The morning sun bathed the palace gardens in a golden glow, a warm contrast to the tension brewing within its walls. Alice sat on a finely cushioned bench beneath a blossoming archway, her silken gown cascading elegantly around her. In her arms, she cradled the infant prince, but her fingers barely touched him. The three maids flitted around her like anxious birds, adjusting the blanket, positioning the child just so, and ensuring that Alice did not so much as shift uncomfortably.
"Fetch me the softer cloth," Alice instructed one of the maids as she pretended to dab at the baby's cheek. "The air is too dry today."
"Yes, Your Grace," the maid curtsied and hurried off, though the child had shown no discomfort.
The second maid kneeled beside her, positioning a delicate sunshade to shield Alice and her son from the mild morning light. The third adjusted the baby's tiny hand, as if ensuring it rested just perfectly for anyone who might pass by and see.
Alice smiled, a soft, angelic expression practiced to perfection. "There now, my darling," she cooed, just loud enough for the nearby gardeners and passing courtiers to hear. "You will be the most beloved prince this kingdom has ever known."
Her words, though spoken with affection, held a weight deeper than mere motherly devotion. She knew eyes were always watching. And if Philip hesitated to grant her son his rightful place, then she would make certain the people saw him as their prince before the king ever made it official.
One of the older noblewomen passing by slowed her steps, smiling approvingly. "A devoted mother, truly," she murmured to her companion.
Alice heard it, and satisfaction swelled in her chest. The show was working.
The perfect morning shattered like fragile glass.
Alice's practiced smile faltered as an old woman, clad in tattered rags, shuffled toward her through the garden path. The baby cooed softly, oblivious to the shift in his mother's demeanor.
The scent of damp earth and dried herbs clung to the woman, a stark contrast to the perfumed roses surrounding them. Alice lifted her gaze, and her breath caught. Beneath the ragged hood, she recognized the sharp eyes and thin lips of the very witch she had secretly enlisted.
The color drained from Alice's face. Her grip on the baby tightened involuntarily.
The witch smiled—a slow, knowing grin that made Alice's skin prickle.
Alice leaned forward, her voice a harsh whisper. "What on earth are you doing here?"
The maids, oblivious to their mistress's distress, continued adjusting blankets and fixing the baby's tiny bonnet. But the witch ignored them all, stepping closer, her voice raspy yet calm.
"You didn't think I'd come to collect my due?" she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "A deal is a deal, Your Grace."
Alice swallowed hard, glancing around, her mind racing. There were too many eyes here. Too many ears.
With a forced smile, she rose gracefully, nodding to the maids. "Take the prince inside," she instructed, her voice smooth despite the cold sweat forming at the nape of her neck. "I need a moment."
The maids obeyed without question, and once they were gone, Alice turned to the witch, her mask of composure cracking at the edges.
"You were supposed to stay hidden," she hissed. "I told you—"
"You told me many things," the witch interrupted, her grin widening. "But I'm not one of your trained lapdogs. And I don't like waiting."
Alice's pulse thundered in her ears. This was not part of the plan.
YOU ARE READING
The Queen
Storie d'AmoreCOMPLETE She was never meant to be queen. She was never meant to fall in love with the king. And she was never meant to survive the price of both. In a kingdom where loyalty is dangerous and love is a liability, Queen Samira finds herself tangled in...
