Chapter 3: Stolen Glory at the Shadow Palace

When Galen brought me to the Shadow Palace, it was already dusk. A general hurried over: "Lady Blackwood’s been waiting in the hall. Please, Your Highness, bring this young lady in."

At the door, a middle-aged woman rushed over and hugged Galen tight. "Son, you’re finally home."

"I found the Heartstone." Galen pulled out a droplet-shaped, shimmering gem from his satchel. "Mother, keep this on you every day. It’ll fix your heart."

So that was the legendary Heartstone—he did all that for his mom. Gotta admit, that’s sweet.

Galen’s mom turned to me. "And this young lady is...?"

I snapped into goody-two-shoes mode, all smiles.

"Mother, this is Maeve, my future Queen," Galen said, grinning.

"Miss Maeve is quite the beauty—skin like cream, such a delicate build. Clearly raised well. Not the daughter of some Lord, are you?" She took my hand, inspecting me.

"My dad’s not a Lord."

She paused, pulled her hand back. "Then your mentor?"

"Evelyn, Lady of Healing Hill."

In the royal pecking order, there’s Knight, Baron, Lord, Duke, High Duke. Lord isn’t exactly top tier. Galen’s mom went silent, her eyes darting away.

Galen didn’t notice the awkward tension, just figured we were done. He took my hand. "Mother, it’s late. I’ll take Mae to our rooms to rest."

"If you two stay together, it’ll ruin her reputation." She blocked him, arms crossed.

Galen just laughed. "What’s done is done. Little late for that now."

She wouldn’t budge. "No. I’ve arranged other lodging for her. Fiona, take her to Ivy Court."

Galen frowned as the maid led me away. Wait—where’s my Prince now?

Fiona led me on a never-ending walk to Ivy Court. The place was a mess, overgrown and neglected. Inside, it looked abandoned except for a blanket that looked like it’d just been thrown there. Yeah, Galen’s mom wasn’t exactly rolling out the welcome mat. Fiona, probably under orders, stayed guard outside.

I crawled into bed. Half asleep, I felt someone scoop me up. Blinking, I saw Galen’s face hovering above. The room was lit up. Still groggy, I rubbed my eyes and mumbled, "Where am I?"

"My chambers." Galen cradled me, laying us both on a bed softer than clouds. "Without you, my arms feel empty. I can’t sleep."

I wriggled around until I found my favorite spot, let out a tiny yawn.

"Sleep." Galen gently patted my back, coaxing me to dreamland.

Next morning, I woke up in his bed. Galen was nowhere to be found. So he snuck me out but didn’t bother sending me back? Typical.

A line of maids helped me wash up, another line brought in food. I took a bite—ugh, gross.

One maid explained, "Miss, this is the palace’s best chef’s state banquet menu. Most people never get to try these delicacies."

I stared at her. "This is a delicacy?"

I marched straight to the kitchen. The chef was prepping fish—he scooped a live one from a bucket, whacked it dead, skipped scaling or gutting, chopped it in half, tossed it in hot oil for maybe ten seconds, and called it done. I was horrified. The fish was half-raw, stank, and just... ew. No way to fix that mess—had to start from scratch.

"Move over." I nudged the chef aside, rolled up my sleeves, grabbed the knife. I cleaned and filleted the fish, seasoned it up, then seared it in butter until the skin got nice and crispy. Poured in cream, added leeks and potatoes, and let it all simmer until the broth turned thick and rich. The whole kitchen filled with the smell of creamy chowder—chefs and maids started drooling, even a few courtiers poked their heads in.

"Miss, what is that? It smells amazing! My mouth’s watering just standing here."

"New England fish chowder," I said, chin high, feeling all American for a second. There’s nothing like a big pot of comfort food—reminds me of home, cozy and safe.

With all the chefs begging, I decided to teach them. Mornings were nutrition basics; afternoons, hands-on cooking lessons. There were a few disasters—someone set a pan on fire, another tried to boil eggs in oil—but hey, learning curve.

Galen’s mom brought in a girl: "This is the Chancellor’s daughter, Cecily. She wants to learn to cook—teach her everything you know."

Cecily strutted in like she owned the place, chin up, radiating attitude and scorn. I didn’t say much—just taught her everything, no matter how she acted.

A few days later, Galen’s mom hosted a banquet, inviting all the bigwigs to taste the "delicacies." They dug in, eyes wide, raving, "Delicious! Never had anything like this!"

"Lady Blackwood, who made these?"

Hearing all the praise, I was bone-tired but proud. Galen’s mom smiled, stood up, and announced, "These dishes were Cecily’s creation."

I froze, then let out a very unladylike snort.

She took Cecily’s hand, dragged her over to Galen. "Galen, come taste Cecily’s cooking—she made it just for you, got blisters on her hands. Well?"

Cecily acted all shy. "Galen, try it."

Galen shot his mom a look, barely moving his lips. "It’s fine."

The whole banquet turned into Cecily’s victory lap.

Afterward, I tried to talk to Galen’s mom, but she whisked Galen off to the study. Cecily blocked my path. "Galen and I grew up together, you know? I know everything about him. You think you can be Queen? Don’t kid yourself—it’s laughable."

"Stealing my credit—don’t you feel even a little guilty?"

"I took it, so what? What are you gonna do about it? Do you know who my dad is? And Lady Blackwood’s on my side."

I went back to my room, crawled under the covers. I didn’t cry at the banquet, or on the road, or even now. But when Galen finally came back, standing by the bed so long I thought he’d left, he said, "Sorry you had to go through that."

My eyes burned, tears pouring down. I couldn’t stop. I sobbed until I was wiped out, then whimpered, "I got blisters too, look..."

I stuck out my hand, all pathetic. Galen took it gently, pulled me into a hug, patting my back in silence. I cried myself to sleep.

Right before I drifted off, I rasped, "Galen, when are you gonna make me Queen?"

But I don’t think I heard his answer before sleep took me.