Book One: The Marigold's Larkspur ~ A tale of mystery, magic, and obsession.

Chapter Nine

Cressida lay on the bed, staring at the decorative ceiling of her bedroom on the seventh day of her captivity. Despite the luxurious surroundings, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that had settled in her stomach since her dance with Callidus. She had been so caught up in the moment, so carried away by the music and the magic, that she had forgotten for a while the weight of her situation. But now, it all came crashing back. The accusations, the isolation, the uncertainty of her future, all of it was just too much.

She let out a deep breath, pressing a hand to her forehead to massage the tension. She had to do something, but she had no idea what.

As she lay there, lost in thought, she heard a knock on the door. She hesitated for a moment before calling out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Mint stepped through. "Good morning, Your Highness," she said with a polite bow.

Cressida sat up, grateful for the distraction. "It's morning already?" she said as she started shifting off the bed. "I barely slept."

Mint's face softened with sympathy as she made her way to the wardrobe and Cressida made her way to a standing position.

"What would you like to wear today?" Mint asked as she sifted through the dresses.

"It doesn't matter, Mint. I'm not going anywhere."

Mint turned her head to look at her with a patient expression. After a few seconds, Cressida sighed and said, "Something comfortable please."

Mint nodded and pulled out one of her soft travel dresses. While Mint helped her out of her nightgown and into the dress, she asked, "Is there anything you would like to do today, Your Highness? You could have your breakfast in the garden? Or perhaps I can bring you a new book to read."

"You sound like a real Lady's maid now, Mint." Cressida said, her tone warm, picturing how timid Mint was when they first met. "You're a fast learner. Maybe once whatever happens to me is through, you could serve the queen."

Mint smiled faintly as she laced the back of Cressida's dress, stringing the ribbon through each grommet. She lacked the soldier speed of Cilla but had become careful and precise with her movements. It was hard to imagine that just a few days ago she had no idea how to assist in dressing her.

Cressida paused.

"The queen..." she repeated, realization dawning. "I haven't tried to speak to Queen Roslindis."

"Her Majesty is also in the period of mourning, your highness."

Cressida deflated, sighing. Of course. Prince Ferox was her son after all.

Mint hesitated, holding both laces in her hands, before she spoke in hushed tones. "Although, your highness...it likely wouldn't, ah, do you any good to speak to Her Majesty."

Cressida glanced over her shoulder at her. "Why do you say that?"

Mint shifted on her feet, looking uncomfortable. "I've overheard one of her Ladies in waiting. They say that Her Majesty has been convinced of your guilt, even more so than His Majesty."

"What?" Cressida said in disbelief, heart sinking. She pictured the calm and collected queen at the dinner table and their brief but friendly conversation about Merossian mead. She had hoped that perhaps Queen Roslindis would be more open-minded than her husband, but it seemed that was not the case.

Once Cressida was dressed, Mint brushed her hair and braided it into a loose, elegant style. The bedroom now looked lived in, with hair supplies on the vanity and several of Cressida's things on every surface. It was only now, looking at her face in the mirror, that Cressida realized Mint seemed rather subdued with a faraway look in her eyes.