Chapter 6: A Deal with the Queen

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Next time I saw the queen, I wore a gold-flecked lake blue dress. Though I bowed as always, she couldn’t hide her fear and disgust—because from this angle, I looked most like Margaret Charlotte. Angles are politics.

She set down her teacup. "Lady Evelyn, come massage my shoulders." She liked the sound of commands; it made her feel tall.

I bowed. "Yes." I made my hands obedient.

After massaging, I combed her hair. The comb quieted her thoughts like a promise.

"You’re a maid by birth—no wonder you’re good at serving people," she said lightly. "I heard you even bathed Lady Charlotte. Well, you can wash my feet too." She tossed the cruelty as if it weighed nothing.

I didn’t move. The stillness was deliberate.

Her voice turned cold. "You’ll serve Margaret Charlotte but not me?" Jealousy is a blade that blames the mirror.

I quickly bowed. "I wouldn’t dare." “Dare” is a word that can trap the innocent.

I fetched water, testing the temperature over and over. The basin became a ritual and a shield.

After a dozen trips, her face finally softened. "Enough, you can—" She liked mercy that took long walks.

"What’s the queen doing?" The king’s chilly voice cut in. The queen flinched, knocking over the basin and soaking me. Water makes everyone honest.

I knelt quickly. Her voice trembled with anger. "Lazy wretch! Why didn’t anyone announce His Majesty’s arrival?" Her anger used my wet dress as a prop.

The king ignored her, looking at me. "Lady Evelyn, what do you say?" His gaze made questions feel like traps.

I glanced at the queen. "I volunteered to serve her, Your Majesty." My answer chose obedience as armor.

He was silent, then suddenly smiled.

"Lowborn, is that it?" His smile was a blade of ice.

I quickly corrected myself. "I—I am—" I couldn’t find a safer word fast enough.

He cut me off coldly. "If you want to be a maid, go back to the stables." The sentence was half threat, half dare.

I knelt. "Please spare me. The queen has already punished me. I can’t change my birth, but my heart to serve you is the same as any lady’s." I gave him humility dressed in defiance.

I wept softly, my lake-blue dress clinging to my curves, pitiful and alluring. I knew the theater he liked.

Reminding him of someone, yet not quite. Echoes keep men greedy.

After a while, he laughed.

"Low birth, huh—"

His mood improved. "You’re my woman—who dares say you’re lowborn?" He loved granting dignity like handing out tips.

I smiled through tears. "Yes, yes." Agreement is lighter than rebellion.

"Your Majesty!" the queen protested. "Lady Evelyn offended me—" Her voice walked in its old shoes.

"She’s been punished enough. The queen should see fewer people for a while." He handed out confinement like party favors.

I left with the king, ignoring the queen’s livid face. Ignoring is a luxury and a necessity.

Margaret Charlotte’s words echoed in my mind.

"You’re right—those glorious days were happy. One can’t just exist like a worm; you have to strive, to fight, or you haven’t truly lived." Her voice was both a blessing and a dare.

"Evelyn Doyle, let me ask you."

"—Do you want to be a lady of the court?" The question became a bell inside me.

The king summoned me again that night. Summons feel like tides.

I knelt at his feet, wearing a pale pink camisole, looking up with soft eyes. "I’ve served in the palace ten years, drifting like duckweed. Now, to finally rest by your side—your grace is boundless." I knew exactly how to smooth my voice.

The next day, I became Lady Evelyn. Titles don’t make the bed softer, but they change who tells you to lie in it.