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204
Lady Orna pov

The boy looked at me too long this morning.

He’s never been clever, never been subtle, never been capable of holding his expression for more than five seconds without asking for reassurance - but today, he just watched me. Quietly, thoughtfully and I felt something crawl down my spine like rot pressing through silk.

I hate it, I hate that look. The not-quite-anger, the not-quite-fear and the not-quite-anything.

It’s the look people get when they realize the monster in the room isn’t behind them - it’s in front of them, dressed in gold, painted with honey and wearing mother’s hands and king’s words.

I can’t have him thinking, I can’t afford him wondering.

He used to ask questions like a child begging for sweets - about the role, the history, the court customs.

He needed direction and my approval to breathe.

But lately? Lately, he listens more than he speaks, he nods without blinking and he smiles at the wrong moments.

Damn it, he smiles after people leave the room. That’s the worst part, that smile that no longer asks me for permission - it warns me.

I pour more wine than I usually do before the second bell. A nervous gesture,a tell, so I correct myself mid-pour and make a point to toss the cup before sipping. I’m not weak, I’m not desperate, I’m not losing control - I just need to think.

“Bring her,” I tell the guard at my door. “No other.”

He knows who I mean. Lady Iris arrives ten minutes later, composed, cloaked, careful. She always is and that’s why I keep her. Her tongue is quick but rarely cuts the wrong flesh.

“He’s changing,” I say without looking in her direction. “And not in the way I told him to.”

She doesn’t ask who as I pace the chamber and the curtains draw tighter. My footsteps echo too loudly, so I switch to the rug. Still too loud. I feel the weight of the palace pressing into my skull.

“He’s been listening.” I mutter under my breath, sounding more panicked than I want to be.

“To what?” She asks.

“Things not meant for him.” I hiss quietly, wanting to grab her and shake the sense into her but I manage to restrain myself from losing my cool.

Iris’s eyes sharpen. “And what do you think he’s heard?”

“I don’t think, I know. They said replace and his face this morning-” I stop myself to take a breath I don’t really need. “No, I won’t let a puppet grow bones, not when I still need him to dance.”

She arches an eyebrow as if my problem isn’t a problem in her eyes. “Then you silence him.”

I glare at her and snarl low in my throat, “too early, he still has use.”

“Not for long.” She mutters, loud enough for me to overhear.

I turn to her and pin her with a glare. “That’s why I called you, we need leverage. We need... contingency.”

“The real Cael?”

I don’t answer, not with words and I sip wine instead.

Iris nods. “I’ll reach out to the smuggler, he has contacts in the northern valleys. If the boy is still with the rebels, we’ll know within the week.”

I give a half-nod, but I can’t stay still. My hands itch, my teeth grind and something inside me wants to scream. I step closer to her. “And if we find him?”

She watches me. “Then you offer him what he wants or you bury him where no one can hear him scream.”

I smile at her widely, liking how she thinks. “You always know exactly how to talk to me.”

“Because I know what you fear.” She whispers again, but this time she sounds way smugger than she usually does.

“Do you?” I ask, turning. “Do you know how close this all is to falling apart? A breath, Iris. One breath too loud. One blink too slow. One question from the wrong mouth. And all this?” I gesture at the heavy velvet, the candlelit throne room, the crown resting in its velvet cradle. “Ashes.”

“Then don’t let it burn.” She says it as if that’s so damn easy and I wouldn’t have done it already if only I truly could.

“I’m trying!” I snap and  throw the goblet again. It hits the wall this time, but he doesn’t flinch, too used to my temper and anger issues. “I’m trying,” I say again, quieter. “But they’re watching me now. The Council, the court and even the servants. I see it in their eyes. They’ve stopped calling him a boy. They call him Highness like they mean it.”

“Do you want me to pull someone?” She asks suddenly, taking a step closer.

“No,” I whisper. “Not yet, not until I have Cael. Not until I can look them in the eye and say: ’Here is the prince you never deserved.’”

Iris bows and leaves and I don’t call for a maid. I want someone who can’t talk, someone who won’t talk.

They send the mute girl, the little one with eyes like bruises. She doesn’t ask questions, that’s why I keep her like every other person I keep close to me.

I pace, I rant, I talk just to hear something other than the war drum inside my head. “You. Yes, you. Come here.” She steps forward. “You’ll listen. But you’ll say nothing. You’ll keep every word I say buried in your ribs like bone dust, or I will carve your tongue out myself, and I will make you watch as I feed it to the dogs. Understand?”

She nods. I sit. I pour another glass and I drink too fast. “I should’ve drowned the bastard when I had the chance,” I mutter, louder now. “Should’ve slit his throat when they first brought him to me, shivering and smiling like he understood what I’d done. But no, I needed a crown, I needed a Prince. And now look, he stares at me like he remembers he’s a person. Like he knows.”

The girl doesn’t move, just watches me curiously and listens.

“I built this kingdom from ashes. I restored it, I bent every lord’s knee and broke every spine that wouldn’t bow. I was clever, I was careful and now a boy with too much makeup and too little mind is about to undo me with one fucking glance.”

I down more wine, feeling the light buzz already distracting me.

“I see the way the court watches him now. Like they’re waiting, like they’re... like they know it too. That he’s nothing, that he’s not real and that he’s mine.”

I slam the glass down, the girl doesn’t flinch.  “I’ll fix it. I will. I’ll reach Cael, I’ll offer him anything - golf, land, revenge, myself if need be, he can have anything he wants.”

I laugh, the sound so sharp it feels like it might split me open. “Or maybe I’ll burn them both, ;et the world choke on ash and still call me queen.” I mutter.

The girl nods, or maybe trembles as I slump into my chair. “I gave everything,” I whisper. “And still it isn’t enough.” I look up, the tapestries sway with a draft I don’t feel. The fire doesn’t warm me anymore either. “I’ll win,” I say. “Even if I have to kill every version of the crown until it fits me. The throne will not wait twice.”