The maids returned to the palace just before dusk, their steps heavy from the long walk through the town square. Megan separated from the others almost immediately, clutching the boxes that held Princess Naiya's shoes as though they were ticking bombs. Her pace quickened the moment she stepped onto the polished marble floors, her slippers barely making a sound as she hurried toward the art gallery, where the princess had been residing since midday.
She reached the tall double doors and knocked softly, steadying her breath. "Princess Naiya, your shoes have arrived," she announced, keeping her voice low and respectful. Receiving no immediate response, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The art gallery was vast and echoing, its walls covered from floor to ceiling with paintings in gilded frames. Landscapes, portraits, abstract works—some breathtaking, others unsettling—stared down in silent judgment. At the far end of the hall, near an open window where sheer curtains fluttered with the breeze, Princess Naiya sat poised on a cushioned chair. She wore a dark purple dress that clung elegantly to her form, the fabric pooling around her feet. Her brown hair was pulled into a tight bun, every strand restrained, every detail precise.
From Megan's angle, it appeared as though the princess was painting the sky or perhaps the gardens below. That assumption shattered the moment Megan's eyes fell upon the sketchboard.
The image was grotesque.
A tall, stick-like figure dominated the page, its limbs unnaturally long and thin. Its head was a skull, far too large for its narrow body, tilted at an unsettling angle. Where eyes should have been were red apples, glossy and bright, with black buttons crudely sewn into their centers. The mouth was stretched into a jagged grin that seemed to mock anyone who dared look upon it.
Megan froze.
A chill crept down her spine as she wondered what kind of thoughts occupied the princess's mind to birth such an image. She stood there too long, rooted in unease, her hands tightening around the boxes.
Naiya sensed the hesitation.
She turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as they landed on the maid. "Disgusting imbecile," she hissed. "Are you rooted to the floor? Walk to me."
The words struck like a slap. Megan flinched but did not protest. Everyone in the palace knew Princess Naiya's temperament. Cruelty came to her as naturally as breathing. Megan lowered her head and hurried forward, dropping to her knees beside the princess. She bowed deeply, clutching the boxes to her chest as her heart thundered violently.
"Forgive me, Princess," she murmured, her voice trembling despite her effort to control it.
Naiya did not acknowledge the apology. She returned her attention to the painting and spoke as though issuing an idle command. "Take each pair out. Try them on me. Burn whichever ones do not match my skin tone."
The instructions were deceptively simple. Megan's stomach twisted.
Every maid knew this ritual. For shoes to be delivered directly to the princess meant Naiya had personally selected them beforehand. If a maid dared to destroy even one, she would be accused of mockery—of implying the princess's taste was flawed. But if a maid refused to burn any, she would be accused of disobedience. Either choice led to punishment.
The last maid who attended to Naiya had tried to remain neutral. She removed none of the shoes. By evening, her body had been pulled from the palace lake, lungs filled with water.
Megan's hands trembled as she carefully opened the first box. She slid the shoe onto the princess's foot with exaggerated gentleness, afraid even her touch might provoke wrath. Sweat formed at her temples as she repeated the process, her lips pressed together so tightly they ached. With each shoe, her certainty grew heavier: she would not leave this room alive.
The painting alone told her Naiya was in no mood for mercy.
Then footsteps echoed from the doorway.
"Nai," a male voice called. "Come with me. Mother wants to speak with us. It's important."
Henry stepped into the room, his presence immediate and commanding. He did not spare a single glance for the maid kneeling at his sister's feet. Naiya rose at once, already wearing one of the new pairs. She walked toward the door, then paused, her eyes drifting lazily back to Megan.
"Burn the rest," she ordered coolly. "I don't like the way they look."
With that, she exited alongside her brother.
Megan remained on the floor for several seconds, frozen in disbelief. Then she exhaled shakily, the breath coming out almost as a sob. She gathered the remaining boxes quickly, her movements frantic now, and fled the gallery. She headed straight for the kitchens, where the large hearth burned constantly.
The shoes were worth a fortune. Selling even one could have changed her life. But the thought barely lingered. Disobedience meant death, and Princess Naiya's guards were not known for patience. Megan threw the shoes into the fire one by one, watching as fine leather curled and blackened, turning to ash.
Elsewhere in the palace, Naiya and Henry entered their mother's chambers. Henry closed the door behind them as Queen Maye stood at the balcony, gazing out over the palace grounds. At the sound of their footsteps, she turned and gestured for them to join her. Cushions had already been arranged for them, positioned carefully at either side.
Queen Maye wasted no time on pleasantries.
"You have heard your father's condition," she began. "He will not survive past this winter. That leaves us little time." Her sharp gaze settled on Henry. "From now on, you will attend the royal court daily. You will observe, listen, and learn everything there is to know about governance."
Henry shifted uncomfortably.
"And before your father draws his final breath," she continued, her tone hardening, "you will marry."
Henry frowned. "Is that truly necessary, Mother?"
Queen Maye looked at him as though he had asked whether the sun needed to rise. "Of course it is. The court will vote on succession. Leonard already holds the advantage—his presence, his victories, his influence. Eighty percent of the court favors him. Marriage grants him the remaining twenty."
Naiya leaned forward slightly, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "But if Henry marries before Leonard does, that twenty percent shifts," she said smoothly. "And if he begins to contribute meaningfully at court, his chances increase further."
Queen Maye smiled, pride gleaming in her eyes. "Exactly."
She turned to Naiya warmly. "I wish you were the boy and this one the girl."
Henry's jaw tightened. He looked away, his fists clenching at his sides. "I knew it," he muttered.
"Naiya, you understand your duties as well," the queen continued. "You must marry."
"I am aware," Naiya replied calmly. "I have already prepared a list. Powerful men. Some are princes." She smirked at her brother, satisfaction clear in her gaze.
"That is why you are my favorite child," Queen Maye declared, her voice filled with approval.
Henry said nothing. But something dark stirred quietly in his chest.