Chapter 19: Composure

Another brush stirs against my ear.

Are you safe?

The maids shuffle around the bedroom in practiced circles carrying hooks of clothing. Bottles and jars clink as they arrange beauty products on the vanity by the great wooden door. “Get her ready, please. We have much to accomplish,” the plump woman says.

No, I whisper back across the thread. I don’t know where I am.

Two maids who emulate children hold me by the shoulders and guide me upright. Their gentleness is almost disarming, and for a moment it steadies me. “I can do it,” I mutter, but as I rise the sunlight pours across the floor through the windows. I halt. Beyond the glass, rolling green hills stretch in neat lines, as if the land itself has been cut into patterns. Horses drift in a fenced pasture to my right, tails flicking lazily as they nose at piles of hay. A garden terrace spreads below, its three-tiered fountain flowing in the stillness. My eyes adjust to the green spreading outward, a color that feels foreign and almost otherworldly, and that’s when I see it… a faint blue shimmer. Flaire pulses freely beneath the soil. My legs buckle because nothing in my land ever looked this flawless, and the Flaire was never this sprawling or abundant.

I… I can’t breathe.

“You are trembling, miss. Let me help,” the maid on my right says. Her curls bounce as she leans close, her tone sweet and youthful. “Thank you,” I murmur, clinging to the comfort of her hand for a second before letting her steer me to the vanity. My legs drag, heavy as stone, and I lower myself onto the stool. Colin’s voice threads through me again, wrapping around the edges of my mind.

You are in the Northern Kingdom, Jo. Do what they say. I will come for you.

His voice feels urgent, as if what he saw through our bond is the worst-case scenario.The plump woman steps back, studying me as though I’m some flawed artwork. With one eye narrowed, she taps her chin, then gestures toward the wardrobe. “The blue one,” she decides. The younger maid obeys, lifting a satin dress that shimmers in the sunlight, though I can barely process it. My thoughts spiral elsewhere, tugging at the invisible thread.

I saw you. With Eve and the others. How?

His voice steadies me, but only a little. It’s a gift. A dangerous one.

My breath catches. I’m about to face the King.

Hw speaks with a fear I can feel ebbing through our bond. Hold your composure. His court will be watching.

I grip the arms of the stool until my knuckles pale, forcing my lungs to steady like my life depends on it. Powder dusts across my nose while maids bustle around me. A tray of pastries and a ceramic pot of tea sweep in, a fleeting wave of steam following.

“Arms up,” the plump maid commands. My arms feel like gelatin, but she hoists them over my head and slips the satin down my frame with practiced hands. As she steps away, I turn to the younger maid beside me and whisper, “What’s your name?”

She glances up then leans close. “Winifred.” She looks toward the plump woman. “That’s Greta. She is head mistress of the King’s court. We are so delighted you are joining us.” Her tone is bright with an air of force, like delight is the only answer she is permitted to give.

“Who is the welcome committee? Is it the King’s court?”

“It is, miss,” she replies. “The ones His Highness holds in highest regard, those who serve his will across the continent. They are the highest ranks of authority. You should feel honored to meet them.”

Honored. The word falls heavy, and other words rise with it, “Bear my bloodline.” If I’m meeting his court, then I’m facing those who are culpable, complicit in his scheme, the ones who sanctioned my capture and hunted me like game. Honor is the last thing I feel. Heat climbs my spine, burning away the fear until rage is all that’s left.

“Ah, much better,” Greta says through a fake smile. “A few touches and you will be ready to be presented. The guards outside will escort you to the Grand Parlor, where you will dine and meet the welcome committee. The King has much to tell you.”

I smirk. “I bet he does. And if I refuse?”

The room stills. Gazes lift. Even the sound of breath seems too loud. Greta’s chin tightens as she speaks in a low, guttural rumble. “You will not disappoint the Kingdom, Lady.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Her words scrape against my skin, meant to cut me, to control me. A gentle tug on my chest makes my breath skip. I press my hand to it, and another voice fills.

Composure, Jo.

My voice cracks. “Very well.” I clear my throat, forcing my thoughts into a compartment I can’t access.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, trying to find comfort in the chaos, but the fear only thickens. My hair is pulled into a tightly bound bun with two strands loose by my ears. My cheeks are too rosy for my liking, but they give the illusion of warmth and fullness. Two things I am definitely not. The satin dress falls into a graceful silhouette, drawing out curves I haven’t acknowledged in years. I feel like a shell of myself, sealed into the body of royalty, forced to wear a dress like armor.

In one fluid motion, the maids pull me toward the door where the guards await me. Winifred’s eyes sink as I exit the bedroom, and step into a fortress unknown.

I tiptoe out of the bedroom like an animal sensing a trap. My eyes sweep every corner, waiting for the snap. Two guards in purple and gold regalia nod to each other with their eyes low, and pace ahead. I quicken my stride but am distracted by every intricate detail, trying not to trip on the parts of my dress that Winifred pinned up before I left. The ceiling soars four levels high, forcing my neck back until it aches. To my left, a fireplace roars with chairs carved like thrones on either side. A winding staircase rises straight ahead toward a balcony two levels above. The walls are stone and mortar, each block stacked in flawless patterns, not a crack or seam out of place. The craftsmanship, the sheer abundance, presses against me like a weight.

If we had even a fraction of this luxury in Drinn…

The floors are coated with purple velvet runners that stretch into a thin line. Bedrooms line the endless hallway, each with intricate patterns. Nothing is out of place. The guards lead me to a towering set of wooden double doors and halt with purpose. Without a hand laid on them, the doors creak open in noisy slowness, revealing Kai at the head of an impossibly long table. The sharp chime of metal against porcelain carries through the chamber as he stirs a steaming drink, the vapor fading like a ghost into the air. Long shards of crystal dangle from a chandelier, swaying gently with the stir of movement that follows my arrival.

I had expected his welcome committee to line the table, but it waits empty.

My stomach tightens. For a moment, I almost wish the others were here, their cold eyes easier to meet than his. I can’t blend into a crowd when it’s just him and I. I have to face this head-on, no strategy, no help. His presence spreads like smoke, filling every corner until I can hardly breathe. I force my shoulders straight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching me bend.

Kai looks up, his mouth curving wide though his eyes stay cold. He gestures to the chair opposite him. “Please. Sit.”

“I’d rather stand.”

Servants slip into the room, their arms straining under trays heavy enough to feed my entire town. Silver lids lift in unison, steam curling upward until it clouds the chandelier’s crystals. My mouth waters against my will, and I swallow hard, ashamed of the reflex.

“Quite a lot of food for just the two of us.” My gaze drifts down the endless table. “Where is this welcome committee of yours?”

“For now, only us. Sit. It is rude to my staff to stand.”

I glance at the servants, their shoulders bent, their faces blank. Reluctantly, I lower myself into the chair. The cushion is stiff, as if it’s never been used. A servant with doll-like eyes hovers close, placing a plate before me. “Dinner, miss,” he murmurs.

The smell strikes before I can look. Marmalade chicken, roasted potatoes, glazed carrots, a glass of wine filled to the golden rim. My stomach clenches. My body aches to eat, but instinct warns me not to. I keep my hands folded in my lap and stare blankly until Kai’s plate arrives, and I watch him take the first bite. Kai leans back, setting his fork down with a soft clatter. His smile stretches slow. “Eat, Lady Jo. It’s unbecoming to scowl at a feast.”

I keep my fork untouched. My eyes sweep the platters, the velvet runners, the chandelier dripping with crystal. “Strange. My people starve, yet here the tables groan with excess. How do you explain that?”

His smile widens, pleased by the question. “Because the North is mine. Ordered. Disciplined. We do not waste what is given to us.”

I tilt my head, studying him as though he were the one under glass. “Or perhaps you take more than was ever yours to claim.”

His teeth flash, a twitch darkening his gaze. “Careful, girl.” He taps his glass, the sound vibrates in the silence. “You’ve been given an opportunity. I’ve given you a life worth living. I can throw you in with the rest of the pigs and still have my uses for you.”

My stomach tilts. I press my palms flat against my thighs to steady them. “Mar?” I ask evenly, forcing the word past the weight in my chest. “The Order has always positioned it to be in the heart of the North. Yet I look out and see no prisoners. Tell me… where are they? Do you burn us at the stake and pretend there was ever a chance to fight?”

He studies me with a predator’s patience.“Mar exists. But not for wandering eyes. Some things belong where they cannot be touched. Beneath the stone, where even time forgets them.”

I drop my eyes to the table. My pulse hammers so loud I’m sure he must hear it. He thinks I’ve bent, but every word he gives me, I will use.

The doors burst open and shadows spill. A procession of the King’s court floods into the Grand Parlor. I savor each breath, knowing it may be my last, and straighten my stance.

I keep my composure.