*****

Iris found herself drawn closer to Queen Isabella, spending the majority of her time in her presence. Despite her best efforts, however, she couldn't capture even a fleeting smile or a single word from the King. Each time she approached him with a greeting, he merely glanced her way before moving on, as was his custom. Initially, this rejection weighed heavily on Iris's heart, causing her much distress. Yet, as time passed, she came to accept the King's aloofness as a challenge rather than a personal affront.

She recognized his discerning nature, realizing that she was just one among many vying for his attention. She realized that winning the King's favor was akin to scaling a fortress wall - a daunting task that required patience and resilience.

She resolved never to falter in her pursuit, determined to leave an indelible mark on the King's consciousness.

As usual, Iris took a different path to avoid crossing paths with Magnus and Kyrell, not wanting to attract their attention. She made her way to the queen's room, where she prepared tea and stood by the window. The queen, seated in an ornate chair, savored the tea while a maid presented new tailored clothes for her approval.

Iris gazed out the window, her mind wandering until the distant sound of a horse-drawn carriage caught her attention. She quickly moved to the mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she grabbed a lipstick and applied it to her lips. The motion drew the queen's gaze.

Isabella, the queen, paused her review of the clothes and signaled the maid to step back. Rising gracefully, she approached Iris and selected a different shade of lipstick from the vanity. Handing it to Iris, she said softly, "This one suits you better. Wipe off the other."

Smiling, Iris dabbed at the rouge on her lips with a lace-edged handkerchief handed to her by the maid. She then applied the crimson lipstick that the Queen had gifted her, its vibrant hue a striking contrast to the pallor of her porcelain skin. With a graceful turn, she moved past the Queen and approached the mullioned window, her gaze drifting to where the King conversed with the Knight beside the stately horse carriage.

The Queen watched Iris's lips, a satisfied smile playing on her own as she admired her choice of color. But it was Iris's expression that truly captivated her-a smile blossomed, radiant and untouched by any shadow of the court's intrigue. It was a smile the Queen had never seen grace Iris's face before. Intrigued, the Queen stepped closer, her silk gown whispering against the polished wooden floor, and peered over Iris's shoulder to observe the scene outside.

There, she saw the King concluding his conversation with the Knight, his figure regal and commanding even in such mundane moments. As he turned to walk away, the Queen's smile faltered. She glanced back at Iris, whose eyes remained fixed on the King, her smile unwavering and filled with an emotion the Queen now recognized.

A pang of realization struck the Queen. She recalled how Iris often stood by this very window, her eyes searching the grounds below. The Queen had always assumed Iris was simply admiring the garden's beauty, reveling in the serenity of nature. But now, she understood that Iris's attentions were not for the blossoms or the trees, but for something-or someone-that the Queen had believed was solely hers.

No one had foreseen the events that would soon unfold, marking the beginning of a profound transformation. It all began with an unexpected visit the following morning.

As dawn's light filtered through the mullioned windows, casting soft shadows on the stone walls, Iris was preparing to visit the queen's chamber. However, to her surprise, the queen herself appeared at her door. The heavy oak creaked as it opened, revealing the regal figure of the queen, adorned in a richly embroidered gown of deep burgundy.

"Your Majesty," Iris said, curtsying low. "Please, come in."

Iris moved to prepare the tea, her hands deft and practiced. But the queen raised a delicate hand, adorned with a single ruby ring, and said, "Today, I shall prepare the tea."

Confused but compliant, Iris stepped back. The queen, with a gentle yet firm touch, guided Iris to a chair, pressing her shoulders down until she sat. Iris glanced at the maid, giving a subtle nod to dismiss her. The maid curtsied and quietly exited, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

The queen moved gracefully about the room, her presence commanding yet serene. She selected the finest tea leaves and began the ritual. The fragrance of steeping tea soon filled the room.

When the tea was ready, the queen poured it into delicate porcelain cups and handed one to Iris. As Iris took a sip, the warmth of the tea spread through her, and a smile of approval touched her lips.

The queen's eyes sparkled with quiet satisfaction, then drifted toward the window, her gaze sweeping over the bustling courtyard below. The sunlight filtered through the glass, casting a warm glow on her elegant gown. "Iris, fetch me a different shade of lipstick, will you? This one makes me look dreadfully pale," she murmured, her eyes narrowing as she observed King Lucious issuing stern commands to the guards by the gate.

Iris quickly selected a deeper shade from the ornate vanity and handed it to the Queen. Queen Isabella stepped in front of the mirror, wiped off the current lipstick with a delicate handkerchief, then meticulously applied the new color. Taking a quick look at her reflection, she adjusted a stray lock of hair and nodded in approval.

As she glided past Iris to return to the window, she placed the lipstick back into Iris hand.

It was then that Iris noticed something unsettling. She clutched the lipstick, her eyes widening in shock as it slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. She turned to look at the Queen, who was already lost in the scene outside, perfectly mimicking Iris's mannerisms. The eerie realization dawned upon her, sending a chill down her spine.

Queen turned back, her eyes lingering on the lipstick smeared on the floor before locking onto Iris, who stood frozen in disbelief. A wide, unsettling smile spread across the Queen's face as she advanced, her presence looming. Iris instinctively took a step back, her foot catching awkwardly, nearly sending her sprawling.

In an unexpected move, the Queen's hand shot out, gripping Iris's arm with a surprising gentleness, steadying her. "Why? Does my behavior remind you of yourself?" Her voice was a silk thread, laced with menace.

Iris remained rooted, shock rendering her mute. The Queen's smirk deepened as she smeared the lipstick across her lips with the back of her hand, a crimson streak marring her pale skin. With a final, lingering glance, she strode to the door. Pausing at the threshold, she cast a sidelong look back at Iris. "Give up, Iris," she warned, her tone dripping with finality.

The door closed with a definitive click, leaving Iris in the suffocating silence. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she sank to the floor, breaths coming in ragged gasps.

This was the first warning, a harbinger of the storm that was to come.

After that fateful day, whispers slithered through the palace like serpents in the shadows, weaving tales of the forbidden-rumors that concubine Iris harbored affection for the King. With each whispered secret, the once-warm camaraderie among the concubines turned frigid, as though a frost had settled over their hearts. Iris found herself cast adrift in a sea of suspicion and isolation, her only beacon of solace the steadfast presence of Rosetta.

Despite the ceaseless demands of her duties, Rosetta, ever loyal, carved out moments in her busy day to offer solace to Iris. But even her comforting presence couldn't staunch the ache that gnawed at Iris's soul-the ache born of betrayal and abandonment by those she had once called friends.

In the suffocating embrace of loneliness, Iris grappled with the bitter truth that in the palace, loyalty was a rare and fleeting currency, easily traded for self-preservation. Even the simple sustenance of food became a battleground, as meals meant for Iris vanished mysteriously, pilfered by maids under the watchful eye of the head maid.

Faced with the gnawing emptiness of hunger and the chill of solitude, Iris sought refuge in the warmth of the kitchen hearth, laboring over pots and pans to stave off the pangs of starvation.

Alone in her chambers, Iris found solace in the knowledge that amidst the treachery of the world, there existed one true ally. For as long as Rosetta remained by her side, she could endure the whispers, the hunger, and the heartache, knowing that in the vast expanse of the palace, there was at least one soul who cared.

Iris whiled away her days immersed in the pages of novels, each one a precious gift smuggled into the palace by Rosetta, a fleeting reprieve from the monotony of her existence. With each turn of a page, she found solace and escape, her mind weaving through tales of adventure and romance.

But as the days stretched on, Iris found herself compelled to pick up her quill once more, the need to earn coin to put food on their table pressing upon her. She returned to the craft of storytelling, penning tales that danced between the lines of reality and imagination, hoping to turn her words into sustenance for both herself and Rosetta. For even within the gilded halls of the palace, hunger gnawed at their bellies, the sting of poverty ever present.

Yet, amidst her struggles to provide, Iris faced a far more insidious foe within the palace walls: the cruelty of the head maid and her cohorts. When their taunts turned toward Rosetta, Iris could not remain silent. She stood her ground in a fierce confrontation, her words a shield against their barbs. But justice was swift and unforgiving, delivered without pause or consideration.

Queen Isabella's decree fell upon Iris like a heavy shroud, condemning her to the confines of her chamber for what felt like an eternity. Months passed in a haze of isolation, each day bleeding into the next with no respite in sight.

Through the small window of her chamber, she would steal glances at the world beyond, her heart lifting at the sight of the king's arrival. His regal form descending from the carriage brought a fleeting sense of joy to her weary soul, a reminder that even in the depths of her confinement, there existed a world beyond her walls. And so, she clung to that brief respite, finding solace in the simple act of watching him.

On the day of the festival, anticipation filled the air as Queen Isabella and King Lucious prepared for their scheduled outing. As they entered the ornate carriage, Isabella's demeanor radiated with a gentle smile, a reflection of her excitement. Settling beside her husband, she gazed out of the carriage window, her eyes capturing the joyous sight of her maids waving farewell. Yet, her attention was soon drawn to the palace, where her keen eyes caught sight of Iris.

Perched by a window, Iris's presence was unmistakable, her posture poised as she observed the King with unwavering focus. Isabella's brows furrowed imperceptibly, a subtle tension rippling through her body as she watched Iris's unwavering gaze fixed solely upon her husband. Not once did Iris acknowledge Isabella's existence, her attention consumed entirely by Lucious. With a sharp intake of breath, Isabella's hands clenched into fists, her nostrils flaring with a mixture of frustration and resentment at the sight of Iris's unabashed admiration.

Queen Isabella's ire didn't stem from Iris's steadfast refusal to yield, but rather from the poignant realization that Iris, unfailingly, positioned herself by the window, her gaze fixed unwaveringly upon the king. Day in and day out, even amidst the confines of her chamber, with hunger gnawing at her, Iris remained, her silent vigil a testament to her unwavering determination.

As the storm clouds gathered, darkening the sky with their brooding presence, Queen ordered her maids to seal shut the windows in Iris's chamber the following day.

Punishment time was over, yet for Iris, a different kind of reckoning had just begun. With a determination born of desperation, she embarked on a clandestine mission to unravel the enigma of the king's every move.

Iris spared no effort, resorting to pawning her possessions and bribing the maids who served under the king to glean tidbits of information about his daily routine. She meticulously noted his preferences, from his favored dishes to the cut of his attire, storing each detail in the recesses of her mind. As her obsession deepened, the treasures of her room dwindled, replaced only by the meager remnants of her once abundant wealth locked away in a dwindling safe.

Meanwhile, Rosetta, watched with mounting concern as Iris's fixation with the king consumed her every waking moment. Gone was the carefree spirit she once knew, replaced by a relentless pursuit that left no time even for sustenance. Rosetta, with furrowed brows of her own, fretted over Iris's well-being, acutely aware of the dangers lurking in the shadows of the court. The queen's wrath, should she discover Iris's clandestine activities, loomed like a dark cloud on the horizon, threatening to unleash a tempest of consequences upon them both.

Suffocated by the oppressive air of the chamber, Iris found solace in the open expanse of the garden. Under the cloak of night, she ventured out alone, her steps soft against the earth. Casting furtive glances towards the illuminated window of the king's chamber, she couldn't resist the pull to steal a glimpse of him.

Perched upon the creaking swing, she swayed back and forth, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on the distant silhouette within the royal abode. Despite the dizziness and nausea that threatened to overwhelm her, she persisted, for it was the only vantage point from which she could behold him.

Every day, like clockwork, Iris could be found perched on the swing, her presence a fixture so constant that it seemed woven into the very fabric of the palace grounds. She'd forsake meals, surrendering sustenance for the solace of the gentle sway, the creak of the aged ropes a lullaby to her troubled soul. To those seeking her, there was no need for inquiry; the swing held the secret of her whereabouts, its motion a silent invitation to approach and share in her company. Yet, as the days passed, the maids whispered discontent, their disdain palpable as they begrudged the sight of Iris's blossoming smile.

For Iris, the allure of the swing lay not merely in its rhythmic dance but in the vantage it offered-a privileged view of the king, his presence a balm to her heartache. But such stolen moments of solace were not to go unnoticed. When word reached the queen of Iris's clandestine visits, fury ignited in her chest, threatening to consume reason. Despite her indignation, she couldn't bring herself to dismantle the swing, for it stood as a relic of the king's own childhood.

In her wrath, the queen devised a punishment befitting Iris's audacity, severing the lifeline that connected her to the outside world-the letters from her parents, once a source of comfort and connection. Faced with this cruel decree, Iris's longing for home intensified, a gnawing ache that demanded resolution. Yet, her desire to uncover the truth behind her parents' sudden silence was thwarted by the palace's iron grip. While other concubines roamed freely beyond the palace walls, Iris found herself confined, her every attempt to leave met with stern resistance. It became painfully clear: her captors had no intention of relinquishing their hold over her, condemning her to a life of perpetual confinement and uncertainty.

Iris found herself trapped in a web of desperation, her only beacon of hope tethered to the distant figure of the king. Despite being one of his wives, the mere notion of meeting him seemed as distant as the stars above. King Lucious, a shadowy enigma, reserved his presence solely for the Queen, leaving Iris and the other wives adrift in a sea of neglect. The disparity gnawed at her soul, leaving her to ponder the injustice of his favoritism.

Iris's attempts to clandestinely infiltrate his chambers or the royal court to rendezvous with him consistently ended in failure, thwarted by the vigilant guards. However, her thwarted efforts were not the sole source of her distress. Discovering that the maids, entrusted with her correspondence from her loving parents, were pilfering and incinerating her letters exacerbated her mounting frustration.

After a year within the confines of the palace walls, a burgeoning resentment began to fester within Iris. A sentiment that gradually metamorphosed into a loathing of her surroundings and those who inhabited them. Her disdain even extended to the king himself, her husband by decree, for his apparent indifference. He had requested her hand in marriage, yet failed to extend the courtesy of a visit to her chambers.

With each passing day, Iris found herself contemplating relinquishing hope in their union, a notion that weighed heavily upon her heart. The ache of unrequited affection gnawed at her soul, leaving her to languish in tears, yearning for a reprieve from her torment.

Suddenly her mind drifted back to her brother's words.

Flashback

Perplexed, Iris tilted her head, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Then what troubles you?"

"What if you find yourself in love with someone who cannot return your affections?" he pondered aloud.

Laughing softly, Iris dismissed the notion. "Then I shall depart, of course." Her laughter carried a lightness that belied the gravity of matters of the heart.

"No, you won't," Nevan asserted firmly, his gaze piercing.

Perplexed, Iris studied him, her curiosity piqued. "And why is that? You speak as if you know my heart better than I."

"That's precisely it. Once you fall, you'll surrender yourself wholly, regardless of the consequences," Nevan explained.

End of flashback

Tears cascaded down Iris's cheeks as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, seeking comfort in her own embrace. The weight of her so-called love-or perhaps it was a curse-pressed heavily upon her heart. She longed to return to her mother's arms, to beg forgiveness for the letters she had left unanswered.

One fateful day, as Iris made her way to the maid's chamber, a strange and unsettling scene unfolded before her eyes. Just across the way, in the dimly lit guards' chamber, she caught sight of the king. His face was contorted with rage, and before him knelt a trembling guard, pleading desperately for his life.

Compelled by a mixture of fear and curiosity, Iris concealed herself in the shadows cast by the ancient oaks nearby. She watched, breath held and heart pounding, as the king's fury reached its peak. With a swift, merciless motion, he plunged his dagger repeatedly into the guard's body, each strike accompanied by a sickening thud. Blood spattered across the king's face, a macabre mask of crimson.

When the life had drained from the guard, the king wiped the blood from his face with the pristine white of his sleeve, his expression eerily calm. Without a word, he turned and strode away, leaving the remaining guards to clean up the grisly aftermath. Iris remained hidden, her breath shaky, the brutal scene imprinted on her memory.

Iris approached the guards who were scrubbing away the bloodstains. She inquired about the commotion, only to learn that the guard who had died at the king's hands had raped a palace maid. Stunned, Iris could hardly believe that the king, who hadn't visited his wives in months, would care so much about a maid. Frustration and anger welled up inside her. Why did he neglect her, the woman he had insisted on marrying? The king had forced her into this union, yet now he acted as if she didn't exist.

Desperate to clear her mind of the king, Iris sought solace in the swing. She swung alone, her heart heavy, as the children of the palace maids watched from a distance, their usual joy dampened by her presence.

A sudden scream pierced the air. Iris's gaze darted to the bushes, where she saw a man pinning down a woman, his hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her cries. Rage surged through her. She leaped off the swing and raced toward them, only to discover that the man was Kyrell and the woman, Rosetta.

She shoved him away, her heart pounding with anger, and helped Rosetta to her feet. Rosetta's hands trembled, her face pale as parchment. Iris stood resolutely in front of her, her eyes fierce and protective, locking onto Kyrell, whose lecherous reputation was infamous within the palace walls.

Kyrell's gaze was like a serpent's, coiled and ready to strike. Any woman he coveted met a grim fate. Whispers in the dark corners of the palace told of suicides and disappearances, but the truth was far more sinister. Everyone knew he silenced them permanently when they refused to be subdued.

As Kyrell stepped closer, Iris could feel the heat of his breath against her skin. He leaned in, his voice a venomous hiss. "It seems you crave a man's touch. If Lucious won't oblige your desperate needs, I am always available."

Hearing his words made Iris's stomach churn with a visceral anger, a disgust so profound she struggled to find words for it. She shoved him away, her hand rising instinctively to strike him, but he caught her wrist and, with a sneer, licked her knuckles.

Revulsion surged through her as she yanked her hand free. With a scream, she grabbed a stone from the ground and hurled it at him. The rock struck his forehead, and a thin stream of blood trickled down into his eye as he glared at her before storming off.

*****

𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝒉𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘♡

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ