I traced my fingers along the cracked windowsill, watching rust-red rain streak down glass so warped it turned the Scarlet Forest into writhing shadows. The moisture had seeped through again, leaving dark stains across peeling walls that had once displayed my mother's portraits. Now only rectangular ghosts remained where frames had hung.
My bed—if the narrow cot with its threadbare blanket deserved the name—creaked when I shifted. The sound echoed in the cramped servants' quarters they'd moved me to three months ago. "For renovation," my stepmother had claimed, though we both knew the Rose Palace had rooms to spare.
Outside, the twin suns painted everything in shades of blood and gold. The Crystal Canyons glinted in the distance, their ruby formations catching light like frozen fire. From the tower where I'd once lived, you could hear the Singing Stones on quiet mornings. Here, wedged between the kitchens and the old wine cellars, I heard only dripping water and scurrying feet in the walls.
The door didn't lock from the inside anymore. They'd removed that privilege after they caught me in the training yards at dawn, practicing the Flowing Blade forms my mother had begun teaching me before—
"Your Highness."
I didn't turn at the whispered title. Cook's daughter, Mira, stood in the doorway with tomorrow's dress. Not silk anymore. Rough-spun wool that scratched my skin, dyed the muddy brown reserved for the lowest servants.
"Don't call me that." The words scraped past my throat. "She'll have you whipped."
Mira set the dress on the single chair, its leg bound with twine where it had split. Her eyes lingered on my back, where fabric couldn't quite hide the lattice of scars from my last "correction."
"The Duchess requests your presence in the throne room." Mira's voice dropped further. "The Duke's there. And... merchants."
Merchants. My stepmother only entertained merchants when she needed funds. But we'd sold the northern vineyards last month, the crystal mines before that. What else remained to barter?
I stood, vertebrae popping from hours hunched at the window. The movement knocked loose a chunk of plaster that crumbled to powder at my feet. Another piece of my world falling away, grain by grain.
"When?"
"Now, Your High—" She caught herself. "Now."
I grabbed the dress from the chair, and as my fingers closed around the coarse fabric, I could already feel it bite into my skin. This wasn't a dress a princess should wear, but I knew this was planned to hurt me.
"Are you okay?" Mira asked, her voice soft and kind. I could see the trouble in her eyes, the way she looked at me with such sadness.
"No need to look at me like that. I'm okay." I forced a smile, hoping it might ease her worry.
As I slipped out of my nightgown, the fabric fell to the ground, and I felt the air caress my naked skin, moving around my curves.
The rough wool scraped against my skin as I struggled into the dress. It was meticulously tailored, designed to inflict discomfort, to wound my body as I forced it down, the seams already biting into my flesh like jagged teeth. My breath hitched as the fabric stretched across my chest, the bodice far too small, a cruel jest at my expense.
I tried to ignore the sting of the seams as they dug into my sides, a sharp reminder of my fall from grace. The dress was a shroud for my former life, a symbol of my stepmother's control. Each thread seemed to whisper of her triumph, her unyielding desire to erase the last traces of my mother's legacy from the palace.
Mira watched me, her brow furrowed with concern. She reached out tentatively, as if to help, but I stepped back, shaking my head.
"I can manage," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn't bear the thought of her soft hands on my skin, touching the scars and bruises that mapped out my suffering.
With a sigh, Mira nodded and turned away, giving me a moment of privacy. I tugged at the dress, trying to pull it into place, but it refused to comply, as if it too were conspiring against me. The bodice was a vice, constricting my breath, while the sleeves ended awkwardly above my elbows.
I caught my reflection in the cracked mirror propped against the wall. The girl who stared back was a stranger to me. Her violet eyes, once vibrant and full of life, now held a shadow of their former spark. Her crimson hair, once adorned with jewels, was now pulled back into a severe bun, not a single tendril allowed to escape. The dress hung on her frame, a cruel mockery of the royal attire she once wore with pride.
With a final tug, I managed to fasten the last button, the effort leaving me winded. I straightened, trying to muster what little dignity I had left. The Duchess wanted me to attend her in the throne room, dressed like a beggar, so that's what I would do.
I stepped out of the room, my heart pounding in my chest. Mira fell into step beside me, her presence a small comfort as we navigated the labyrinthine halls of the palace. The sound of our footsteps echoed off the stone walls, a stark reminder of the silence that now pervaded these once vibrant corridors.
As we approached the throne room, the familiar hum of voices grew louder. I could hear the Duchess's silken tones weaving through the crowd, her laughter a sharp contrast to the tension that hung in the air.
The guards at the door eyed me with disdain but stepped aside as I approached, their polished armor reflecting the harsh light of the setting suns. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come, and stepped into the throne room.
The gathered merchants turned to look at me, their eyes traveling over my ill-fitting dress, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and contempt. I could feel their gazes like physical blows, each one stripping away another layer of my pride.
My stepmother sat on the throne, a malicious smile playing on her lips as she watched me approach. Her twin sons flanked her, their eyes gleaming with poorly concealed glee at my humiliation.
"Ah, Lyra," the Duchess said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "So kind of you to join us. We were just discussing your future."
The words hung in the air, heavy with the promise of further pain. I met her gaze, my eyes as cold as the space between stars. I would not give her the satisfaction of seeing me break.