Chapter Text
It was only then that the Queen saw Andrea under a proper lighting.
She was tall, hovering over Miranda by a few inches in a way that felt subtly imposing. She was pale—far too pale—and her eyes held a haunting curiosity and wonder. The girl walked closely behind her, dragged into the ward by a groveling Nigel. Her eyes roamed, studying the stone walls as they walk past them, her head tilting with every new sight. She looked very much like a canine discovering colors for the first time.
Miranda ought to be annoyed by the display.
She knew she was probably making a huge mistake—just as Nigel had relentlessly reminded her. And quite frankly, Andrea might not actually be telling the truth. For all she knew, she was being tricked into believing a fabricated scenario that could cause her kingdom even greater problems.
But those were the very reasons that convinced Miranda to… keep a close eye on Andrea. It was perfectly rational. Besides, if there was someone out there who actually wanted her executed, it was only right that she sought the assistance of those who offered it, no matter how potentially dubious the source.
Foolish, foolish decisions—Nigel said as much.
The ward for Ceruleo’s servants was located in the east wing of the palace—three large rooms away from Miranda’s bedroom. It was to ensure that, should she need it, help would always be within a desperate shout’s reach.
She often found herself walking around the palace, trailing the paths that the Crafted might have taken when they attacked the throne. It fueled her hope that she might one day find the single trail that would lead her to the twins.
They were alive. Miranda refused to believe anything else.
“Your Majesty,” Emily greeted as they arrived at the ward.
Miranda nodded at the redhead, waiting until her convoy of humans made it inside the room. In a smaller space, Andrea’s state was unmistakable. She definitely needed more than just a bath.
“This is Andrea,” Miranda said—not that she was required to introduce her guests to Emily. “She would be working closely with you from now on.”
If Emily was confused, she was wise enough not to show it—she always was when the situation called for it. A perfect handmaiden to the Queen. It was unfortunate that Miranda would have to replace her, but it was necessary. It was a high time to keep to herself, to trust no one in particular—even when she was already compromising that rule by letting a stranger roam the halls of her kingdom with nothing but unsubstantiated claims.
Andrea made no sound since they left the dungeon. She barely protested, moving like a ghost bound to Miranda’s whim. Miranda did not exactly share her plans with the girl; she didn’t have one, to begin with. She was working with absolutely nothing.
With a detailed instruction to Emily regarding how she expected Andrea to join her in the drawing room an hour later, Miranda left the ward, praying quietly to herself that she was doing the right thing.
Exactly an hour after she left Andrea with Emily—clinging to an anxious plea that she had not just set a criminal loose—the redhead walked into the drawing room with Andrea pacing just a few steps behind her.
Miranda was fond of all things beautiful. She reviewed art with a certain expertise befitting the throne; that came with the position. The nobles were only meant for the greater goods, so Miranda’s eyes were never kind to anything that was less than thrilling.
“Your Majesty,” Emily bowed, stepping aside so she could proudly present her handicraft.
Andrea stood before the Queen wearing nothing particularly extravagant. She wore a handmaiden’s gown, it’s billowy skirts ending just above her ankles. Her skin still looked bruised, but the grime covering her had already been thoroughly washed away. Her hair fell over her shoulders, partially tied behind her head with a white ribbon that contrasted with its dark strands. She smelled faintly of jasmine, which Miranda found unnerving.
She looked very much like a decent woman now. Acceptable.
Miranda leaned back in her chair, appreciating the— no. She wasn’t appreciating anything. Looking away with a wave of a hand, she dismissed Emily, who retreated and walked out of the room. She was such a good handmaiden.
Clearing her throat, Miranda brought her attention back to Andrea. The latter kept her unblinking eyes set on the Queen—gawking.
“There is no one within earshot,” Miranda began, stealing a quick glance at Nigel standing by the door. “Speak.”
Andrea blinked then, her eyes shifting slightly as though she were waking up from a daydream. “You already possess all that you need to know, Your Majesty.”
Miranda’s eyes twitched. The portrait she had been working on since early in the morning looking increasingly unsatisfactory by her standards the more she attempted to correct it.
She had so many questions, so many things she needed explained. How did Andrea know what she knew? Why did she come to Miranda’s aid? Who sent her? How much truth did her warning hold?
“Where did you gather all the information you had given me?”
Andrea tilted her head contemplatively, her gaze tracking the movement of Miranda’s brush. “I cannot say more, Your Majesty.”
Miranda furrowed her brows, dropping her hand slightly. “Then what use do I have of you?” She asked, her voice hinting at irritation.
“I am here to serve you. I am here to ensure your safety,” Andrea said, as if that were reason enough.
“I have a palace full of guards and servants, Andrea. I do not need you.”
Andrea didn’t even bat an eye as she responded. “The guards protect your crown, Your Majesty. I protect you. I am here for you.”
That was not the response Miranda had expected. She had assumed that if she pressured Andrea enough, the girl would be pushed to share more—details Miranda actually needed, secrets she could weaponize. It was unusual for someone to not willingly yield to the Queen. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling against the tight fabric of her bodice. It was both refreshing and frustrating.
Shaking her head, Miranda returned to her portrait of a faceless woman—a portrait barren of emotion. Huffing, she decided then that she was done for the day.
“Well, come along,” she told Andrea, standing up from her chair abruptly. “We have work to do.”
Andrea straightened, watching in complete silence as the Queen strode past her. She quickly trailed behind Miranda, her quiet footsteps the only sign that she was there—very much like a shadow.
Miranda was still unsure how to feel about that.
Come afternoon, Miranda had decided to inform the royal court of her decision to keep Andrea within the palace. This had, of course, earned her a handful of varying reactions, and for once, she could not find it in herself to feel defensive.
“This is madness, Your Majesty!” General Ravitz argued, his voice booming against the high ceilings of the council chamber. “We are at war. This creature whose origin we do not know crawled on our soil and we are yet to verify her intention. She could be gathering information as we speak, and you are handing her the keys to your private chamber?”
Miranda’s gaze flew to where Andrea stood beside Emily, among the rows of handmaidens. The girl didn’t cower. Instead, her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched General Ravitz, her expression that of a scientist analyzing a curious specimen.
“I know that very well, General Ravitz,” Miranda replied, tugging mindlessly on the metals adorning her neck. “But I have spoken to the girl and she has sworn loyalty to the throne. She is a young girl seeking refuge, and it is well within our capability to provide her with that. To turn her away would be an admission of fear. Are we afraid, General?”
“W-we…” General Ravitz reasoned, stuttering with his words. “We are not, Your Majesty.”
Miranda hummed, nodding her head in approval. “I hope not. Should my new aide pose any danger, I am certain we can rely on your troops to protect us. After all, how much trouble could one girl cause? Am I correct, General?”
She knew that the court was right to question her. Andrea was obviously withholding information—whether it was a strategic ploy or an attempt to ensure her safety, Miranda had yet to find out.
Miranda could see the doorway from where she sat in front of her vanity.
She didn’t particularly enjoy the quiet of her room. It was far too spacious—too vacant. The late King’s belongings had since been removed, stored somewhere else, out where the people could see them, see the gilded armor of the brave King who had died protecting his people.
During the first few months following his death, Miranda could not find it in herself to step inside the room; it haunted her. So, she would escape her own quarters for her daughters’ room. Miranda found comfort in the thought that she was keeping the twins’ room warm.
Caroline and Cassidy would be turning eleven soon. Yet another year where Miranda would not be able to hold them in her arms. Soon, Miranda swore to herself. Soon will come.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the soft rustle coming from outside the door at first. She waited, placing her necklace— bearing the kingdom’s sigil—down onto the wooden table with a soft clack.
The guards knew not to bother her, and if they absolutely had to, they would certainly knock. But there was only silence.
Miranda spun in her chair, weariness creeping into her chest. Who could it possibly be? Pulling her robe tighter around her body, she stood up. It was already late in the night, and half of the palace should have been asleep by now. She carefully cracked open the door to the dark hallway, squinting as she caught sight of a familiar silhouette across the corridor.
“Andrea?”
The handmaiden stopped in her tracks, her head swinging in Miranda’s direction. She didn’t seem surprised, but her head tilted slightly in curiosity. After a beat, she walked over to where Miranda stood, stepping into the warm light spilling from Miranda’s slightly ajar door. She was already dressed in her sleepwear, much like the Queen, but she looked remarkably awake.
“Your Majesty,” Andrea greeted, offering a soft nod instead of the customary bow of the head.
“What are you doing wandering the halls at this hour?”
Andrea blinked, her lips flattening into a line. It looked as though she were raking her mind for an appropriate response, something Miranda noticed her do quite frequently. A habit, perhaps.
“I can’t sleep, Your Majesty.”
Miranda studied the girl. They always seemed to find themselves in this situation: whispering in darkened corners. It would be so easy for Andrea to end her life right now and still have ample time to flee, but for reasons Miranda couldn’t quite explain, she doubted Andrea would ever hurt her. It was jarring how quickly she was starting to trust this stranger.
“Find a way to rest. We have a full day ahead of us, and I cannot have you feeling fatigued,” Miranda said with a wave of her hand, already turning back toward her room.
“I can stay here and guard you, Your Majesty.”
Miranda paused. She faced Andrea again, her brows furrowed. “Did I not just tell you to rest?”
Andrea nodded her head slightly, yet her posture remained absolute in her offer. Miranda wondered what kind of place Andrea came from for her to behave so casually and fearlessly around royalty.
“Rest, Andrea,” Miranda repeated, firmer this time.
"I’d rather stay here, Your Majesty.”
Miranda scoffed. “You are a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”
Andrea nodded. “I try to do my duty to the best of my ability, Your Majesty.”
“And your duty is?”
“ To protect you, Your Majesty.”
Miranda glared. “By guarding me like I’m a child?”
The ghost of an amused smile touched Andrea’s face. “But you are not, Your Majesty.”
“Stop! Stop repeating that,” Miranda demanded, her frustration finally bubbling over.
“Stop what, Your Majesty?”
Exactly, Miranda thought. Stop what? It wasn’t as though Andrea was the only one to use the title. But the ease with which she trusted the girl brought along an irritability toward Andrea’s complete obliviousness. She was twenty-seven years old, for heaven’s sake.
“Leave,” Miranda said through gritted teeth.
“I apologize, Your Majesty.”
“Rest, Andrea, before I change my mind and have the guards escort you out of my palace.”
At that, the handmaiden lowered her head in resignation. She took a step back, giving the Queen just enough space to shut the royal bedroom’s door right in her face.
The palace awoke to absolute chaos.
Miranda hurried to her feet, opening the door of the drawing room to find a group of staff members peering anxiously over the banister of the stairs leading to the first floor. She caught a glimpse of Emily, who—at the sight of her—ran over and quickly gestured for everyone to clear a path so the Queen could get a better view of the situation.
Down below, the royal guards had a man pinned to the ground. He was tall, his eyes missing their color. An Altered. General Ravitz was, as expected, commanding the scene. Looking up, he spotted the Queen among the onlookers. Their eyes met. He seemed to be asking for a command—a display of some sort.
Normally, Miranda would have advised that this matter be handled somewhere more secluded, far from the prying eyes of the civilians. But the Ceruleans needed something to make them feel secure, to know that their Queen was not taking this lightly despite inviting a stranger in. And, Miranda’s enemies—whose names she still did not know—must be made aware that she would take drastic measures to protect herself and, by extension, the crown.
She gave a nod, General Ravitz caught the message instantly. With an effortless swing of his sword, he decapitated the Altered, its head rolling across the floor. A collective gasp of both relief and horror echoed around Miranda. The synthetic creature made a keening, gargling wail so eerily loud before it eventually went still, a thick white liquid oozing from its severed neck.
Miranda took a steadying breath. Around her, the crowd began to cheer. General Ravitz hoisted the lifeless head by its hair, displaying it triumphantly to the onlookers. Holding her own head high, Miranda turned on her heel to leave.
That was when she caught sight of Andrea.
The girl’s hands were clenched into tight fists. Her eyes, always seemingly unblinking, were fixed on the brutal scene below.
Miranda wondered what was more unsettling: that Andrea did not seem to share the joy of the rest of the court, or that when she finally looked at Miranda, her eyes burned with what seemed like fury—as though it were the Queen herself who had swung the blade.
