Chapter 11: A Morning of Calculated Obedience
Lyria's POV
Jacinta glares at me. I was sure if she were given the opportunity, she would behead me. But again, I wonder why she always hesitated when it came to physical violence against me. The same couldn't be said for the queen or my father, though.
"You may well pretend," she said finally, her tone low, silk-lined with steel, "that you are unaffected, but I know better. I know you are irritated. I know you must be green with envy and jealousy at seeing that Corvin is besotted with me and not you."
Rather than say I was green with envy, I was more confused and disappointed that someone I had considered a friend would stoop so low as to hurt me using my stepsister. I didn't need any confirmation that Corvin had been using me.
I inclined my head ever so slightly, keeping my posture composed, hands folded neatly before me. "Yes, Your Highness," I murmured, my voice quiet but steady, "Shall I ring for the maids now?"
The expression Jacinta offered in return was nothing short of exasperation. Her face scrunched up like a child's at some tedious inconvenience, the corners of her mouth twitching as though restraining herself from a scolding. She stomped her feet in anger, then took in a breath and calmed herself.
She waved a dismissive hand toward me, an imperious gesture that left no room for debate. Then, without another word, she moved back toward the edge of her bed and sank gracefully onto the silken covers. In one smooth motion, she picked up a small, leather-bound novel, the spine creaking faintly under her fingers, and rested it on her knees.
"Do as you wish," she added lazily, eyes already flicking down to the page before her.
I bowed my head respectfully, inclining slightly at the waist, and stepped back toward the bell cord. My movements were deliberate, measured, each step echoing a calm efficiency I had honed over countless mornings like this. With a gentle tug, I rang for the maids.
The faint chime carried into the corridor, and I returned my attention to Jacinta. "Your bathwater is ready, Your Highness," I said, my tone even.
She glanced at me briefly, one eyebrow raised in lazy amusement. "I am not inclined to bathe just yet," she replied, returning her attention to her novel. Her fingers traced the page with slow, deliberate precision.
I was jealous that she could read so freely and I could not.
I inhaled slowly through my nose, reminding myself to keep my voice calm, measured. My pulse, though steady, still hummed with tension. "The water will grow cold if it waits much longer, Your Highness," I said, careful to remain deferential yet practical. "Besides, you have to meet with your suitors today."
Her head lifted slowly this time, eyes narrowing to a slitted glare. "That is no concern of yours, Lyria," she said, each word pointed and deliberate. "You would do well to attend to your own business."
I exhaled softly, counting the rhythm of my breaths to temper the slight edge of irritation threatening my tone. My mind raced beneath the surface, thoughts whirling through the calculations of the morning ahead. I had intended to slip to my mother's chambers immediately after preparing the bath—to deliver the herbs I had procured in secret. Afterwards, I planned to paint the morning scenery, capturing the garden's first light after the frost had begun to melt. And then, later, I hoped to see Patricia. But if Jacinta continued to dally, all those plans would be thwarted.
I stepped a fraction closer, lowering my voice just enough for her to hear without seeming confrontational. "The kitchen will grow busy soon, Your Highness. It would be better if you bathed now, before the staff become engaged in their other duties."
Her gaze lifted fully from the page, the sharpness of her eyes returning as she considered me. The novel sagged slightly in her lap as she let the question fall slowly, deliberately, like a stone into water. "And why," she asked, voice dripping with condescension, "do you presume that we are on the same level? That I would follow your advice?"
I remained calm, hands still folded, my expression measured. "I… merely suggest what might serve best, Your Highness."
She laughed softly, a sound that carried both amusement and derision. "I am the princess," she said, leaning back against the pillows. "I am at liberty to do as I please. Water for my bath can be procured from the kitchens at any hour I desire. I am not beholden to you or anyone else for convenience."
A familiar pang settled low in my chest. She did not understand, nor did she wish to. This was her strength—to assert control, to unsettle those around her without effort. I hated it, more than I could admit, because it was always I who bore the consequences. My careful plans, my small victories, all depended upon her compliance, and now she held the power to unravel them at a whim.
I reminded myself silently of my priorities. My mother's health, the herbs tucked beneath the floor in my bedroom, the small joys I carved from this life despite its cruelty. If Jacinta refused to bathe, she would summon me at any moment, denying me the chance to slip quietly into my mother's chambers. And then the cook would frown at my absence from the kitchens…yes, I worked in the kitchens, perhaps even scold me for dereliction of duty.
She was doing this deliberately, I knew, because she had sensed my composure when I saw her with Corvin earlier. My lack of visible reaction had frustrated her, and now she wielded the morning itself as a weapon against me. I could offer no argument that would sway her; all attempts to reason with her had long since become exercises in futility.
I opened my mouth to speak again, to remind her gently of the practicalities, when the sound of footsteps interrupted the tense silence. The palace guards stationed outside her door spoke, their voices calm but firm.
"Your maids have arrived, Your Highness," one of them announced.