Yvonne's POV
I stared at the sunlight streaming into the dark room, curled on my side, watching how it stretched across the floor. I could barely remember how I got back into the chamber, just that my body had moved on autopilot.
But I did remember one thing.
That strange boy.
When we started talking by the edge of the pool, he didn't seem that bad anymore. Still spoiled? Yes. A brat? Absolutely. Annoying? On my nerves? Entirely horrible? Without a doubt.
But beneath all that... he talked like someone older, with a morbid way of seeing the world. Cold. Detached. It was unsettling, like he had seen things a child shouldn't.
Well... I did most of the talking. He just made snarky comments about how odd I was, and I laughed because he wasn't exactly wrong. At some point, I must have dozed off, because when I woke up, he was staring at me like some little creep.
And I... stayed there. For hours.
It wasn't until the sky started turning light that I dragged myself back to the chamber and collapsed on the bed like a zombie.
I was still wrapped in my thoughts when the door creaked open. I didn't even bother looking. I was too tired to care.
But the second the curtains were drawn back, sunlight flooding the room and hitting my face…
"Fuck, Klara," I groaned, flipping to the other side.
"My lady, you have to wake up. The meeting with the Queen Mother will commence soon," Klara said in rushed German, moving about the room.
The door opened again.
"My lady," Teresa chimed in, her voice softer,but equally annoying.
I groaned louder. Can't a girl catch a break in this place?
With zero enthusiasm, I dragged myself out of bed. My eyelids felt like lead. They stripped me, bathed me, not even letting me enjoy the warm water, dried me up, and shoved me into another gown. This one was heavier than yesterday's, cream-colored, with a low neckline and a skirt so wide I felt like a walking bell.
And the corset? Literal torture device.
I sat in front of the blurry mirror as a maid brushed and pinned my hair into some elaborate, unnecessary style with combs and jewels. By the end of it, my stomach was staging a full-on rebellion.
"Hey, I'm hungry," I muttered, glaring at Teresa.
She didn't even acknowledge me. Instead, she stepped closer, lowering her voice.
"My lady, please... When you are with Doña Isabella de Aragón, I beg of you, watch what you say. The Queen Mother does not tolerate…"
I blinked at her.
Was she... scared?
I couldn't even find the strength to care.
"Sure, whatever."
"My lady…."
God, she was still talking.
I turned to Klara and switched to German.
"Klara, take me to the dining room. I'm starving. I don't know why she's going on and on when I already understand."
Klara's head dipped in obedience, but her eyes flicked to Teresa — like she was worried about the head lady-in-waiting hearing.
I stood up with a sigh, brushing past Teresa.
"Come on."
I pushed open the door and walked out into the hallway, head high, shoulders back, like I had a stick shoved up my ass.
I turned left.
"My lady, no... this way."
Teresa's voice was soft, but I caught the nervous edge in it.
I glanced at her, then turned right without a word, stomach still growling, head still pounding, and absolutely not ready to meet the terrifying Queen Mother.
I followed Teresa down the hallway, the marble floors cold beneath my slippers. Golden sunlight spilled through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the walls lined with old, boring portraits.
The occasional servant passed by, heads bowed low as they murmured, "Your Highness," without daring to meet my eyes. It still felt weird — people calling me that — like I was playing dress-up in someone else's life.
The estate was grand. Too grand. High ceilings. Velvet drapes. Endless hallways that all looked the same. Honestly, it was a miracle I hadn't gotten lost yet.
By the time we reached the dining hall, my stomach was practically eating itself.
The guards by the door straightened at our approach, bowing low before pushing the heavy doors open.
The smell hit me instantly. Savory, mouthwatering... delicious.
My stomach growled, loudly.
Instead of noticing the two pairs of eyes locked on me, my gaze zeroed in on the table. Platters of food stretched across its length, bread, fruits, meats... everything I had been dreaming of since I woke up.
"My Lady."
Teresa's whisper snapped me out of my food trance. I blinked, forcing my eyes upward.
That's when I saw him.
The king.
His cold, empty gaze was fixed on me, showing absolutely no emotion.
Jerk.
But then my eyes shifted, and I saw her.
The Queen Mother.
I nearly did a double take. The resemblance was uncanny, like someone had taken the king, slapped on some wrinkles, and added a permanent scowl.
"My Lady, move."
Teresa's urgent whisper jolted me again. I swallowed hard and stepped forward, my footsteps echoing in the heavy silence.
It was only then I realized... my little entourage hadn't followed me in.
I stopped a few feet away from the Queen Mother, replaying what Teresa had drilled into my head.
Curtsy.
I dipped into an awkward, clumsy curtsy, nearly toppling over, and forced a smile.
"Um... good morning."
The moment the words left my mouth, my eyes went wide.
I just said that in English.
Shit.
My heart dropped to my stomach.
I could feel his eyes still locked on me, the king's, probably mentally carving out all the ways he'd have me executed for committing the grave crime of... talking in English, when he warned me not to.
The Queen Mother's brows barely twitched, her face as still as stone. But something about the way her dark eyes narrowed made me feel weird.
Oh God. Say something. Fix it.