread. Even the weakest ember can set a forest ablaze."
His words sank into me, heavy and suffocating. Relief warred with fear inside my chest. For the moment, I wasn't condemned. But neither was I free.
The king might not see me as a threat, but he hadn't forgotten what my blood meant.
And neither had I.