The silence in the room had started to feel heavier than the stone walls around me. I didn't know how long I'd been sitting there—minutes or hours, it didn't matter. Hunger was always a patient companion, gnawing at me, reminding me of the emptiness in my stomach. I wrapped my arms around myself and lay back on the bed. For all its softness, it still felt strange, almost wrong, to be in a place so clean, so warm.
A sharp knock broke the stillness.
I shot up, startled, as the lock clicked. The heavy door opened with a creak, and two maids stepped inside. Their presence filled the room with the faint scent of soap and lavender. One carried a tray, steam rising from the bowls and plates it held. The other had a neatly folded bundle of soft fabric draped over her arms.
"Good evening," said the one with the tray, her tone polite but not unkind. She moved toward the desk and placed the tray down carefully. The rich aroma of bread, broth, and roasted meat reached me, making my stomach twist with a quiet growl.
The younger maid, clutching the folded clothes, gave me a small smile. "These are for you. Nightclothes, to sleep in. His Majesty wishes that you rest well."
I blinked at her, unsure of what to say. Nobody had ever cared what I wore to sleep before. Rags had always been enough.
The older maid noticed my hesitation and tilted her head slightly. "You must be hungry. Come, eat while the food is hot."
I walked toward the desk slowly, my feet sinking into the rug. The tray looked like a feast to me—slices of warm bread, a bowl of thick soup with vegetables floating in it, and even a small portion of roasted chicken. My throat tightened. I hadn't eaten anything like this in… I couldn't even remember.
"Is this really for me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
The younger maid nodded. "Of course. You are a guest of the royal family now."
Guest. The word sounded strange in my ears. Guests weren't locked behind doors, were they? Still, I lowered myself into the chair and picked up the spoon. The first mouthful of broth burned my tongue slightly, but I didn't care. It was warm, rich, and comforting. I ate faster than I should have, shoving bread into the soup and tearing pieces of meat apart with trembling fingers.
The older maid watched me carefully, her arms crossed, but there was no judgment in her gaze—only something like pity.
"Slow down, child," she said softly. "The food isn't going anywhere."
I froze mid-bite, cheeks burning. I hadn't meant to look desperate, but hunger had its own manners. I forced myself to slow, taking smaller spoonfuls, though every fiber of me screamed to devour it all at once.
The younger maid stepped closer and set the folded bundle on the bed. "Once you're finished, change into these. They'll be more comfortable than that gown."
I glanced at the red silk dress I wore. It was beautiful, but it itched against my skin, heavy and unnatural. The thought of soft nightclothes—clean ones, not rags—was tempting.
"Do you need help changing?" the younger maid asked, tilting her head.
I shook my head quickly, almost too fast. "No, I can manage."
She nodded and didn't press further, though I caught the brief flicker of curiosity in her eyes. No doubt they were still thinking of what the queen had discovered—that I wasn't a boy after all.
I finished the meal in silence, licking the last taste of broth from my lips before pushing the tray back. For the first time in a long while, my stomach felt full, heavy even. It was almost uncomfortable, but in a good way.
"Thank you," I murmured, unsure if I was supposed to.
The older maid inclined her head. "Rest now. Tomorrow will bring more questions and more eyes upon you."
Her words sent a shiver down my spine. More eyes. More scrutiny. The gown, the bath, the throne room—it was all leading to something, though I didn't know what.
The younger maid gave me a last smile before they both stepped back toward the door. She paused with her hand on the handle. "If you need anything, call for us. Someone will hear you."
The lock clicked again once they left.
I stood in the quiet, staring at the tray, the bed, the folded nightclothes. For the first time, I wondered if this was what it felt like to live in a cage—silk instead of iron, food instead of hunger, but a cage all the same.
Still, as I unfolded the nightclothes—soft linen that smelled faintly of lavender—I couldn't help but press the fabric to my cheek. It was warm. It was kind. And it was mine, at least for tonight.
I changed slowly, almost reverently, and crawled into the bed. The sheets swallowed me whole, softer than anything I'd ever known. My body resisted the comfort, tense and wary, but my eyes grew heavy despite myself.
Somewhere beyond the walls, the castle breathed—voices in distant corridors, the crackle of torches, the faint toll of a bell. I closed my eyes, unsure if I should feel safe or terrified.
Maybe both.
And with that, I drifted into sleep.