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The night the queen discovered the baby, the stars were unusually swollen in the sky. Their harsh lights beat down on Navarre, illuminating even the darkest, most fragile corners with a silver blaze. Despite it being late May, it was freezing out, chasing everyone back into their homes by the fire. It could have been coincidental. It could have been a fluke.
But magic doesn’t make flukes. It had a job to do that night.
Nioma had just finished preparing the queen’s tea. Ludivine Tauri was still reeling from giving birth to the twins, despite it being almost four months since Halden and Alic came into the world. No matter; she was still just twenty-one years old. Her body would recover quickly, aided by her nightly lemon balm and lavender tea that the teenage maid fixed every night. As long as she drank it while it was warm, with her once-luxurious body tucked into the fine, feathered pillows, everything would be as it should be.
Except for the fact that…Well, it wasn’t. That much became apparent from the raised voices resounding from the queen’s private chamber that grew louder with every step Nioma made. With her hands cupping the still-steaming pot, she cautiously made her way to the wall bordering the room and pressed her ear against the wall, the surface chilling her like it might know what terrible secrets lay nestled within the walls of Calldyr Castle. It was a risky move; no one dared to spy on the business of the monarchs, lest they be prepared for a lengthy punishment afterwards. Nioma, in particular, was not keen on receiving the iron brand on her breast that would deem her meddlesome.
But Ludivine needed her tea, and Nioma was nothing if not intent on serving her queen.
Careful to arrange her skirts presentably, the maid floated to the front of the doors just as they swung open harshly. She jerked back, gasping sharply as the scalding tea slipped from the pot and onto the skin of her hand, already calloused from long days spent scrubbing away at stone floors and nights preparing breakfast for the royals. A drop or two dribbled down her arms and onto the floor, a mistake she picked up just as she was faced with the king’s face, painted in fury, shame, and defeat.
As if the motion was programmed into her, Nioma dropped into a courtesy, dipping her head low enough that she hoped it may quell some of his righteous anger and disguise her obvious curiosity.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted softly, placatingly, fighting to keep the pain from her voice. “My most sincere apologies. Shall I leave you to be with your wife?”
Roland Tauri was not a merciful man, not by a long shot. For such a king of volatility, he probably would have stamped his foot and ordered Nioma out of the castle with her bags stuffed haphazardly if he so much as saw a peek at the tea on the floor.
But the king did not. In fact, he barely so much as looked at the maid. All he ended up saying to her was, “No. Attend to her at once,” before he trailed into the lone shadow at the end of the corridor. It was unnerving – very much so – but Nioma could not disobey a direct order, and she certainly wouldn’t if it concerned the queen.
So, she poked her head through the gilded doors left carelessly open. It didn’t look much different than it normally did; the pearlescent walls shone perfectly, the furniture was straight and in place, and the queen sat cross-legged in her bed, brushing out her long blonde hair that trailed down her shoulders and to her lap. The twins were asleep – miraculously asleep, as if they’d not heard their parents arguing so loudly from their shared bassinet. The bed was messy, but it was no secret to any royal servant that the queen liked to mess about with her blankets and pillows until they were just as she liked.
But not everything was as it seemed. It didn’t take an excessive amount of brainpower to figure that out.
Nioma composed herself and stood to the side, brushing her trembling hand on the back of her dress, swallowing back the questions she knew she had no right to ask.
“Your Majesty,” she tried again. “May I enter?”
The queen did not even look up, staring into her lap intently. “Please do.”
The maid hurried into the chamber, closing the door swiftly behind her with a flourish. The pot still steamed, but it had seemed to settle by then. She whisked over to the queen’s table and rushed to pour the tea into the delicate mug of glittering porcelain, wincing as she flexed her burnt fingers over the metal. It would take some time to heal a burn such as this.
Perhaps I should sneak out to a healer’s den, she thought to herself as the golden tea filled the mug. If I am not caught, I will heal twice as fast.
Scooping up the tea, she turned to the queen. “Your tea, my lady?”
Ludivine ran the brush through her hair for a few seconds more before she finally looked up at the maid. “In a moment. First, I have a query, Nioma.”
Instantly, she straightened. “Of course.”
The queen’s gaze wandered to the window. Despite the curtains being drawn tightly, the layered Deverelli silk was pierced by the flaming starlight above. It made her eyes, a warm hazel glow brightly, although there was no mistaking the ache in those depths that stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Because you are the closest person I have to a companion,” she continued. “And the least likely to surmise.”
There was no masking the way Nioma’s face flashed with surprise. She was just a girl, after all; barely a week over sixteen. Sure, she attended to the queen most often, but she had figured that the queen was merely most comfortable with the servant closest to her own age. No; she thought Nioma to be a companion – a friend. What god had decided to bless her so?
She courtesied again and presented the queen with the tea. “I am honored by your words, my lady. I would not dare to judge you, nor anyone else, unfairly.”
Ludivine received the mug graciously and observed the maid carefully, as if she was trying to read the young girl’s thoughts, to see if her words held the truth she always desperately tried to convey. It was quite unnerving to be under the queen’s watchful gaze like this, but Nioma would rather this than the king, or the head of servants. Both could be temperamental – and when a man was temperamental, there was always someone, most likely a woman, who had to take the fall whether she was involved or not.
“That is a good quality to have,” she said, bringing the mug to her lips. She took a small sip, the picture of ladylike etiquette, and savored the essence of lemon zest and lavender on her tongue. It was a peculiar flavor, but she’d enjoyed it thoroughly the first time Nioma had brought it to her. It was a family recipe, and for the queen’s kindness, she felt more than obligated to share. “You make for a fine confidant.”
Nioma flushed. “Thank you, my lady,” she said with a dip of her chin. “I shall always listen to those who may need it.”
The queen nodded. “Valiant,” she murmured, not unkindly. “Although I’m sure you may find this strange, coming from me.”
Nioma shook her head vehemently. “Not so,” she replied, a sudden passion overcoming her. “Like I said, I would never judge you, my lady. Please, ask whatever you like of me.”
The queen took another sip of her tea, a contemplative look crossing her face as she glanced back down into her lap. Most of it was hidden by the mess of sheets and blankets, but she looked at it like it had a secret she could barely begin to uncover.
“What is the easiest way, do you think,” she asked slowly, weighing the words on her tongue, “to hide one’s pain?”
Nioma couldn’t help but glance down at her hand, tucked neatly behind her back. Had she noticed the young girl’s shaking? The queen was nothing if not observant, and Nioma wasn’t always the most inconspicuous person. She should come clean and apologize for the mess now before she was sent away…but she held her tongue. Instead, she just prompted the queen further. “…My lady?”
Ludivine’s perfect, heart-shaped lips flattened into an uncharacteristic line. She looked slightly off-kilter for a moment – completely unlike her. The queen was generally the perfect portrait of grace and poise. Never caught off-guard, never a hair out of place, never anything but bright and brilliant. But that brilliance had been dampened. Tarnished, like someone had left a gold plate out to sit for so long that the dust had corroded the surface. Not that Nioma would ever say that to her face, though; she wouldn’t dare speak of the queen in any such way, not when she had been so graciously employed at such a young age.
“I mean…” She exhaled shakily, and Nioma clutched the fabric of her dress as she realized what was going on in front of her:
The queen was about to cry.
Ludivine swallowed. “When someone you thought to know,” she tried again, her chin bobbing. “Someone you trusted, did something that betrayed everything they ever promised…how does one cope with that pain after?”
Nioma had no clue what to say. First, the monarchs were quarreling. Then, the queen referred to her as both a companion and confidant. Now, she asked her about pain?
She might need some tea herself.
Nioma’s eyes traced the room as she fought to come up with a competent answer. “Well,” she started, her low voice hesitant. “I believe it would depend on what that person did to betray my trust, and the consequences. If that person was sorry — truly sorry — then I might dare to find a way to hold them accountable. Tell them that they owe me something of my choosing, but not enough to be selfish.”
The queen nodded along as if the advice were coming from a monk and not a sixteen-year-old, formerly houseless maid. Nioma continued, “But if they weren’t sorry, or didn’t try to apologize, I don’t believe I’d ever be as trusting with them again. I believe in second chances, but if that second chance were mismanaged, as well…” She tilted her head. “Then perhaps that person is not meant to be in my life at all.”
The queen digested those words along with another sip of tea. Her delicate lashes fluttered, and for a second, Nioma braced herself to watch tears fall to her lady’s fair cheeks. Instead, Ludivine drew in a shaky breath and smiled at the girl, though it was a tad strained.
“You are wise beyond your years, Nioma,” she said honestly. “I find it hard to believe you are a teenager.”
Her cheeks reddened. “Y-yes, my lady,” she stammered. “I have learned much in my time, and I hope that it is enough to help you in your…” She quickly fought to find the right word in her mind. “Troubles.”
The two women stared at each other for a moment, before the queen laughed softly. “Troubles,” she echoed, as if saying the word too loudly was a dangerous thing. “Yes. I will say, Nioma, you are quite insightful.”
Her hazel eyes fell back to her blanketed lap, her fingers gripping the handle to the mug a tad tighter than before. Nioma took that as a sign to turn her gaze away respectfully and snuck a glance at her hands. Sure enough, the hand that the tea had spilled onto was an angry red, one that the starlight did nothing to hide. Instead, she subtly moved to unbutton the tip of her sleeve, slipping her hand further inside and away from curious eyes.
She reached out to offer the queen some more tea, but a whisper from Ludivine had her freezing in her tracks.
“Of my choosing …even if he does not approve? Even if this could affect my children?”
The children? Nioma visibly tensed. If whatever was plaguing the queen’s mind affected her twin sons, then it had to be rid of immediately. No harm could come to the infants asleep in the wooden bassinet by the queen’s bed. No one in the castle, in the kingdom , would allow such a thing, and especially not Nioma, who would do anything to save children as she’d been unable to her own family, in that fire long ago that had claimed every life but hers.
But she did not ask. She did not pry. Instead, she simply asked, “My lady? Would you like me to leave?”
Nioma awaited her dismissal, but it never came. The queen didn’t even acknowledge the question. In lieu of that, she instead sighed. “We have such a difficult road in front of us, Nioma.”
The maid blinked, puzzled. “My lady?”
Ludivine stared down at her lap, and ever so gently, she reached out and traced her index finger around…something. The younger girl hadn’t even realized that the queen had something sitting in her lap, concealed by the mussed up blankets. She felt the urge to come closer, to see what may have the queen in such a troubled state, but the maid knew it was not her place, no matter if the queen considered her a confidant, or even a friend. People who asked too many questions never came out unscathed, after all. Nioma had already been through enough as it was.
But the queen’s quiet murmurs did nothing to quell her curiosity. “Such light on you,” she whispered. “Such tragedy.”
Nioma blinked again. The queen wasn’t talking to her, was she?
“You did not deserve this fate.” she continued, her voice gentle yet drowning in sorrow. “You are just a babe.”
The hairs on the back of Nioma’s neck stood straight up.
Just a babe.
She swallowed harshly, eyeing the locked door with a rising panic. She needed to leave, before someone tried to spy like she had. But Ludivine did not dismiss her, so she could not.
“My lady.” Nioma’s voice shook a bit, slightly pleading. “Would you like me to leave? ”
The queen did not look up, but her voice did grow firm. “No,” she replied, a quiet sort of strength growing in her. “No. I want you to come closer, Nioma. I cannot carry this alone.”
Nioma’s heart pounded in her ears. She carried enough already; grief, guilt, exhaustion, anger. She did not want more to bear. She could not keep filling her already-full cup.
But then her eyes flitted back to her sleeve-clad hand, and she drew in a breath.
And she stepped closer. And closer. It was a full six steps over to the queen’s side, but she didn’t stop holding her breath until her seventh. Her eighth, she curled her hands into tight fists, her nails biting harshly into her palms.
And on her ninth, she finally looked down.
“Beautiful, is she not?” the queen said softly.
Nioma stared into the queen’s covered lap. Nestled into fine silk sheets and warm cotton blankets was…an infant – perhaps one of the smallest that Nioma had ever seen, even swaddled. Its – no, her little eyes were screwed shut, and she held onto the nearest blanket like it was a lifeline. She was obviously still new, perhaps a month old; Nioma knew cradle cap when she saw it. The girl was a blonde, too – but not the same white, cornsilken blonde as the queen. She had the king’s sand-colored hair, like the twins.
The resemblance ended there. Where Ludivine had fair skin, the infant was on the tanner side. The queen’s rounded face looked nothing like the little girl’s diamond-shaped one, nor did she have the same sharp Cupid’s bow – that was the king’s. And that light smattering of freckles that dusted her little nose…
Nioma frowned. Neither the king or queen had freckles.
Then, the girl made a small noise, not quite fussing, but obviously restless. The queen cooed softly in response, and as if the baby had been disturbed, she blinked one eye open. It was a cool blue, the color of a calm sea on a summer’s evening.
Then, she opened the other. It was very, very green. The same jade green as the king’s.
The realization dawned on Nioma then. It was obvious – stupidly, blatantly obvious – but it hadn’t quite hit her until then.
This was not the queen’s baby…
But it was undeniably royal.
Her breath hitched, her gaze flying back to the queen. Ludivine studied the infant carefully, her fingers grazing her cheeks as the baby made another soft sound, her little body twitching as she fought off her own exhaustion.
“What is the easiest way to hide your pain?” the queen had asked Nioma. “When someone you thought to know, someone you trusted, did something that betrayed everything they ever promised…how does one cope with that pain after?”
It remained unspoken, but the air in the queen’s chamber crackled with the truth.
Nioma’s fingers twitched at her sides, and she couldn’t keep the question back this time. “Where was she found?”
The queen lightly poked the baby’s squishy little cheek, to which it made a sound that was almost a giggle. “Outside,” she responded. “On the castle steps in a basket, by the garden.”
Outside? It was freezing tonight! That’s why she was so thoroughly swaddled, then – it was a miracle the poor babe hadn’t frozen to death.
“There was a piece of parchment,” the queen continued, “in the basket with her.” She inclined her head, and Nioma saw the parchment in question poking out of a slightly ajar drawer in the nightstand. She hesitated, but the queen nodded. And, well, if the queen was ordering her to have a look, then Nioma couldn’t refuse.
She slipped it out of the drawer with her good hand and uncurled it, squinting at the message. It was messy and rushed, like whoever wrote it didn’t have enough time to properly write it out. The last letter, in particular, trailed a bit at its end, dragging about a centimeter before it faded off.
I am dying. She’s yours. Take her and love her so.
A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind, all at once in varying degrees of boldness. Who wrote the note? Why were they dying? Was this the baby’s mother? Would the king acknowledge this child as his? Would the queen keep her?
She faltered. Would the queen keep her?
And that, she did not hesitate to voice.
Ludivine scooped the child up in her arms, staring down at her mismatched eyes. “I have been blessed by Amari with two sons, but I have always desired a daughter,” she confessed.
“Even though she is not yours?” Nioma clapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t actually say that out loud, did she?
She did. The queen’s eyes flared with something, but she did not move to reprimand the maid. “Yes. Even though…” Her throat bobbed. “Even though she is not mine.”
And, because the questions kept coming and Nioma couldn’t stop herself: “And what of the king?”
The queen’s face hardened then. It was not something Nioma had ever seen before; in her years as a servant, she’d not seen anything but peace and joy from the queen. But this – this disdain, this bitterness that made Ludivine’s lips tighten at the corners – was unchartered territory, and Nioma knew it did not mean anything good.
“He–” The words seemed to be spit from her lips, as if her tongue was drowning in venom. “He would like to be rid of her, by any means necessary.”
Nioma’s blood chilled.
The king wanted to kill the baby.
“No,” she whispered, and for once, she didn’t care if it was out of line. “No.”
The queen’s arms tightened around the baby girl protectively, and although she was not hers, Nioma knew a mother’s instinct when she saw it. This baby would not – could not – be taken away from Ludivine, whether the king wanted it or not.
“He said he’d do anything,” the queen whispered. “Anything to make up for this.”
I’d tell them that they owe me something of my choosing, but not enough to be selfish.
Nioma’s spirit soared. It seemed so clear now. “Will you ask–”
“No,” the queen said fiercely. “I will not ask. I will demand.”
The maid did nothing to hide her smile, because she, too, had already started to feel protective over the infant. She’d guard that baby with her life, as she would with Halden and Alic, and any other child that the queen claimed as her own.
“Have you considered a name, my lady?” Nioma was so curious. She was already filing through a hundred names that could be bestowed upon the little girl, but none seemed right. Not for this child of tragedy and survival. No; it had to be special, because she was a special baby.
The queen tilted her head. “Yes, actually. I am just not sure how it would sound on another’s tongue.” She glanced sideways at the maid. “Would you…?”
Nioma nodded furiously, eliciting a laugh – an actual laugh – from the queen. “I was thinking…” She trailed off as the baby’s fingers closed tightly around her index finger. “I was thinking Cosette, because she is so small. Cosette Idalia.”
Cosette Idalia. To behold a little sun.
“So be it, then.” Nioma dipped into a courtesy. “Cosette Idalia. Third child of the queen, Princess of Navarre…” She paused. “And little sun.”
And as if magic had heard, the stars grew only brighter.