Chapter 15: Where Silence Still Belonged to Me
Lyria's POV
Thankfully, after what had transpired in Jacinta's bedchamber, I was free for a while.
I was going to give her the ribbon, but that would be later. I had time for myself now.
The thought alone felt like a fragile blessing—one I knew better than to trust for too long.
There were moments when freedom inside this palace was nothing more than a pause between commands.
As I walked, quietly and carefully, I could not help but wonder whether the Queen would summon me later in the day, as she so often did, to stand unseen behind pillars and curtains while Jacinta paraded herself before her suitor candidates.
I could already imagine it.
My place would be somewhere along the wall, half swallowed by shadow, my presence acknowledged only when something was required of me. A glass carried. A message delivered. A veil adjusted. A silent figure lingering behind the princess as though I were not made of flesh at all.
It would not surprise me.
Nothing in this palace ever did.
But for now…
For now, no voice called my name.
No bell rang.
No sharp command followed me down the corridor.
And I intended to use that small mercy properly.
I slipped through the narrow back passage that led toward the kitchens—the one most of the household staff favoured, especially when they wished not to be seen. It smelled faintly of damp stone, stale bread, and the faint bitterness of ashes from the early morning hearths.
At the far end of the passage was the low door used to carry out refuse.
That was where I went.
I eased it open with careful fingers.
The hinges groaned softly, betraying me.
I paused, listening, just in case someone found out what I was doing, but there was nothing. Everyone was busy with their tasks, after all.
I slipped through and shut the door behind me.
The palace rose tall and proud at my back, its pale walls catching the sun as though it were a crown of its own. Ahead, the grounds stretched outward in gentle slopes and winding paths, the manicured gardens slowly giving way to less polished land.
I kept to the narrow service paths, walking where the grass had been worn thin by servants' boots and gardeners' carts.
I carried nothing but my drawing book beneath my arm.
I moved carefully, keeping to hedges and low stone borders, avoiding the wide, elegant paths where noble ladies sometimes strolled with parasols and laughter and guards at their heels.
No one stopped me.
That alone felt miraculous.
The farther I walked, the quieter the grounds became.
The voices faded.
The echo of palace life fell behind me like a heavy curtain.
At the far end of the estate, where the land sloped upward into a modest hill, the grounds lost their deliberate beauty. Here, nature seemed less obedient. Shrubs grew untamed. Grass rose uneven and soft beneath my shoes. Old pathways, once carefully laid, had begun to disappear beneath moss and creeping vines.
This was the place people hardly frequented; some even claimed it was cursed.
A forgotten corner of royal land, just like some parts of the royal garden.
A hilltop that no longer served a purpose.
Long ago, someone must have imagined this place important. There were remnants of narrow stone structures scattered along the slope—small, abandoned buildings with broken windows and weather-worn walls. Some had once been garden houses. Others, perhaps storage rooms or old guard shelters.
Now they belonged to silence.
To ivy.
To birds nesting in shattered rafters.
To small creatures who knew nothing of royal blood or cruel whispers.
Squirrels darted between fallen stones.
A pair of bunnies startled at my approach and vanished into the brush, their soft tails flashing white before they disappeared.
I smiled despite myself.
It was impossible not to.
The hill opened at its crest into a gentle hollow, and there, nestled between tall reeds and silver-leafed trees, lay the small lake.
It was not large.
It was not grand.
But it was perfect.
The surface of the water shimmered softly beneath the morning sun, broken only by faint ripples and the slow drifting of fallen leaves. The trees around it bent protectively inward, their branches whispering to one another in a constant, gentle murmur.
This was my place.
I came here whenever I could steal enough time.
I walked to the water's edge and lowered myself onto the cool grass.
Only then did I reach for the thin white mask that still rested against my cheek.
I untied it slowly, letting the ribbon slide free from my fingers, then set the mask beside me on the ground, face down, as though it were only another harmless object.
As though it had not been shaped to hide what others preferred not to see.
The breeze brushed my skin.
I breathed more freely at once.
I folded my legs beneath me and crossed them neatly, arranging my skirts so that the hem did not drag into the damp soil. Then I drew my sketchbook from under my arm and rested it against my knees.
The world felt smaller here.
Kinder.
A small animal stood near the edge of the lake.
It was no larger than a cat, its fur soft and pale, its narrow body bent as it drank. Its ears flicked at the sound of insects and distant birdsong, but it did not flee.
Not yet.
I stilled.
Slowly, I opened my book and turned to a blank page.
My pencil hovered.
I laughed softly under my breath when the creature lifted its head and stared directly at me.
For a moment, we simply regarded one another.
Two cautious beings.
Two quiet ones.
After a brief pause, apparently deciding that I was not worth its fear, it lowered its head again and resumed drinking.
My lips curved into a small, helpless smile.
"You are very brave," I murmured.
Or perhaps merely wiser than most.
I began to draw.
The lines came gently at first—light, tentative strokes shaping the curve of its back, the delicate slope of its head, the way its thin legs bent awkwardly beneath it. I worked slowly, allowing myself to follow instinct rather than perfection.
This was the only time I truly allowed myself to exist without measuring every movement.
Without rehearsing silence.
Without bracing for sharp words.
The wind stirred my loose strands of hair.
I was so absorbed in my work that the rest of the world slipped away.
Time softened.
Even my thoughts became lighter.
I shaded the animal's eye.
I adjusted the curve of its ear.
I softened the lines along its flank.
My pencil moved almost without instruction.
It was only when a shadow fell across the edge of my page that something inside me stilled.
There was someone here, and he was standing close—perhaps even too close to me. I was not wearing my mask either.
"That is… rather well done," he said to me.
The sound of his voice travelled straight down my spine.
My hand froze in mid-stroke.
The pencil hovered uselessly above the drawing book.
Slowly, I raised my head to the person who was now leaning over me. I locked eyes with blue orbs I knew very well.