The sun had sunk behind the hills, casting golden streaks over the palace as twilight crept in. The halls grew quieter, lit by flickering sconces and the soft steps of servants preparing the night. Eliza moved through the corridors in silence, her slippered feet barely making a sound against the polished floors. She needed a cool bath.
The cool bath had done little to soothe her, and her gown, soft linen dyed in moonlight blue did even less to contain the heat coiled low in her belly. She needs to read something to take her mind off what just happened.
The royal study remained a quiet sanctuary untouched by the noise of the palace beyond. Eliza sat curled on a chaise by the window, a book resting forgotten on her lap. Her red hair coiled neatly that morning, had begun to loosen from its ribbon, soft tendrils falling like silk down her pale neck.
There was something in the air that day, thick, humming, warm like honey melting over bread. She felt it in her blood. It made her restless, her mind unable to settle on the words printed before her. Even the book, a collection of tragic sonnets she usually savored, couldn't hold her attention.
She shifted, drawing her knees closer beneath her flowing skirts. Her chemise clung lightly to her skin, still cold from the bath she'd taken earlier. It wasn't the heat that unsettled her, nor the sunlight. It was something else. A growing awareness in her body. A quiet ache that pulsed just beneath her skin.
"Elena," she said, voice soft but edged with distraction.
Her maid, seated on a low stool nearby, looked up from her embroidery. "Yes, my lady?"
"You're flushed," she said, rising. "Are you unwell?"
Elena stood up, and moved closer.
"Tell me again," Eliza murmured, her green eyes sliding to the older woman with a small smile, "about how your husband courted you."
Elena smiled knowingly. She set aside her needlework, folding her hands in her lap. "My lady! again? You'll have the tale memorized soon."
"I like the way you tell it," Eliza replied, leaning her chin into her palm. "Especially the part where he stole a kiss in the orchard."
"Stole?" Elena chuckled. "He asked first. But I made him wait. A week. Maybe more. The anticipation near drove him mad."
Eliza's laughter was quiet, wistful. "Did you want him to kiss you?"
"Desperately." Elena's gaze softened, faraway now. "But it's sweeter when you wait. When you burn a little."
That phrase lingered, when you burn a little.
Eliza turned her eyes to the window, heart tightening for reasons she didn't yet understand. Burn. Yes, that was the word. She felt it now, curling low in her belly, twisting in her chest like ivy. She wanted something—no, someone—but the image was still a shadow. A whisper at the edge of clarity.
"I need to talk to you," she whispered. "About something… I don't understand."
Elena's eyes softened. She sat beside her.
Eliza hesitated, twisting the fabric of her gown between her fingers. She stared at her lap, unsure where to begin. "Today… something happened."
Elena waited.
"On my way to the garden after lunch, I slipped. On paint. And someone caught me." Her voice dipped lower. "A man."
Elena tilted her head. "A servant?"
"I don't know who he is. A painter, I think." Eliza's cheeks flamed as the memories crashed over her again. "I fell right into him, and… I didn't move. He didn't, either. His arms, he, he held me."
Elena's brows lifted just slightly, but she said nothing.
"I don't know what came over me. My ribbon came loose, and my gown… it slipped. And…" She covered her face. "My breasts. They, they came out. Right against him."
Now Elena blinked. "Oh."
"And I didn't cover myself. Not right away. I was… frozen." Eliza's voice shook. "He looked at me. Not with disgust. But… desire. Real desire."
Silence.
"I felt something," Eliza whispered. "Inside. Like my whole body went warm. My nipples were hard. Still are. And between my legs… I'm wet. I've never felt like this before. Like I want something and I don't even know what it is."
Elena let out a soft breath, took Eliza's hands into hers, and said gently, "You've felt desire, my lady. Real, deep desire."
Eliza looked up. "Is this what love feels like?"
"No," Elena said. "Desire is the flame. Love is the hearth. One can burn without the other."
Her words hung heavy.
"Is this… wrong?" Eliza asked, her voice small.
Elena shook her head slowly. "No. It is not wrong to feel. It is not wrong to ache. You are a woman, Eliza. Your body speaks. It yearns. It awakens. What you felt, what you feel is nature stirring in you."
Eliza swallowed. "Then what do I do?"
Elena stood, moved to her cupboard, and pulled out a small box. Inside were herbs, oils, folded linens, and beneath them, a slim leather book.
She handed it to Eliza. "This was given to me by my mother, and hers before that. It speaks of a woman's pleasure. A woman's body. Read it in quiet. Know yourself before you offer yourself to another."
Eliza took it with both hands, reverently. "Thank you."
Elena smiled faintly, but her eyes glimmered. "You've stepped across the threshold now. You'll never see the world the same again."
Eliza held the book to her chest as if it might calm the storm inside her.
But even as she left Elena's room and slipped back into her chambers, the thought returned.
Not about the book.
Not about shame.
But about him.
The feel of him.
The heat.
The hunger in his eyes that mirrored her own.