"We are here."
The maid stopped abruptly before one of the doors in the concubine's quarters. I halted beside her, balancing the box against my hip. With a flick of her chin, she pointed at the door.
"Here?" I asked.
She gave a curt nod. "Place that in my lady's room, then prepare tea. The King's father does not like to wait."
Before I could respond, she turned on her heel and disappeared down the corridor, her footsteps echoing against the stone floor.
I stared after her, stunned.
"Seriously… what in the world?" I muttered under my breath.
I stood there, clutching the box, my pulse quickening. My mouth fell open, then snapped shut as unease settled in my chest.
"This better not be a trap," I whispered, scanning the empty hallway.
Taking a breath, I pushed the door open, and the moment I stepped inside, every suspicion about Tyra dissolved.
I froze beside the door, breath caught in my throat. This was no ordinary concubine's chamber.
Sheer white curtains drifted lazily with the breeze from an open window. Carved cupboards lined the walls, gleaming like polished ivory. Tiny bookshelves sat neatly beside a golden fireplace where embers glowed faintly.
But it was the bed that drew me forward.
I moved deeper into the room and set the box beside a mirrored cupboard. My eyes remained locked on the bed. It wasn't oversized or extravagant, yet it looked impossibly inviting, layered in crisp white sheets patterned with soft blue lilies.
I hovered beside it, fingertips grazing the edge of the mattress. A quiet thought slipped from my lips, "I wonder if it feels as soft as it looks."
My hands roamed over the smooth linen, pressing into it as if I needed to be sure it was real.
"Wow… wow."
It was softer than any bed I had ever touched in my life. I let out a long breath, then dropped flat on the mattress, spreading my arms and laughing as I rolled across the sheets.
"If y'all want tea, send another maid," I muttered into the pillows. "Because I am not leaving this bed."
The mattress felt like a warm cloud, gentle against my back. My eyelids grew heavy, and before I knew it, it began drifting shut.
"Mmm… so good," I murmured lazily.
My eyes wandered to the wall and stilled. There hung a large oil portrait of Lady Tyra.
For a moment, all I saw was Christy. The same olive skin, sharp brown eyes, and perfectly curled hair. In the painting, she lifted her chin proudly, looking confident and untouchable.
Matilda's words came back to me. Tyra is the King's favorite.
Now it made sense why everything in this room felt like heaven. No wonder she clung to him.
I rolled onto my side and watched the white curtains sway in the breeze. Thoughts of home crept into my mind and my chest tightened.
They must be searching for me.
They must think I was kidnapped.
And here I was, stuck as a palace maid in a strange world.
Pain pressed hard against my heart, but I bit my lips and held it in. I will find a way back. I can't stay here. I just can't.
At some point, my thoughts blurred and sleep pulled me under. After a while, a loud yawn snapped me awake.
I sat up quickly, rubbing my eyes and staring toward the window. Then it hit me.
"Oh no."
The tea.
"Heavens, I haven't even spent a week here and I'm already about to be beheaded."
"Damn, damn."
I jumped off the bed and stared at the wrinkled sheets in panic. My hands flew over them, smoothing everything as fast as I could. I adjusted my maid's cap, then rushed out of the room.
I ran straight toward the maiden quarters.
When I arrived, Matilda was gone on an errand, so I stopped two other maidens. Breathless, I asked for directions and they pointed me toward the kitchen.
The moment I stepped inside, heat rushed over me.
Older maids moved everywhere, gray hair peeking from beneath their caps. Huge pots bubbled over the fire. Giant spoons stirred thick soup while others chopped carrots and onions at lightning speed.
Steam, smoke, and spices filled the air.
I nearly stumbled as I ran in.
"Tea for the King!" I called out, breathless and frantic.
A younger maid paused cutting her carrot, glanced at me, then pointed toward a woman at the far end.
"Tea for the King is ready. You are late."
"Apologies, I got caught up with other work," I replied quickly.
She blinked at my accent and wording, studying me for a second, then nodded.
"Hurry, hurry."
I rushed toward the far end as she instructed. There sat an older lady on a small stool in front of the fireplace.
"Tea is cold. Wait for another."
Her voice was calm and crisp, and her face carried a warmth that reminded me of a gentle grandmother. She looked up at me and smiled.
"New?"
I nodded, my hands gripping my dress tightly as anxiety tightened my chest.
"You look pale," she laughed softly, turning back to the kettle over the fire. "Do not worry. The king is not heartless."
It is not the king I am worried about.
"Here," she said, lifting a tray with fine porcelain mugs patterned with delicate flowers. She began pouring tea into one cup.
"It is not for the King," I added quickly, "but for the King's father."
Her hand paused midair.
"Ahh… then two cups."
"Two cups? Well…"
She smiled at me gently. "Nothing to worry about, my dear. If you serve the father, you must also serve the son."
I nodded, though I was not sure it made much sense. Lady Tyra had sent me only for the King's father, but if royal etiquette required both, then so be it. I barely had time to argue, and fear of punishment pressed heavily on me.
The moment she finished pouring, I took the tray and hurried away. From behind me I heard her call, "Careful," but I did not slow down.
After asking for directions, I finally found the dining hall. I had to climb several flights of stairs to reach it, all while balancing the tray of tea.
By the time I arrived, my breath came in short gasps.
Right then, I really missed elevators.
The hall stretched wide like a church, but far more dazzling. Tall stained windows poured colored light across the floor, and a long dining table sat in the center, large enough to seat more than twenty people.
Lord help me, I muttered under my breath as I hurried forward with the tea.
Maidens moved along both sides of the table, setting down dishes of steaming food. At the head of the table, with his back to a wide open window, sat the King.
His shoulders were straight, his expression calm, almost bored as his dark eyes rested on the spread before him.
Beside him sat an older man who looked remarkably similar. The same dark hair, though streaked with gray, the same tan skin and broad shoulders. To the King's right sat Lady Tyra.
From their faces, it was clear they were in the middle of a tense conversation.
"I brought in those concubines so you could finally settle with a wife," the King's father said sharply, his deep voice echoing through the hall.
I froze in my steps.
It felt like I had walked into something I was not meant to hear. Every instinct told me to turn around, yet my feet stayed rooted to the floor.
"You have been King for ten years, yet you still refuse to follow the rules."
Te…ten years?
My mind raced. How old was he when he became King? And if his father was still alive, why was the son ruling instead of him?
The King only curved his lips slightly, offering no real reply. That small reaction seemed to enrage his father.
His hand slammed against the table, making the dishes rattle. Even Lady Tyra flinched.
"How dare you insult the royal name," the old man thundered.
"Father," Lady Tyra said softly, leaning forward, "the King will marry, of course."
Or does she mean he will marry her? I thought, almost amused despite the tension.
The King's father studied Lady Tyra, then turned his gaze back to the King.
"Tyra has been nothing but loyal to you all these years. You have known each other since childhood. If you will not act, then I will act for you."
The King lifted his head slowly, his eyes locking onto his father with a hard stare.
"A royal ball will take place at the end of this month," his father continued. "And it will not be just any ball. It will be your engagement to Tyra."
I saw the darkness settle in the King's eyes. They narrowed sharply, and for a brief moment, I glimpsed pure hostility in his expression.
I wondered what had happened between them. More than that, I wondered why his father had the power to choose his wife.
King Harry opened his mouth as if to speak, but his attention shifted, suddenly his gaze caught on me and my breath hitched.
He turned fully in my direction, something unreadable flickering across his face, his lips curved in amusement and then he spoke,
"Or an engagement to someone else."