Chapter 235: Beneath the Canopy
Chapter 234: Beneath the Canopy
Lyria’s POV
The maids helped me dress.
The morning light was pale and grey, filtering through the curtains in weak streams that did little to warm the chill in my chambers. I stood before the tall mirror in the corner while Diana and Sally moved about me with practised efficiency, their hands quick and sure.
Theresa prepared the bath in the adjoining washroom, and when the water was ready, I stepped into it. The water was warm, scented with herbs I did not recognize—something sharp and green, with an undertone of something floral beneath it. The steam rose in soft curls, carrying the scent through the room, and I breathed it in deeply, hoping it might ease the ache in my bones.
"The Queen sent these," Theresa said, gesturing to the herbs floating in the water. "They are meant to speed the recovery of injuries."
I did not ask why the Queen had suddenly decided to care about my recovery. I knew better than to look for kindness in her actions. The herbs were not a gift; they were a tool. She needed me presentable for the dates. She needed me to walk without limping, to sit without wincing, to appear as though I had not spent the night dancing on wounded feet.
I had to admit, though, that the herbs helped. The sharp sting in my cuts began to dull, and the ache in my back softened to something almost tolerable. It was not a cure, and it was not kindness, but it was something.
When the bath was done, Diana helped me out of the water and wrapped me in a soft cloth. Sally dried my hair while Theresa applied a fresh salve to the cuts on my feet—something that smelled of honey and bitter herbs, sharp against my nostrils. The ointment stung at first, then cooled, then settled into a warmth that spread through my soles.
The treatments continued. Theresa applied more ointment to the wounds on my back, while Diana worked on my face, applying creams and powders that concealed the dark circles beneath my eyes and the pallor of my skin. They wrapped my feet in fresh bandages, soft and clean, and then they helped me into my gown.
The gown was soft blue, the fabric light and flowing, with long sleeves and a high neckline that covered the bandages on my back. Sally fastened the buttons with quick, efficient fingers. Theresa knelt to place slippers upon my feet—soft ones, with thick soles that cushioned the bandages beneath.
If I had a choice, I would not be going on this date.
I would be in my chambers, alone, with nothing but silence and the blessed darkness of sleep. I would close my eyes and let the exhaustion take me, let my body rest, let my mind drift into the empty peace of unconsciousness. I was tired. I needed to rest. I wanted to rest.
But I could not afford it.
So I stood before the mirror in silence while the maids worked, and I did not complain. When they finished, I looked at my reflection. The woman who stared back at me looked composed, even pretty, her features soft and unmarked. There was no trace of the night’s ordeal upon her face. No hint of the exhaustion that dragged at her limbs.
The makeup had done its work.
---
The garden was the same one where I had met Lucian for our date.
The eastern garden, with its winding paths and its fountain at the centre, its tall hedges and its carefully manicured flower beds. The morning light was soft and golden, filtering through the leaves of the trees, casting dappled shadows across the grass. A small pavilion had been set up near the fountain—a structure of white fabric and wooden poles, open on all sides, with a roof that provided shade from the sun. Beneath it, a small table had been arranged, with two chairs facing each other across a cloth of pale linen.
Baron Redwick was already there.
He stood near the pavilion, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight and composed. He wore a coat of deep brown today, the colour rich against the pale fabric of his shirt, and his spectacles caught the light as he turned toward me.
He bowed immediately.
"Your Highness," he said.
There was a frown on his face as his gaze moved over me.
I curtsied.
"Good m-morning, B-baron Redwick," I said.
He straightened.
"Would you prefer to stroll through the garden," he asked, "or would you prefer to sit beneath the pavilion?"
I smiled.
"I th-think I should like to s-sit," I said. "If that is a-agreeable to you."
"Of course."
He gestured toward the pavilion, and I walked ahead of him, my steps slow and careful. The slippers cushioned my feet, but the bandages beneath were still tender, and I did not wish to wince in front of him.
I took my seat then, and he took his opposite me.
For a moment, he simply looked at me. His gaze was steady, thoughtful, and there was something in it that I could not quite read.
"Is there s-something t-the matter, my l-lord?" I asked.
He shook his head.
"I am not certain," he said.
He paused.
Then, softly, he asked, "Are you quite well, Your Highness?"
I nodded, smiling even though my heart rate increased.
"Why w-would you ask m-me that?"
He stared at me for a moment longer. Then he shook his head.
"No reason," he said. "Forgive me."
I turned toward the table. Several maids stood at attention nearby—new ones, not Diana or Sally or Theresa, but others whose names I did not know. They had arranged the refreshments with care.
There were small sandwiches, their crusts removed, filled with cucumber and cream cheese, with smoked salmon and dill, with egg and cress. There were savoury pastries, golden and flaky, filled with spiced meat and mushrooms. There were tiny quiches, their surfaces golden and gleaming, and bowls of olives and pickled vegetables arranged in neat, colourful rows. There were also sweets—small cakes dusted with sugar, fruit tarts glazed with syrup, and a selection of biscuits arranged in a careful spiral.
It was far more than what had been provided for my date with Alistair. The Queen had made certain that nothing would appear amiss today, it seemed.
I gestured to one of the maids.
"Tea, please," I said.
The maid curtsied and stepped forward, pouring the steaming liquid into two porcelain cups. The scent rose from the cups, warm and citrusy, and I wrapped my fingers around the delicate handle, grateful for the warmth.
I took a sip.
The tea was hot and fragrant, and it warmed me from the inside out. I felt some of the tension in my shoulders ease, felt the chill that had settled into my bones begin to fade.
I set the cup down and looked at Baron Redwick.
"I quite e-enjoyed your p-poem," I said.
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "While my poem was adequate, it was not what was instructed."
I tilted my head.
"Oh?"
He nodded.
"The task was to compose something that resonated with the Moon candidates. What I wrote resonated with my people more."
He paused, adjusting his spectacles with a careful, precise motion.
"Your Highness, if it is not any trouble, I have something I wish to ask you," he said. "Regarding that day."
I smiled.
"A-ask away," I said.
