I finally stumble back to my chambers, careful not to be seen. But I'm starting to realize shadows are more numerous than I thought... even if they're hard to notice among all the gold reflections. I don't want to tantalize them.
Not yet, at least.
But I won't bow to them either.
I let myself fall onto the bed—a soft bed, filled with feathers... when I hear knocking at my door. I groan and push myself up.
"Yes?" I ask, irritated.
The doors open and a dragoness dressed in deep greens walks in, posture stiff and strict. Her eyes—two shining gemstones—study me. I immediately feel like a schoolgirl in front of a teacher.
"I have come to meet you... our new Queen-to-be," she says. "The name's Dioptase. I trust we will be able to speak openly with each other."
I dislike her instantly. Her posture. Her voice. The way she speaks down to me.
"I'm quite tired and would like to be left alone," I say coldly.
Dioptase pulls out a chair.
"It won't take long."
I purse my lips. She keeps hers in a strict, thin line. A standoff.
"Some way you have of treating your new Queen," I scoff. "Should I get used to this sort of disrespect?"
"Our new Queen..." Dioptase says. "I don't recall a wedding or a coronation, girl." She sits with posture so straight you'd think she has a damn broom up her ass. "For now, you are a secret and a whisper. Nothing more. You haven't even been titled Court Seer yet... though I imagine Lord Itzamatul appoints whom he pleases without consulting Celestia."
"Well, once I'm crowned, I'll remember your rude behaviour."
"My honest behaviour, you mean, Queen-to-be?" Her faceted pupils glisten as she studies me. "Advice, then—trust honesty rather than flattery."
"I don't even know who you are," I reply evenly. "I have no idea whether your words are honest at all. For all I know, they lack both honesty and flattery."
I don't look away.
We stare at each other... gazes locked, sharp and unyielding. I don't back down. It annoys her.
"Surely you've heard of me," Dioptase says, changing course. "I am the stewardess of this palace. The Lady of the House."
"Duarte hasn't mentioned you."
Her eye twitches.
"I'm sure he didn't wish to overwhelm you. Mortals process information more slowly than dragons."
I snort.
"Regardless," she continues coolly, "you should know who I am. I manage the court. I will manage your quarters as well. Understand this... you may think yourself more important than you are. You are an asset to the Golden King. Or perhaps a liability. Either way, you are something to manage... like a vase on a nightstand."
I narrow my eyes. The humor drains from my face.
"Remember that, girl. I will help you—so long as our Lord finds you worthy of his interest," she says. "Perhaps for centuries. Perhaps only days. In your position, I would mind my tone. And obey."
"Alright," I hiss. "What do you want?"
"I wanted to meet you. We will see much of each other. Lord Itzamatul values propriety. He has standards... and I refuse to let you—a common wench—make a mess of this court. Ornaments—including the Queen—must be chosen and arranged with care. From the food you eat to the clothes you wear."
Oh, she hasn't heard about the dress yet. I hope Citrine keeps quiet... I want to see her face when I walk out in my people's traditional attire, not Aurea Spira's.
"Of course," I purr. "I've arranged everything with Citrine. She showed me the traditional garments of the court, and we chose a suitable one together."
Dioptase blinks, surprised.
I soften instantly—just to toy with her.
"I spoke too harshly, Lady of the House," I say sweetly. "I was exhausted. I was dragged from home this morning, thrust here without sleep. Cursed by the previous Seer. I haven't even eaten."
She hesitates.
"Your meal will be provided at once," she says. "That is no issue."
"And I'd like to rest now."
She stands, clearly unsettled. I see it immediately—weak ego. She hides behind posture and titles, but she'd fold at the right touch. Years as a Seer taught me how to read people.
Her loyalty to Duarte is solid as stone. A blessing... and a problem. She won't be my enemy. But she will never be my friend.
"I'll send Larimar with food. Are there any foods you dislike?"
"Ah... none at all. I am grateful for anything. I come from a peasant wagon, after all."
She nods and leaves in silence... still trying to decide what to make of me. When the door closes, I let out a single giggle.
Just one. I can't afford more.
I sigh and stare at the gilded ceiling... carved with scenes from the Great Dragon War. I know almost nothing about it. Not from lack of curiosity—but because Celestial disputes are spoken of only to certain ears. Everyone knows the myths...
But I'm interested in the myths I don't know. Or should they even be called myths? I know they're true. Shouldn't they simply be history?
I decide to ask Larimar for library access tomorrow. Yes. That's what I'll do.
Knowledge is power...
I don't know where that came from. It sounds like my mother's voice—echoing through an empty cathedral, priests and nuns lined in a choir. Thousands of voices at once... repeating, chanting. That voice has followed me since childhood. Since my mother left.
When Larimar returns with what amounts to a small feast, she finds me asleep—too exhausted to eat.
I sleep soundly for the first time in my life, in a large, comfortable bed. Not a cramped one.
And I don't dream. Not at all.
There will be time to worry later... but for now, I rest.
For now, I gather my strength... because tomorrow will bring new battles.