Crowned in Crimson Cinders

Chapter 2: If Only I Could Be Like Them (Revised)

A suffocating heat clung to me, each breath shallow and ragged. My head swam, and a sheen of sweat slicked my scalp. The twisted blankets lay in a defeated pile on the floor, remnants of a restless night. I hauled them back onto the mattress just as a light rap echoed at the door.

"Come in," I called, fingers still smoothing the loose strands of my hair. Filipe entered first, her steps brisk and assured. A silver tray rested effortlessly in her hands, a tall glass of water its centerpiece. Jonie followed, her posture mirroring Filipe's quiet attentiveness.

"Good morning," Filipe offered, placing the tray on the bedside table. Jonie gave a small, reserved nod, a trait I had always admired.

As I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, Jonie was already selecting dresses from the armoire. Her intuitive grasp of my preferences made this daily ritual seamless. Today, she held out two similar gowns: one a soft lilac with delicate floral embroidery, the other a shimmering blue with a subtle weight, its hem adorned with tiny, light-catching beads.

"The blue one, please." She nodded, and I rose, heading for the bathroom door across the room. Jonie handed me the dress, and I changed quickly, a prickle of unease urging me.

Muffled voices drifted from the other side of the bathroom door. I leaned closer, straining to decipher the hushed tones. Jonie and Filipe rarely engaged in gossip.

"...did you hear what happened last night in the throne room?" Jonie's question sent a shiver down my spine.

They knew. They somehow knew about the tense exchange with my mother. How could word have spread so swiftly? It was so late; surely no one was awake to overhear. Unless... the guards.

If my ladies-in-waiting knew, then Amora certainly did. The thought tightened my chest. My elder sister possessed a sharp curiosity, and the details of that private conversation were mine alone to bear.

"No," Filipe replied, her tone firm. "And it's not our place to speculate."

"Come on," Jonie persisted, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't you want to know? They say there was shouting, and Prince Brock stormed out. It must have been a terrible argument."

A fragile tendril of hope unfurled within me. Perhaps they didn't know I was there. Maybe they only knew about Brock. But the next words shattered that possibility.

"But I heard one of the princesses was there too," Jonie added. "Which one do you think it was?"

Silence hung in the air. I held my breath, willing them not to guess my involvement.

"Do you think... maybe—"

"Absolutely not." Filipe's response was sharp, leaving no room for doubt.

I could practically feel their gazes fixed on the bathroom door. I retreated slowly, waiting a beat before opening it and stepping back into the room.

A chair stood before my mirror, hairbrushes neatly arranged – Jonie's handiwork. Filipe stood beside her, holding a brush.

"Anything particular for your hair today?" Filipe asked, her tone expectant.

I offered a small smile, anticipating her mild disapproval. "Just a simple braid down my back."

Filipe's eyes flickered upward in a subtle roll, a private expression of our easy camaraderie. "But we could create something so much more intricate," she said, a hint of playful exasperation in her voice. "Every day, it's just the braid."

While I appreciated their skill, elaborate hairstyles felt cumbersome, a sentiment my mother never understood. "You know my patience wears thin the moment I sit in that chair."