I shifted uncomfortably in the luxurious bed, the silk sheets whispering against my skin as I pulled my arms tighter across my chest. Everything in this palace was so soft, so ornate, so suffocatingly grand… yet I still felt small.
Talking to people only made it worse.
Titi—bright-eyed, dark-haired, impossibly kind—sat on the floor beside my bed, her posture relaxed even on the cold marble. The conversation between us felt difficult, not because of anything she said or did, but because of my own clumsy, fractured way of speaking.
"I… um… want… to be able to talk, so…" I stammered. The words felt heavy, like stones I was trying to lift with trembling hands. Heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks.
Titi blinked, and then her expression lit up—bright and sudden, like a lantern sparking to life. "OH! Do you want to be able to talk in a more structured way?" she asked, leaning forward with gentle excitement. She didn't laugh. She didn't judge. Instead, she reached out and tapped my hand—tap—a soft, encouraging gesture.
"So, you want me to teach you how to talk properly?" she asked, her large brown eyes widening with earnestness.
Her smile unfolded slowly—warm, genuine, entirely disarming.
"Why don't you start by practicing with me?" she suggested. "Practice makes perfect, after all. When I first learned to speak the Tayar Language, I used to talk to myself all the time!" She pressed a finger to her cheek shyly, as though confessing something embarrassing.
That surprised me. Titi was fluent—so confident, so graceful with her words. Knowing she had once struggled too eased the tightness in my chest. I nodded, determined to try.
"Did you… somewhere else… Titi?" I asked. The sentence still came out in the staggered, broken rhythm I hated.
Titi inhaled with pride sparkling in her eyes. "I come from a country called Luwandi!"
Her posture shifted—shoulders straightening, voice gaining strength. "I heard that I could pay for my younger siblings' tuition fees if I served as a maid in the Tayar Kingdom!"
Siblings…? Family…? The questions swirled in my mind, bumping into each other, tangling. I almost spilled all of them at once.
But Titi held up a gentle hand.
"One sentence at a time," she reminded me softly. "Take as much time as you need."
I nodded, breathing slowly. I focused on the most important question, assembling it brick by brick in my mind before speaking.
"So… how old are your siblings going to be this year?" I asked carefully.
"They are going to be 13 and 15 this year," Titi replied, smiling with sisterly affection.
I tried another structured question. "Are they… sisters?"
"Hehe! Yes! They're very cute!" she giggled, her face glowing with love.
Titi then asked, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
---
The question lingered. "Do you have any brothers or sisters, Lucina? Are you close to them?"
I took a breath—slow, steady—as she had taught me. "I have an older brother… not my real brother… Ah, no…" The words tangled again, spilling in the wrong order. I winced, cheeks burning.
Titi didn't scold or sigh. Her expression remained soft. "Let's try again from the beginning," she encouraged. "And this time, speak slowly."
I straightened my back, determined. "Okay!" Another breath. "I have an older brother," I said, steady but quiet. "But I don't get along with him at all!"
Titi tilted her head. A small question mark almost seemed to hover above it. "Why not?"
"That's…" I began, searching for words—
KNOCK KNOCK.
The sharp knocking startled me. Before either of us could react, the door opened with a soft CLICK. A lady with short pink hair stepped inside, her every movement precise and formal.
"Ma'am," she said with a bow. "Her Highness has requested your presence."
My heartbeat faltered. "Giaret has…?" My voice came out thin. My stepsister—Her Highness Giaret—rarely summoned me without reason. And rarely for reasons I liked.
Titi leaned close, whispering urgently, "Do you remember what we practiced? Don't mumble. Finish your sentences clearly!"
I nodded, swallowing my nerves.
The walk to the Queen's Palace felt endless. Marble floors glowed beneath my feet. Sunlight spilled in through towering windows. Everything was beautiful. Everything felt dangerous.
Inside the grand room, Giaret sat draped in a striking red gown that suited her too well. Two ladies stood beside her, bowing as I approached.
I remembered Titi's instructions and forced my voice to be steady.
"Did you ask for me, Your Highness?"
Giaret's smile stretched sweetly—too sweetly. The kind of smile that hid knives.
"I brought you here to discuss the upcoming Royal Banquet," she said, her gaze sliding slowly over my modest dress. "I thought you might not have a suitable evening dress."
---
The air in the Queen's Palace shimmered like sunlight on still water—beautiful, but suffocating. Every breath felt thick with unspoken rules and hidden threats. I stood before Giaret, pulse pounding behind my ribs, trying desperately to cling to the calm Titi had worked so hard to teach me.
Giaret lounged in her striking red gown, the color flowing around her like liquid authority. Her smile, however, was thin and sharp.
"I brought you here to discuss the upcoming Royal Banquet," she began, her voice smooth. "I thought you might not have a suitable evening dress yet, since it hasn't been long since you arrived from Brion."
A flick of her wrist sent one of her attendants stepping forward—a lady holding an ornate box decorated with gold filigree. The gesture was elegant, but I felt my stomach tighten.
"This dress is a present from me," Giaret said sweetly. "So make sure you wear it to the Royal Banquet."
Her tone left no room for refusal.
I bowed politely, my voice steady only because I clung to Titi's lessons like a lifeline.
"Thank you… very much, Your Highness."
The box opened with a soft hush of velvet.
Inside lay the dress—black as a sealed tomb.
My breath snagged. "Why is it black?" I asked carefully. "That color is only worn for mourning in Brion. Is it different here?"
The pink-haired lady at Giaret's side stepped forward, anxiety tightening her features. "Your Highness, don't you think the color looks too much like a funeral dress?"
Giaret didn't flinch. Her smile sharpened.
"I made this specifically for your mistress, since I felt sorry for her…" Her eyes slid toward me with deliberate cruelty. "…since she refused to sleep with the King and misses her relatives back at home."
Heat rushed to my face—shame, anger, humiliation, everything tangled together.
She leaned in toward Titi, not bothering to lower her voice.
"Wouldn't it be better for your mistress to wear that and show the King her true desires… so she can be sent home as soon as possible?"
Titi stiffened beside me.
Giaret's next smile was glacial. "I prepared this gift because I felt sorry for you. Please don't reject my gesture of goodwill."
But this wasn't goodwill.
It was a trap—carefully constructed, beautifully wrapped, and impossible to decline.
My grip on the box tightened. The black fabric caught the light like a quiet accusation.
If the King sees me like this…
What if he truly believes I want to return home?
What if he thinks I'm grieving the people he killed?
What if he sends me back to the Baroness?
Titi's reflection in the dress's glossy surface looked small and frightened.
You'll go unnoticed at this rate.
Her voice trembled in my mind.
A deep, simmering heat coiled inside me.
I lifted my chin, forced my voice to stay clear.
"Your Highness, I understand your intentions. It is true I do not yet have proper attire for the banquet."
I paused—steady, controlled.
"However, I must point out, you'll be the only person wearing this kind of attire at the Royal Banquet!"
My words struck the polished air like a thrown stone.
Giaret's smile didn't falter, but something in her eyes cooled even further. My accusation hung between us, echoing faintly in the vast room.
"I made this specifically for your mistress since I felt sorry for her…" she repeated with silky venom. "Since she refused to sleep with the King and misses her relatives back at home."
The way she said it—so casually, so publicly—made my stomach twist. She turned to Titi again as though we weren't even there.
"Wouldn't it be better for your mistress to wear that and show the King her true desires… so she can be sent home as soon as possible?"
Titi's lips parted in alarm, her eyes darting between us. She looked as though she might cry or shout or faint.
"I prepared this gift because I felt sorry for you," Giaret concluded. "Please don't reject my gesture of goodwill."
The black dress seemed to grow heavier in my hands.
What if the King truly believes it?
What if wearing it means exile?
What if it means everything I've endured—everything I've begun to learn—ends with a single misunderstanding?
My heart pounded.
Just as the panic swelled inside me, the double doors creaked open. The sound cracked the tension like a brittle plate.
A tall, older woman stepped into the room. Her silver hair was coiled neatly at her neck, and her blue-and-gold gown marked her as someone important—someone used to walking through such palaces without bowing her head.
I clutched the red stuffed animal in my hand, startled and unsure.
"Who is that…?" I whispered to Titi.
"I don't know," she whispered back. "I only started working at the palace recently."
The woman's eyes landed on the black dress, and her brows knitted together.
"Excuse me, miss with the white hair," she said, stepping closer. "Why are you wearing a funeral dress? Has someone passed away?"
"Ah—um—it's not like that," I stammered, caught off guard. "This is the dress I'm going to wear at the banquet…"
Titi gasped and grabbed my arm.
"You can't be serious! No, no! You can't wear this to the banquet!"
The older woman's face softened with pity.
"Was it someone you knew? Oh, you poor thing. Do you really miss them?"
Her sympathy—kind yet mistaken—hit me like a blow.
I stood there, frozen, exposed, and mortified, the full weight of Giaret's scheme pressing down on me like stone.
The oppressive tension Giaret left behind clung to the walls like smoke, but the moment the silver-haired woman entered, the mood shifted instantly.
"Excuse me, miss with the white hair, why are you wearing a funeral dress? Has someone passed away?"
Her tone was cool, firm, authoritative—yet her eyes held an unexpected softness.
My heart jumped. I was still wearing the horrible black dress Giaret had thrust on me.
"A-ah, um… it's not like that," I stammered, feeling heat crawl up my neck. "This is the dress I'm going to wear at the banquet…"
Titi nearly choked. "You can't be serious! No, no! You can't wear this to the banquet!"
Her horror reflected exactly what I felt.
The older woman leaned closer, brows furrowed with concern.
"Was it someone you knew? Oh, you poor thing. Do you really miss them?"
Her misunderstanding stabbed deeper than any insult. The dress looked so convincingly mournful that even a stranger saw it as grief.
Before the shame could swallow me, Titi quickly stepped in.
"Um… who are you?" she asked carefully.
The woman straightened, smiling proudly. "My name is Lita!"
Titi's eyes lit with sudden realization.
"Wa–wasn't that the name of the Head Maid who served the previous Queen?"
Before either of us could say more, a thunderous GROOOOWL shook the room.
Lita froze—then shrank into a comical pose, clutching her stomach like a child denied sweets.
"I'M HUNGRY! GIVE ME FOOD!" she wailed.
Titi and I exchanged a look of sheer disbelief.
"I'm hungry! Give me food!" she repeated, stomping lightly on the floor.
I leaned in and whispered, "Let's get her something to eat for now. She said she's hungry."
"O-okay…" Titi whispered back, clearly overwhelmed.
After devouring the food Titi hurriedly brought, Lita snapped back to her usual confident form—almost eerily so. She placed a hand on her hip and jabbed the air with her free hand.
"If you give me some food, then I'll adjust."
Before we could ask what she meant, a breathless messenger rushed in and bowed to Giaret.
"Has Adar disappeared again?" Giaret asked, irritation dripping from her voice.
The messenger nodded. "She insisted on being alone inside the cave, but in that brief moment… we believe she entered the Queen's Palace."
Giaret's foot tapped impatiently, her expression darkening.
"Then she may have entered that Brionian woman's bedchamber."
Her red gown swished dramatically as she rose.
"I'll go and escort her back personally."
A beat.
"Don't tell the King. I don't want to worry him."
With a sharp CLACK of her heels, Giaret swept out of the room, her attendants hurrying after her.
Suddenly, the vast hall felt emptier—and much quieter—as I remained with Titi… and the unpredictable Lita.
Once Giaret was gone, Lita finished licking the last crumbs from her fingertips and sighed contentedly.
"AH! THAT WAS DELICIOUS!"
She then turned her sharp eyes onto the black dress in my hands, assessing it with a strange seriousness.
"Do you have someone you like, Miss?" she asked suddenly.
I nearly dropped the dress. "W-what? Wh-why—?"
Lita held up a pair of gleaming golden scissors with a flourish.
"I'm going to make him fall for you the moment he sees you."
"F-fall for me?!"
But Lita didn't wait. She grabbed the dress, stretching the fabric between her fingers.
"Black can make you stand out beautifully," she mused. "Considering how pale your hair and face are, it'll work even better."
SNIP.
My soul nearly left my body.
"B-BUT IF YOU CUT IT LIKE THAT—!!" Titi yelped.
Lita only winked.
"Just leave it to me."
RIIIP.
Titi grabbed my arm, trembling with panic. "A-are you sure about this?!"
I whispered back, voice shaking, "L-let's just keep an eye on her for now!"
And so we watched—horrified, mesmerized, helpless—as Lita turned into a whirlwind of scissors, thread, and reckless creativity.
Outside the Queen's Palace, Giaret and her pink-haired attendant walked briskly through the corridors toward my bedchamber.
"What should we do?" the attendant asked nervously.
Giaret gave a light, dismissive chuckle.
"Let's leave her be. It's been a while since I've seen her have so much fun."
Of course—she meant me.
She was still reveling in the chaos she believed her cruel little gift had created.
Ironically, Giaret had no idea that her entire plan was currently being shredded—literally—by a hungry, chaotic stylist named Lita.
The nervous anticipation as Lita cut into the black dress was unbearable.
Each snip of her golden scissors made my heart leap into my throat. Beside me, Titi clung to my arm like a tiny, trembling bird, her wide eyes tracking every reckless movement of the self-proclaimed former Queen's Head Maid.
"I'm going to make him fall for you the moment he sees you," Lita declared with absolute confidence, as though she weren't currently butchering Giaret's carefully prepared mourning dress into unrecognizable scraps.
Another SNIP split the air.
"B-BUT IF YOU CUT IT LIKE THAT—!"
Titi shrieked, shaking my arm violently.
Lita didn't even look up. She only winked, holding up a jagged piece of fabric as though it were a jewel.
"Just leave it to me."
We could only watch — hypnotized, horrified, helpless — as she continued her "craftsmanship." Black cloth fluttered to the floor in soft heaps, the remains of what was once a somber, heavy gown.
After what felt like an eternity, Lita lifted the dress by its shoulders.
It wasn't the same garment anymore. The grief-soaked shroud was gone; in its place fluttered a daring, elegant evening dress with a deceptively simple charm — lighter, sharper, brighter.
"That human should be honored…" Lita muttered under her breath, smoothing the new neckline with a touch far gentler than any she had used on the scissors.
"…that the former Queen decided to make adjustments to her evening dress herself."
She turned to me, her eyes glinting with triumphant pride.
"I'm afraid you don't have a choice! It looks much better now!"
"B-But…!" I squeaked, staring at the dress in disbelief.
Lita ignored me entirely and barked orders at Titi. "Hurry up and take this off! Let go already!"
Before I could protest, Titi tugged at my day dress, urging me to hurry lest Lita grow impatient and start tearing that too.
I quickly peeled it off. The moment the new dress touched my skin, a shock traveled through me — part fear, part embarrassment, part awe.
"How am I supposed to wear something like this…?!" I gasped, my hands flying instinctively to cover myself. "T-This is—"
FLUTTER.
The fabric settled against my body. The neckline was far lower than anything I'd ever worn. The hemline… was short. And the shoulders—
My entire upper body felt exposed to the air.
My face ignited.
"I-It's way too revealing!" I cried, feeling heat crawl down my neck and across my chest.
But the dress was undeniably beautiful.
The soft, dark shimmer of the fabric contrasted sharply against my pale skin and silver hair. Shadows danced across my collarbones when I moved, giving the gown a subtle, dangerous allure.
Lita had turned mourning into magnetism.
Just as I was starting — barely — to process the idea of wearing this scandalous creation to the Royal Banquet, Lita abruptly plopped onto the floor. She dragged the red teddy bear with her, expression collapsing into wobbly disappointment.
"I'm hungry. I want some more food," she complained, sounding like a grumpy child rather than a former Queen's personal attendant responsible for destroying royal property.
Titi sighed, exhausted. "How am I supposed to wear something like this…?! T-This is…" she mumbled, clearly still overwhelmed.
We needed to escape before Giaret returned from searching for "Adar" and discovered the crime scene Lita had made or, worse, the dress she had "improved."
So I cleared my throat.
"Lita, we should go out for a while. You can get more food near my bedchamber."
Her head snapped up instantly. "More food?!"
She sprang to her feet.
That was all I needed.
We slipped out of the Queen's Palace and hurried down the corridor, the shredded remains of the old dress left behind like the aftermath of a hurricane. Lita practically skipped ahead, blazing the trail toward her next meal. Titi and I traded glances — exasperated, relieved, terrified.
The Royal Banquet was soon.
And now, thanks to Lita, I was wearing a gown that might actually serve me far better than whatever Giaret intended.