Chapter 338: The Queen Who Cared For Her Daughter
Chapter 337: The Queen Who Cared for Her Daughter
Lyria’s POV
It was quite obvious to me that the Queen did not wish for me to remain at the ball any longer.
I could almost hear the words she must have been thinking—the commands she would have liked to utter aloud. Perhaps something about taking my "demonic self" out of her sight.
But I said nothing.
I simply bowed to the Queen, my movements measured and composed. The fabric of my gown rustled softly as I lowered myself, and I kept my gaze fixed upon the floor, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," I said, my voice steady as I counted my words one by one, careful not to let my stammer betray me. "For taking my health into consideration."
The Queen waved a hand dismissively, her fingers fluttering through the air as though she were shooing away an irritating insect, though it was an act one could easily mistake for care.
"Of course I care," she said, her voice carrying a note of false warmth that made my skin prickle. "You are my daughter, after all."
The words rang hollow.
They always did.
I bowed again, deeper this time, before turning to make my way out of the ballroom.
The weight of countless eyes followed me as I walked—most curious, some pitying, the majority simply relieved.
I kept my head high and my pace measured, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me hurry.
The music faded behind me as I walked, the laughter and chatter of the guests growing more distant with each step. The warm golden glow of the chandeliers gave way to the cooler, dimmer light of the corridors.
The air grew quieter, the sounds of the ballroom swallowed by the thick stone walls.
I had wanted to speak with Duke Valenridge before leaving.
I had wanted to ask him if he was quite well, to see whether there was anything I could do to ease the weariness that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. There had been something in his posture, something in the way he had rubbed his head with his fingers, that had stirred a quiet concern within me.
But now I would not be given the chance.
The Queen had seen to that.
I did not let it trouble me overly much, though.
I could speak with the Duke another time.
There would be other opportunities.
Other moments when the Queen’s watchful eyes were not fixed upon me.
I simply had to be patient.
The guards escorted me back to my chambers, their footsteps echoing through the quiet corridors.
After entering my chambers, I lowered my voice as I turned to Bridget and Debbie, who had followed me inside.
"I n-need y-you t-to w-watch B-Baron F-Frederick a-again," I said quietly, my words barely above a whisper. "E-even t-though h-he w-was e-eliminated t-tonight a-and I am c-certain h-he w-will l-leave t-the p-palace s-soon, I w-want y-you t-to g-gather a-any i-information y-you c-can b-before h-he g-goes."
Bridget’s eyes sharpened with understanding.
She nodded once, her expression resolute.
"Of course, Your Highness."
Debbie echoed her agreement.
"We shall see what we can discover."
They slipped out of the chamber without another word, their footsteps soft and silent against the polished floor.
I watched them go, a small knot of tension easing within my chest.
I turned towards Pippa, who had been watching the exchange with quiet attention.
"H-have y-you d-discovered w-who t-the c-cat b-belongs t-to?" I asked. "O-or w-where i-it c-came f-from?"
Pippa shook her head, her expression apologetic.
"We have not, Your Highness. But Elara did speak with the Head Maid. She said she would make further inquiries. We may have answers soon."
I nodded, though a small pang of disappointment settled in my chest.
The cat remained a mystery I had yet to solve, and it bothered me far more than I cared to admit.
The maids helped me undress, their movements gentle and efficient.
The gown slid from my shoulders, and I felt the weight of the evening begin to lift.
The fabric pooled around my feet, and I stepped out of it gratefully.
As they worked, Margery let out a heavy sigh.
"I do wish you could have spent more time at the ball," she said, her voice carrying a note of genuine disappointment. "Everyone should have had the chance to see just how beautiful you looked tonight."
Pippa nodded in agreement, her hands busy fastening my nightdress.
"I was thinking the very same thing," she said. "The way the gown caught the light, and the way your hair was styled... You looked extraordinarily beautiful, Your Highness. I would have loved for you to remain at the ball a little longer."
I chuckled softly, cutting her off before she could continue.
"T-thank y-you," I said. "B-but I am q-quite c-content t-to b-be b-back h-here."
When they had finished helping me prepare for the night, they excused themselves, leaving me alone in the quiet of my chambers.
The door clicked softly shut behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
Only the gentle flicker of candlelight remained.
I waited until the sound of their footsteps had faded entirely before moving.
Crossing the room, I knelt beside the hidden floorboard.
My fingers found the familiar edge before carefully prying it open.
The board lifted with a soft creak, revealing the small compartment hidden beneath.
Inside lay my makeshift books, small and humble yet they were precious to me.
I had completed only two of them.
My intention, however, was to make seven in total.
Each contained drawings accompanied by written descriptions of the signs Patricia and I had created together.
The language was my secret.
My gift to those I now call my people.
And I refused to allow it to disappear.
Drawing each sign whilst also writing explanations—particularly when writing did not come naturally to me—proved remarkably difficult.
Every page demanded patience.
Every illustration required care.
My hand often cramped after hours of work, and my eyes grew weary beneath the dim glow of a single candle.
Yet none of that mattered.
This was too important.
I gathered the books carefully before carrying them to my writing desk.
After settling into the chair, I opened the first volume.
The candle beside me flickered gently, casting dancing shadows across the parchment as I dipped my pen into the ink.
Then I began to work.
For most of the night, I wrote and drew sign after sign, carefully explaining the meaning behind each gesture.
The movements were simple.
Yet they carried remarkable power.
They allowed people to speak without voices.
To share secrets without fear of being overheard.
To understand one another even in complete silence.
If we wished to survive within this palace...
If we wished to communicate freely without constantly fearing unseen ears...
Then it was not only I who needed to know this language.
My maids needed it.
My guards needed it.
I worked tirelessly, my hand moving carefully across each page.
This language had long since become a part of me.
It was a second language I knew so well that I could have formed many of the signs with my eyes closed.
I had no idea how long I worked.
The hours blurred together, marked only by the gradual dimming of the candle and the growing ache in my hand.