The feast dragged on long after my appetite had died.
I managed a few more polite nibbles, a sip or two of wine, but every bite sat like a stone in my stomach.
And who eats fruit for dessert? I mean, what happened to cake?!
The brothers watched me without blinking, the Queen's scrutiny pressed like needles, and the King's warm smile nearly broke me. Nearly.
When the final toast was raised, I stood...far too quickly...and muttered something that, thankfully, no one seemed to understand.
My right-hand maid darted to my side, her small frame steadying me as we moved from the hall.
The corridor stretched endlessly, lined with torches that hissed with smoke. The servants trailed behind in a neat row, their slippers whispering against the stones.
I wobbled every now and then, trying to keep up with the torture device I wore in the form of a gown.
My shadow maid stayed glued to my side, murmuring "Mine lady, softly, softly" as though I might faint at any moment.
I almost glared. I bet Ioana had wanted to do same too.
By the time we reached the turning to the royal wing, I was sweating buckets.
My shoulders ached under layers of embroidered velvet, the corset crushed every lungful of air, and the hem dragged so hard I half-wondered if it was stitched to the floor.
"Okay," I hissed under my breath, grabbing fistfuls of silk. "Nope. Nope nope nope. I cannot...will not...be buried alive in this medieval torture device."
My knees popped into view as I yanked the fabric up. Gasps echoed behind me.
"Mine lady!"
"Princess, nay!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know...'princesses don't show knees.' Sue me!" I muttered, hiking the fabric higher as I stomped forward.
Hands reached for me...maids squealing, trying to tug the gown back down, tripping over themselves in the process.
My shadow maid cried, "Mine lady, for shame, thou mustn't!"
"Well, too bad. Shame left the group." I smirked, and then bolted.
The gown flapped wildly as I sprinted through the corridor, my bare knees flashing, servants chasing me like a chaotic flock of geese.
My laughter bubbled out in pure hysteria...I couldn't help it...because this was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.
At last, I stumbled onto a set of tall double doors. My maid pushed past the others, swung them open, and ushered me inside.
The doors slammed shut. The servants' protests muffled outside.
And then silence.
I leaned against the heavy wood, my chest heaving, the gown twisted around me like some sadistic snake. My hands shook as I peeled the sleeves down, kicking the train aside.
The memory of everything came crashing down on me that instant. The competition. Paris. Davis.
I slid down to the floor, clutching my knees.
"Okay," I whispered, voice breaking.
"Okay, Liana. Deep breaths. This is fine. You just… won a contest. You were supposed to go to Paris. You were supposed to celebrate. Not… whatever this is. Not… crowns. And kings. And an Ioana!"
The words scraped out of me raw. Painful.
I buried my face in my hands. My throat clenched, my chest tightening.
"I'm not Ioana," I whispered fiercely, the tears pricking.
"I'm Liana. Liana Davis. I'm a chef. I don't belong here. I don't..." I choked, sniffing.
"I just want to go home." I whimpered, letting the tears fall freely.
The sobs came in ragged bursts until there was nothing left but hiccups and shaky breaths.
I curled up against the side of the bed, skirts bunched awkwardly around me, my forehead pressed to the embroidered velvet.
The fire crackled softly, and somewhere outside, a night bird sang.
My body ached from the corset, from the heaviness of everything...crown, titles, expectations I'd never asked for.
I didn't do tears, yet my eyes burned from shedding them.
"Just a bad dream," I whispered hoarsely, convincing no one.
"I'll wake up tomorrow and it'll all be over. I'll be back to my home. To cooking. To Davis."
My chest ached more at the mention of his name.
My fingers still gripped the fabric of the gown, my face still damp, my heart still thrashing in its cage.
Slowly, I climbed into bed, curling myself into a tight ball and letting the rest of the night wrap itself around me.
Then I heard mum's voice, echo softly in my head. "It's just a bad dream Lia."
But part of me didn't believe it.