Chapter 228: The Queen’s Summons
Chapter 227: The Queen’s Summons
Lyria’s POV
I stared at the maid with wide eyes.
"What d-do you m-mean?" I asked. "The killer’s new o-obsession—what d-do you mean?"
The maid shook her head.
"This is not the time for discussion, Your Highness. You must go. It is not safe for you to remain here."
"But—"
"I will answer any further questions you have later, when the time is right." Her voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "I will find you then. But you must go now."
I opened my mouth to speak again, to demand more, to insist that she tell me everything she knew about the King’s intentions, about Patricia’s death, about why this had happened and what it meant for me.
But then she pushed me firmly, her hands against my shoulders, urging me toward the door.
"Go," she said. "This is not the time for questions."
I stumbled backward, my feet catching on the uneven stone.
"What is y-your name?" I asked.
The maid paused.
"Glenda," she said.
I nodded, committing it to memory.
Then I turned and ran out of what had once been Patricia’s cell.
---
The corridor outside was dark and cold. I pulled my cloak over my head and kept to the shadows, my footsteps silent against the stone.
My heart was pounding.
My hands were shaking.
My thoughts were a tangled mess of horror and grief and rage, each one vying for dominance, each one threatening to overwhelm me entirely.
I could not think about Patricia.
Not yet.
If I thought about Patricia—if I allowed myself to dwell upon her cold skin, her lifeless eyes, the blood that had soaked through her nightdress and pooled upon the floor—I would collapse. I would fall to my knees and weep until there were no tears left, and I could not afford to do that. Not here. Not now.
I had to survive.
I had to get back to my chambers.
I had to—
I turned a corner and froze.
The King was walking in my direction.
He was not alone. Several guards accompanied him, their armour gleaming faintly in the light, their hands resting upon the swords at their hips. The King himself walked at the centre of the formation, his posture relaxed, his expression almost bored.
As though he had not just murdered a woman.
As though he had not stabbed Patricia eleven times and left her to bleed out upon her own bed.
As though he had not—
Rage surged through me at that moment.
I wanted to attack him.
I wanted to step out of the shadows and confront him, to demand why he had done it, to make him answer for his cruelty. I wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt Patricia, to make him suffer the way she must have suffered in those final moments.
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
My nails bit into my palms, and then I took a breath, calming myself down.
Then another.
I could not attack the King. I was alone, unarmed, and he was surrounded by guards who would cut me down before I took three steps. Even if I succeeded—even if, by some miracle, I managed to land a single blow—I would not survive the attempt.
And I had to survive.
For Patricia.
For my mother.
For the promise I had made to get them both out of this palace, a promise I could no longer keep for one of them, but which I would keep for the other if it was the last thing I did.
I pressed myself deeper into the shadows and held my breath, watching as the King passed by.
My scent was masked, so he would not notice.
None of them did. None of them looked in my direction.
I waited until their footsteps had faded into the distance, until the corridor was silent once more, and only then did I allow myself to move.
And I made my way back to my chambers without incident.
---
The door closed behind me, and I leaned against it, my eyes squeezed shut, my chest heaving.
Patricia was dead.
I removed my clothes, changing into something else and ensuring the others were hidden away. Including the drawing I had made for her.
I sniffled then when I saw it.
How had a day that was supposed to be filled with joy turned into something else entirely?
I could not dwell upon it for long because then I heard a knock at the door.
I could not let anyone see me crying, and so I hurried to the basin and splashed cold water upon my cheeks, scrubbing at the tear tracks, willing my face to return to something resembling composure.
I had just finished when the door opened without my permission.
Diana stepped inside, her expression sharp, her eyes scanning the room as though searching for evidence of some transgression.
She looked at me.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
I sighed. The irritation bubbled beneath my skin, but I was too tired to give it proper voice.
"What d-do you want, Diana?" I asked. "I gave y-you the day off. Why are you p-present now?"
Her eyes narrowed.
"A-and g-given that you are seeing me after a c-considerable amount of t-time has passed," I continued, "should y-you not greet me a-appropriately?"
Diana rolled her eyes.
It was a deliberate gesture, unmistakable in its insolence.
"Perhaps," she said, "if you had not landed us in trouble, I might have done that. But as it stands, because of you, the Queen has summoned all of us. You included."
I stared at her for a while.
I had no strength left for this. No energy to argue, to fight, to defend myself against whatever accusation was about to be levelled at me, so I simply nodded.
"Give m-me a minute w-while I m-make myself presentable," I said.
Diana shook her head.
"I would advise against it. The Queen is impatient. She has been searching for you for some time now, after all. It would be better if we took our leave immediately."
