The Death of a Tyrant's Concubine

CHAPTER 08 - Thing of nightmares

***

The drawing room murmured with the soft rustle of needlework as most of the Clover concubines and I sat hunched in our chairs. Every woman focused on the delicate task of embroidery for the Royal Hunt. Sunlight filtered through the cracked window, casting shadows over half-finished flowers, mountains, and thorned vines in brilliant threadwork.

I had one month left until the Royal Hunt and neither my High Elvish nor my embroidering skills were where I needed it to be.

Nearly three weeks had passed since I'd begun stitching, yet the thread still slipped wrong in my hand. Every attempt at a pattern collapsed into uneven lines and twisted knots.

I took a breath, glancing down at the design I'd been trying to replicate. My canary looked more like a sickly pigeon.

"Hold your needle at the base, Princess," Lady Talia whispered gently beside me. Her soft, mousy hair fell in wisps over her forehead as she leaned in to demonstrate. "It won't slip as much if you keep a steady hand."

I adjusted my grip, struggling to follow her careful instructions. Talia's movements were deft and quiet, and I found myself wishing for her calm poise. Though I could barely hear her over Lady Virella's exasperated sighs.

"Honestly, Raine," Virella muttered, eyes narrowed over her own delicate stitches of black roses on a green silk handkerchief. "Are you trying to make that canary look like it's been mauled?"

A helpless snort escaped me despite my growing frustration.

Virella's words could cut, but her sharpness resembled more that of a thorned rose these days. Prickly, yes, but still pleasant to be around.

"What if I pretend its sorry state is intentional?" I suggested, lifting my tragic canary for her scrutiny. "A battle-worn bird, returning from some harrowing ordeal?"

"Oh, for the love of— here." Virella yanked the fabric from me, a huff escaping her thin lips as she demonstrated a few firm, clean stitches. "The emperor's off crushing yet another rebellion from one of the conquered lands and I doubt he'll return half as mangled as this bird."

I soured at the thought of Sylvos returning.

The inner court had been blissfully quiet in the weeks of his absence. Whispers rippled through the ladies on the day of his departure, claiming he lingered near the bridge to Clover Castle. Why, I'd rather not know. I'd been careful to stay in my room that day, willing him gone.

If only some courageous rebel would rid the world of him, I mused.

Alas, such fortune would never come my way. That, I already knew.

I focused instead on Virella's hands as she stitched — every movement of her needle deft and determined. Even in her annoyance, there was a singular focus about her, as if every stitch held an unyielding purpose.

Talia's gentle voice broke the silence.

"Don't worry, you've improved so much, Princess. Look here," she murmured, pointing to the curve of the canary's wing where the stitching was, admittedly, a little less horrid than the rest.

"One good line won't get me promoted," I groaned, sinking back into the chair.

Talia's warm brown eyes softened.

"I'll miss you when you leave..."

I glanced over at her, my brow raised. Though her cheeks had filled out in recent weeks, and her once-sallow figure had begun to regain strength and return to a naturally tanned color, she still avoided meeting people's eyes.