Chapter 107 Like a Queen - Amelia’s POV
I stared at my reflection in the ornate mirror, hardly recognising the woman who stared back at me. Four hours of the stylists’ meticulous work had transformed me from the former servant girl to someone who looked like she belonged in a royal portrait. My dark hair had been arranged in an intricate updo, adorned with tiny silver and gold pins that caught the light whenever I moved. The makeup was subtle but effective, enhancing my mismatched eyes and giving my cheeks a gentle flush that made me look healthier, more vibrant than I actually felt as the knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach.
‘You look like a queen already,’ Kaela purred in my mind, her presence warm and reassuring.
‘I don’t feel like one,’ I replied silently, watching as one of the stylists adjusted a final pin in my hair.
The dressing room hummed with quiet activity. Mira flitted about organising various items, her honey-blonde hair bouncing in its messy bun as she moved. Elder Nora sat regally in a chair by the window, her ancient eyes missing nothing as the two stylists fussed over me. Through the tall windows, sunlight streamed in, painting golden rectangles on the marble floor and illuminating dust motes that danced like tiny stars.
In mere hours, I would be officially crowned Queen. But I would also face the fertility rite that had been haunting my thoughts for days. My stomach twisted again, and I forced myself to take deep, measured breaths.
‘We’ll get through it,’ Kaela assured me, though I could feel her own apprehension mirroring mine. ‘We’ve survived worse.’
She was right, of course. We had survived years of abuse, kidnapping, near-death. This was just one more trial to endure. But knowing that didn’t stop my hands from trembling slightly as the stylist applied a final touch of rouge to my lips.
“Perfect,” the older stylist declared, stepping back to admire her work. She was a stern-faced woman with silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun, her movements precise and efficient. “The King won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”
The younger stylist, a petite woman with nimble fingers who had been responsible for my hair, nodded enthusiastically. “You look absolutely stunning, my Queen,” she said, the title still sounding strange to my ears despite weeks of hearing it.
“Thank you,” I replied, finding my voice steadier than I’d expected. “You’ve both done wonderful work.”
Nora rose from her seat, making a small gesture with her hand. “That will be all for now,” she told the stylists. “We’ll handle the gown ourselves.”
The women bowed deeply before gathering their tools and quietly leaving the room. Once the door closed behind them, Mira approached with an excited bounce in her step.
“I can’t wait to see you in the dress,” she said, her perpetual cheerfulness a balm to my frayed nerves. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Nora moved to the massive wardrobe that dominated one wall of the dressing room. “Come, help me with this,” she instructed Mira, who hurried to assist.
Together, they carefully removed the coronation gown from its protective covering. My breath caught as they held it up – a masterpiece of silver and gold, with an enormous amount of delicate lace work creating patterns that seemed to shift and change in the light. The bodice was fitted, encrusted with tiny crystals arranged in intricate wolf designs, while the skirt flared out dramatically, layers upon layers of fabric creating a silhouette that would command attention in any room.
“It’s...” I struggled to find words adequate to describe the garment.
“Fit for a queen,” Nora finished for me, a rare smile softening her ancient features. “Now, let’s get you into it.”
Getting into the gown proved to be a three-person operation. I stepped into it carefully while Mira held it steady, then Nora worked on fastening the seemingly endless row of tiny pearl buttons that ran down the back. The weight of it surprised me – not uncomfortable, but substantial, as if the dress itself carried the gravity of what I was about to become.
“There,” Nora said at last, stepping back to assess her work. “Turn around, let me see you properly.”
I turned slowly, the dress moving with me in a whisper of expensive fabric. The skirt was so full that it seemed to float around me, creating the illusion that I was gliding rather than simply standing.
Mira clasped her hands together, her eyes wide with genuine awe. “You look magical,” she breathed.
Even Nora seemed momentarily stunned into silence, her weathered face softening as she looked at me. “Indeed,” she finally said. “You do the gown justice, my dear. Not all queens could claim the same.”
The compliment, coming from someone as sparing with praise as Nora, made warmth bloom in my chest. For the first time that morning, I felt a flicker of confidence beneath the anxiety.
Nora turned to Mira, her expression shifting back to its usual businesslike efficiency. “Mira, would you give us a moment alone? I need to speak with the Queen privately before the ceremony.”
“Of course, Elder Nora,” Mira replied with a quick curtsy. She squeezed my hand briefly before slipping out of the room, leaving Nora and me alone.
Nora gestured to the small seating area by the window. “Come, sit with me for a moment. Carefully – don’t wrinkle the dress.”
I moved gingerly to the indicated chair, arranging the voluminous skirts around me as best I could. Nora took the seat opposite, her eyes studying me with an intensity that made me straighten my posture instinctively.
“I have news,” she said without preamble. “Elder Silverstone and I have found a way to circumvent the fertility rite. At least, the public aspect of it.”
I raised one eyebrow, trying desperately to keep hope from flaring too brightly. We‘d been disappointed too many times already. “What kind of way?” I asked cautiously.
A smile spread across Nora’s face, slightly awkward on features more accustomed to stern expressions. “An old rule, one that hasn’t been used in nearly eight centuries. It was designed to protect younger queens – those under the age of twenty-five are not required to publicly mate.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping as if sharing a precious secret. “Instead, the girl’s mother or closest female relative would be the one to confirm consummation of the bond.”
For a moment, I simply stared at her, the implications slowly sinking in. “But... I don’t know my parents,” I finally said, the words catching slightly in my throat. “I have no female relatives.”
Nora reached out, taking my hands in hers. Her skin was dry and papery against mine, but her grip was surprisingly strong. “I think of you as a daughter I never had,” she said, the confession clearly costing her something in pride. “I can’t make this go away completely, but at least like this, consummating the bond would be in human form, in a private room, with a locked door, and only me inside with you.”
The relief hit me like a physical wave, so intense I felt dizzy with it. Before I could think better of it, I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around Nora’s thin shoulders in a tight embrace. “Thank you,” I whispered against her silver hair. “Thank you so much.”
For a brief moment, she stiffened in surprise, then her arms came around me, returning the hug with unexpected fierceness. When we pulled apart, her eyes glistened suspiciously.
“Don’t,” she warned, dabbing carefully at the corners of my eyes with her thumb. “You’ll ruin your makeup and make me cry. Neither of us can afford to look anything less than perfect today.”
The absurdity of the moment – the ancient, dignified Elder worried about crying, me about to be crowned Queen – struck me suddenly, and a giggle escaped my lips. Nora’s mouth twitched, and soon she was chuckling too, the sound rusty but genuine.
When our laughter subsided, Nora stood, smoothing down her formal robes. “Now,” she said, her voice regaining its usual brisk efficiency, “are you ready?”
I took a deep breath, rising carefully to avoid disturbing the perfect arrangement of my gown. The weight of the day ahead still pressed on my shoulders, but it felt manageable now, a burden I could bear.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, and found that I meant it.