|chapter 18|

|chapter 18|
|Talitha|

The afternoon light filters gently through the arched windows, casting a mellow glow across the chamber. I sit on the rug with Erna between my knees, weaving her curls into small, neat braids, when a sudden knock upon the door startles us both.

Before I can bid entrance, the door creaks open, and three women step inside. A faint fragrance of lavender and polished wood drifts in with them, and in that instant I realise that change itself hath a scent. Clean. Uninvited. Cold.

The foremost of the women inclines her head with practiced grace. She is older than the rest,, her dark hair streaked with silver, her countenance composed in the calm dignity of one long accustomed to silence and precision.

“Lady Talitha,” she greets, her voice even and measured. “I am Mistress Brina, royal seamstress to His Majesty. Alpha Demetrius' orders were that we provide proper garments for you and your young one.”

I rise slowly, uncertain how I am meant to receive them. Behind her, two younger women curtsy deeply, their arms burdened with folds of rich cloth in hues of moon-silver, crimson, and the deep blue of twilight. Their eyes, bright with curiosity, flick between Erna and me, smiles trembling at the corners of their mouths.

A single sharp glance from Brina stills them at once, their mirth vanishing like smoke in wind.

“We shall not take much of your time,” she continues smoothly. “His Majesty prefers his household to be… well presented.”

Her tone is courteous, yet the words sting against my skin like a sting of nettle. The younger seamstresses move swiftly, unrolling bolts of silk and velvet that gleam in the afternoon sun. The silks shimmer like water beneath light, and the velvets seem to swallow shadow and color alike. Everything is too fine, too splendid. Too far removed from the simple linen I once wore.

As they spread their treasures upon the bed and table, the two girls begin whispering, their voices hushed but not lost to me.

“She’s even lovelier than the servants said,” one murmurs. “Like something from a tale.”

“And her child,” the other adds. “Look at her curls, and that skin—she could melt the heart of any alpha.”

“Enough,” Brina snaps. “Mind your stitches, not your tongues.”

Both bow their heads, silenced. Yet still I feel their eyes upon me, like needles pricking through cloth. Brina motions me forward. “If you please, my lady.”

I stand motionless as she begins her task. The measuring tape glides across my shoulders, my waist, my hips; her touch steady, impersonal, yet I feel as though every layer of my guard is stripped away beneath her quiet scrutiny.

Beside me, Erna squirms and giggles as one of the younger women kneels to measure her height.

“It tickles!” she cries when the measuring cord winds about her waist. “Mama, it’s like a snake!”

The seamstress, a round-faced girl with dimples, laughs softly. “A friendly one, my little lady.”

“She’s no lady,” I reply, unable to restrain a smile. “She’s far too mischievous for that.”

The girl laughs again, and even Brina’s stern mouth bends faintly at the edges. “Then we shall make her gowns sturdy enough to survive her adventures,” she says.

Erna beams, twirling the ribbon in delight. For a fleeting moment, the air lightens. Then one of the girls, the bolder of the two, mutters, half to herself, “Well, the Luna Queen should have gowns that never tear.”

The word strikes me like a blow. Luna.

My voice comes quieter than I intend. “What did you say?”

The girl pales. “Oh, I—I meant nothing, my lady, only that—”

“Mara.” Brina’s voice cuts through the air. “Enough.”

Mara bows hastily, her cheeks aflame. “Forgive me.”

I nod, though my pulse has begun to quicken. That title, Luna, falls upon my ears like a curse murmured in shadow. Brina resumes her work, her fingers tracing the measure from wrist to elbow. “Alpha Demetrius has a mind for fine presentation,” she murmurs, as though to herself. “He notices every seam, every thread.”

“I’m sure he does,” I answer softly, the edge in my tone a lot sharper than I meant it to be. Her eyes flick up, searching mine for a moment, then she bends again to her task. The quieter seamstress dares to speak at last, her hands sorting through the silken rolls. “Will we be needed for the Autumn Ball too, Mistress Brina?”

The air stills and Brina’s hands pause upon the tape, tightening faintly. “You will,” she says. “The ceremonial dresses must be ready before then.”

“Autumn Ball?” I ask, frowning.

Brina gives a small, guarded nod. But the young seamstress blurts before she can stop herself, “A grand royal event, my lady! There’s dancing, feasts, blessings under the moon. Every noble in the kingdom attends! They say this year’s will be unlike any before—”

“Isla,” Brina interjects swiftly, pretending to inspect a hem. “The seam there needs your attention.”

The girl blushes, ducking her head. “Yes, Mistress.”

But her words linger, heavy upon the air. I smile faintly, though unease churns in my stomach. Instinct whispers that this Ball shall not bring merriment, but some new gilded chain disguised as celebration.

Brina continues her work in silence. Her movements are deft and assured, her expression unreadable. Yet once, when her fingers brush my wrist, she speaks low, scarcely above a breath. “Do not tremble, my lady. Alpha Demetrius would not let harm come to you.”

Her words are meant to soothe, but they chill me instead. I wonder whether she speaks from conviction… or from fear. When their task is complete, the sun has begun its descent, and the chamber glows with molten gold light. Shadows stretch long across the floor. Brina inspects the finished work with meticulous care, folding each fabric into tidy piles.

“We have brought two gowns for now,” she says. “One for your comfort, and one for dinner. The rest shall arrive on the morrow. We shall also return with ceremonial garments before the Ball.”

Her tone is courteous, but her eyes flicker toward me, as though to caution against further inquiry.

“Thank you,” I say softly, my voice strained.

Brina inclines her head. “It is our duty, my lady.”

As they gather their bundles, Mara lingers for a heartbeat at the threshold. “If I may,” she murmurs shyly, “you look lovelier in person than any Luna I’ve ever heard of.”

Brina hisses her name in sharp rebuke, and the girl falls silent, cheeks aflame once more. When the door closes at last, the chamber seems to exhale as if in relief.

Erna runs to the bed, tugging eagerly at one of the parcels. “Mama, look! Dresses!”

I let out a faint laugh, too tired to chide her. “Careful, love.”

She draws forth a gown of soft lilac silk and presses it to her chest, her eyes alight. “It’s so pretty! Like fairy wings!”

“Try it on then,” I say, helpless to deny her joy.

Her delighted squeal fills the chamber as she darts behind the screen. I unfold the second gown, the one that’s meant for me. White silk embroidered in silver thread, gossamer tulle gleaming faintly in the dimming light. It is too perfect, too pristine, like moonlight made into fabric.

When I slip it over my shoulders, the dress falls as though poured, cool as water. It fits with unnatural precision, as if it had been shaped to the very rhythm of my breath. I turn toward the mirror… and falter.

The woman gazing back at me stands regal and poised, clad in splendor. Yet her eyes are those of a ghost. I lift a trembling hand to the mirror’s surface. “A swan dressed for display,” I whisper. “Graceful, but trapped.”

Erna bursts forth from behind the screen, twirling in her lilac gown, her laughter ringing like silver bells. “Mama, look! I love it!”

I manage a smile. “You look perfect, my little one.”

She beams. “You too, Mama. You look like a princess.”

I laugh faintly. “Perhaps a tired one.”

She giggles and spins again, the skirts flaring like petals in bloom. Her laughter fills the hollow corners of the room, and for a fleeting instant, I feel the ache within my chest ease. But then there’s a sharp knock upon the door. Commanding. Erna stills mid-spin, clutching her skirts. I smooth my gown and call, “Come in.”

A maid enters, young and unfamiliar, curtseying low. “My lady,” she says softly, eyes cast down. “His Majesty requests your presence in the royal dining hall for supper.”

“Requests,” I repeat, the word bitter upon my tongue. “Does he, now?”

The maid hesitates, voice dropping to a tremor. “It would displease him if you refused.”

I exhale, glancing toward Erna. Her joy dims into apprehension. I kneel beside her, brushing a curl from her brow. “We mustn’t keep the Alpha King waiting, love.”

Her small hand tightens around mine. “Do we have to go now?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “But we’ll go together.”

The maid bows, relief flickering across her timid face. “I shall guide you, my lady.”

With one hand upon my daughter’s shoulder, I follow her to the door. The corridor beyond yawns wide and dim, torches flickering along its length. My heart beats heavy, slow, and dread-laden.

It would appear that tonight, the caged swan in the mirror is going to meet its master.