Chapter 6

The gates looked like teeth from this angle, iron spikes catching the dying light, crowned with the same crest that had nearly cost Jade her hand three days ago.

She recognized them immediately. And that was the worst part.

She'd already seen this place — the same marble, the gold-plated walls, the hall where a King had gripped her chin like she was something he'd found rather than someone he'd sentenced. She'd told herself, walking out of that hall alive, that she'd never have to set foot past those gates again. She'd been wrong.

The carriage rattled over the same cobblestones she remembered being dragged across. This time, no one was pulling her by the arms, but somehow, that made it worse. There was nothing to fight against. No guard's grip to resist. Just her own feet carrying her back to the place that had already tried to take something from her.

Two guards sat with her in the carriage, silent, watching her with caution,the exact way you'd watch something that might still bolt.

Fair enough. Three days ago, she would have.

The gardens beyond the gates gave new view to her, at least she hadn't seen this part before. The last time, she'd been dragged straight into the hall of judgment. Now she passed neatly trimmed hedges and fountains catching the dying light, beautiful enough to belong in a story told to children who had never known hunger.

Servants loitered along the paths with baskets and linens, each hurried from one duty to another, as though an unseen eye watched their every move, and an unseen hand waited to punish the smallest mistake. None of them sparing the  more than a glance.

"They don't know," Jade said quietly.

Neither guard answered. Their silence told her more than words would have.

The carriage stopped at the base of the same wide stone staircase she remembered climbing under guard. Edmund stepped down first and waited for her to follow.

"This way."

She climbed down, meeting his cold, unreadable gaze for a moment before following him up the stairs.

Jade stepped down onto gravel raked fine as combed hair and followed him up the steps.

Her eyes dropped to her hands for a moment. There were no rope biting into her wrists this time. No guards hauling her by the arms, nothing stopping her if she wanted to turn around.

And yet, her feet kept moving.

Last time, she'd had no choice in whether her feet carried her forward. She'd fought every step, twisted against their grip, desperate to get away. Now no one was forcing her. That should have made it easier.

Instead, her chest tightened with every step.

She reached the top and glanced back at the gravel below. For one brief moment, she wondered what would happen if she simply walked away.

Her fingers curled into her palms.

Then she turned back towards the palace. 

At the top, a woman waited.                            Silver-haired, dressed in deep blue, with a ring of keys hanging heavily at her hip. Her eyes moved slowly over Jade, from her worn boots to her face, lingering just long enough to make Jade shift uncomfortably.

There was no warmth in them, not even curiosity.

Just the cold precision of someone taking inventory of damaged goods.

"So this is her," the woman said — not to Jade, but past her, to Edmund. "Thinner than the Princess. And her posture is atrocious."

"She'll be corrected." Edmund answered, simple and short. 

"She'd better be." The woman's eyes finally landed on Jade, direct and unimpressed. Her gaze held quiet contempt and disdain. 

"I am Mrs. Farrow. I oversee this household — which means, for the foreseeable future, I oversee you. You rise when I say rise. You dress when I say dress. You speak only when spoken to in the presence of nobility. Do precisely as you're told, because the alternative is a mistake neither of us can afford."

Jade held her gaze, refusing to blink first — the same instinct that had kept her alive in the hall days ago. "And if I don't?" 

Something flickered across Farrow's face — not quite a smile. "Then you'll learn very quickly what happens to girls who forget their place here." She turned without waiting for a response. "Aurelia never needed reminding twice. Let's hope you're half as clever as she was."

Jade followed her — this time not through the hall of judgment, but down a different corridor, one she hadn't seen before.

Portraits lined the walls on either side, generations of royal faces staring down from gilded frames. None of them smiled. Some looked stern, others cold, but every pair of painted eyes seemed to follow her.

Her footsteps slowed without meaning to. 

She glanced from one portrait to another, suddenly aware of her worn boots against the polished floor, inferiority seeped in immediately. 

She felt their eyes on her as she walked beneath them, as though she were already being weighed and found lacking.

Near the end of the hall, one portrait stopped her leaving her completely cold.

A young woman. Dark-haired. Sharp-eyed. Dressed in royal blue.

Staring back at Jade with her own exact face. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Jade caught herself, fingers brushing the wall.

“Aurelia,” Mrs. Farrow said, not slowing her stride or glancing back to see if Jade had frozen where she stood. “You'll be seeing quite a lot of her, I imagine. In mirrors. In portraits.”

Jade's throat tightened.

Farrow finally paused, though she still didn't turn around.

“In everyone's eyes,” she continued, her voice quiet. “Every single time they look at you and expect to find someone who isn't there anymore.”

Jade stared up at the painted version of herself, the girl she was meant to become, dead and smiling down from a gilded frame.

The sight made her stomach clench. 

For a moment, she couldn't look away. That face was hers, yet somehow it wasn't. The painted girl's eyes seemed almost too calm, too certain of the life Jade was about to steal.

Jade swallowed and looked away first.

She'd survived this palace once already, by the skin of her teeth and the King's strange mercy.

But as she looked around, a chill ran through her.

She had no idea if she'd survive it a second time.

Mrs. Farrow walked past the portrait without stopping and turned into another corridor. Jade followed.

This one was narrower, and the ceiling felt lower. The air was warmer too, making the back of her neck prickle.

"Your chambers," Farrow said, stopping before a set of double doors carved with the same crest Jade had come to hate — crown over crossed swords, small and precise, worked into the wood like even the furniture here couldn't let her forget where she was. "The Princess's rooms. Yours now, I suppose."

She pushed the doors open like she didn't care whether Jade was ready or not.

The room beyond was bigger than every place Jade had ever lived in put together.

A large bed sat in the middle, covered in blue silk. Bottles and brushes still crowded the dressing table, untouched for months. The balcony doors were open, letting in the last of the evening air. Nothing had been moved.

It was as if Aurelia had left the room that morning and never came back. Like everyone was too afraid to touch anything that still belonged to her.

Jade stepped inside slowly, aware of Farrow watching her reaction, cataloguing it the way she'd cataloged everything else.

"Someone still keeps this room," Jade said tracing a finger on a furniture. It wasn't a question. The dust hadn't settled the way it should have on three months of abandonment. The sheets looked freshly changed, the blue silk curtains clean as they danced to the air that drifted into the room through the window. 

"The Queen insists," Farrow said. "Whether that comforts her or torments her, I couldn't say." She moved to the dressing table, running one finger along its edge, checking for dust out of pure habit. "You'll sleep here tonight. Someone will bring your things tomorrow — what little you have."

Jade walked over to the balcony, drawn by the cool air, and looked down at a garden she hadn't seen from the front.

It was smaller and less neat than the gardens near the entrance. The hedges had grown wild in places, like no one had bothered to keep this part of the palace perfect. Then their eyes met. 

A figure stood among the hedges below.Tall. Still. Watching the balcony, watching her with an intensity that made the fine hairs on Jade's arms rise before she'd even consciously registered him as anything worth noticing.

He didn't look away when she noticed him.

If anything, his eyes seemed to settle on her even more. Then a slow smile spread across his face, like he wasn't in any hurry to look away.

“Who is that?” Jade asked, keeping her voice steady even as her pulse quickened.

Farrow followed her gaze. For the first time since Jade had met her, something flickered across the woman's face.

It was gone almost as quickly as it came.

"That," Farrow said carefully, "is Prince Lucien. The Princess's stepbrother." A pause. "You'll meet him properly soon enough. For now, I'd suggest coming away from the balcony."

Jade didn't move at first. Something stubborn kept her standing there, even though every part of her wanted to step back into the room.

Below, Lucien tilted his head, almost amused.

Then he raised two fingers to his brow, somewhere between a salute and a greeting.

Jade stepped back from the balcony at last, her heart hammering harder than it had climbing the palace stairs.

"He looked at me like—" She stopped, unable to finish the thought out loud.

Farrow didn't finish it for her this time. "Get some rest," was all she said, already moving toward the door. She paused at the threshold, glancing back once. "And Jade — close your balcony doors at night. The garden air isn't good for sleeping."

She left before Jade could ask if that was the real reason.

Jade stood alone in the fading light of a dead girl's bedroom, staring at the balcony doors Farrow had told her to lock.

Her hands were still shaking.She reached for the doors but then stopped abruptly. 

Down in the garden, Lucien was still standing there.And this time, he was no longer smiling.