Yura learned quickly that the queen's wing was not ruled by dignity.
She was passed from one maid to another like an object, each woman barely glancing at her face, hands gripping her arm just long enough to shove her forward.
No one spoke more than necessary.
No one lingered.
"Good.." Yura thought. The less attention, the better.
The blonde wig itched against her scalp, the powder on her skin heavy enough to dull her familiar features.
They had seen her face once, during the trial and she hadn't been foolish enough to believe time would erase that memory.
"New one.." a maid muttered, pushing her toward a tall door. "Take her to the Queen's chamber."
The door opened.
And hell greeted her.
Syris had returned to her room in silence.
The argument with Radomir had not ended quietly. She had refused to bow her head this time, had refused to let him strip her down with words alone and for that defiance, she had paid.
