The Dark Trinity

Chapter 6

The next morning, Amelia woke to the pale light of dawn streaming through the tiny window of her servant's quarters.

She sat up slowly, her body stiff from another night spent on the hard cot. It had been weeks since she’d left the dungeon, and though her body had regained some strength, the weight of her memories and the relentless tasks of her new life left her feeling just as drained. 

Today, she decided to wear her veil again. After yesterday’s encounter with Queen Julian, Amelia felt an overwhelming urge to hide herself, to blend into the shadows and make herself small. Very small.

The guard's advice echoed in her mind: "Stay in the corners of the palace"

She adjusted the veil, pulling it low over her face, and headed to the kitchen to begin her morning routine. 

The older maid who had been supervising her handed her a tray and a pitcher of wine. 

“Today, you’ll refill the drinks in the courtroom,” the woman said curtly. 

Amelia froze, her stomach knotting. “Please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Can I do something else? Anything else?” 

The older maid’s lips thinned into a straight line. “No, girl. The court doesn’t care for excuses, and neither do I. If you disobey, you’ll face punishment.” 

Amelia’s hands tightened around the tray as dread settled over her. There was no escape. 

Amelia entered quietly, the tray and pitcher of wine trembling in her hands. She felt every pair of eyes in the room turn toward her, and her instinct was to shrink into herself, to disappear. She lowered her gaze, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, and moved quickly to her task. 

The courtroom was a grand space, its vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to climb endlessly toward the heavens. Tall windows lined the walls, casting slants of golden light across the polished stone floor.

At the center of the room was a long table surrounded by nobles, each draped in fine silks and brocades, their expressions ranging from bored indifference to sharp curiosity. 

The faint hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by occasional laughter or the clink of silverware against goblets.

Whispers of nobles and advisors mingling like the faint rustling of leaves. Amelia stood in the corner of the grand room, her head bowed, clutching the heavy wine bottle.

She dared not meet anyone's gaze, her body tense with the weight of eyes that she knew were occasionally drifting her way. 

Amelia moved cautiously, her hands trembling slightly as she approached the table to refill the glasses. Her veil low over her face, hiding her from the piercing gazes of the nobility seated around the long table.

The nobles murmured to one another, their voices barely more than whispers. Despite their supposed disinterest, she could feel their eyes on her as she poured the crimson liquid into the goblets, curiosity gnawed at her resolve.

As she stepped back into the corner after her first round, her eyes flickered upward, unable to resist taking in the figures seated at the grand table. 

Her gaze settled on the man sitting at the center—a presence that demanded attention, even in silence. He exuded authority, his massive frame clad in a dark, richly embroidered tunic.

His sharp jawline, strong cheekbones, and piercing eyes spoke of a man used to command. A golden crown rested atop his head, its intricate design glinting in the sunlight. He looked every bit the warlord, the ruler of men.