CHAPTER EIGHT
IRIS
“Hello?” Raven said, her voice cutting through the quiet. “Are you going to answer, or should I just start guessing?”
I blinked, realizing I had been staring at the door for far too long. My thoughts still echoed with his voice and the sound of my false name on his tongue.
“There’s nothing to tell.” I said at last.
Raven gave a soft laugh, not unkind. “You expect me to believe that? You froze when he said your name, and he looked like he’d just seen a ghost.”
I turned away, pretending to tidy the table, though my hands were shaking. “He helped me once. That’s all.”
“Helped you?” she repeated, stepping closer. “And for that, you gave him a false name?”
Her words struck sharper than I expected. I sighed, the breath coming out uneven. “I didn’t mean to lie. It just happened.”
“Things like that don’t ‘just happen,’” Raven said gently.
I pressed my hands flat against the table and stared down at them until my vision blurred.
“When I sneak out, I can’t risk anyone knowing who I am,” I said quietly.
“If someone recognized me and reported it, Father would…” My throat tightened.
The memory of his hand striking my face flashed hot and cold at once.
“You know what he’d do. You saw how he struck me.”
Raven’s expression softened. “So you panicked.”
The truth hung between us like smoke.
“Yes,” I said quietly. “And now he’s here. A knight of the castle.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “That’s... complicated.”
“That’s one word for it,” I murmured.
Raven tilted her head, her tone careful but edged with curiosity. “Well, he did say he wanted to get to know you. And you didn’t look like you disagreed.”
I looked up at her sharply. “Raven—”
She raised her hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying what I saw. If this keeps going, you’ll have to tell him the truth eventually.”
The words landed heavier than I expected. Tell him the truth. They echoed in my chest, cold and impossible.
“I can’t,” I said at once.
“Can’t or won’t?” she asked softly.
I hesitated, my throat tightening. “Both, maybe.”
Raven studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. “He doesn’t seem like someone who’d turn you in, Iris.”
I almost laughed. “You don’t know that. He’s a knight now. His
loyalty is to the king. To my father.”
Raven let out a dry laugh. “You’re actually more stupid than I
give you credit for.”
“Hey!” I said, frowning at her.
She raised a brow. “What? You think he won’t notice you sitting beside the king during dinner, or walking behind him during court? He’s a knight now, Iris. He’ll be at every feast, every ceremony, every gathering. You can’t stay hidden forever.”
The words settled in my stomach like stone. She was right, but I couldn’t admit it. Not yet.
I crossed my arms. “I’ll tell him. Just not yet.”
Raven tilted her head. “Not yet?”
I nodded slowly. “If we ever become friends… if I can trust him, then I’ll tell him. But not now. Not when I barely know him.”
Raven shook her head, half amused, half exasperated. “You really are hopeless.”
“Thank you,” I muttered.
She laughed under her breath. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ll see how bad an idea this is soon enough.”
I rolled my eyes and turned toward the door. “Speaking of bad ideas, Father is probably waiting by the table.”
Raven’s smile faded. “Right. Good luck with that.”
I gave a small nod. “I’ll need it.”
She reached out, brushing a bit of dust from my sleeve. The
gesture was small but grounding. “Try not to make him angrier than he already is.”
“I’ll try,” I said, though we both knew it was easier said than done.
I smoothed my sleeve where Raven had brushed it and stepped into the corridor.
The air changed the moment I left the healer’s rooms. It smelled of roasted meat and wax and stone that had seen centuries.
Torches flickered along the walls, their light soft against the stone floors.
My footsteps echoed faintly as I walked toward the great hall.
The closer I came, the louder it grew. Servants moved quickly with trays and pitchers. Guards stood still beside the doors, spears at their sides. The murmur of men’s voices carried from inside, steady and low.
The hall opened wide before me. Long banners hung from the rafters. The great table stretched down the center, silver and glass gleaming under candlelight. My father sat at the raised end, his crown catching the light. King Henrik. His eyes were colder than the stone beneath his throne.
I moved to my seat quietly. A servant filled my goblet without a word.
My father looked up. “I hope you have learned from your mistakes, Iris,” he said. His voice was calm, but it cut deep. “You will not leave these walls again when I have forbidden it.”
“Yes, Father,” I said.
He watched me for a long moment, his jaw tight. “You will stay
with the healer. You will clean, tend wounds, and serve until I say otherwise.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
He leaned back, his fingers tapping the arm of his chair. “Good. Because if you ever sneak out again, it will not only be my hand that meets your face.”
The words hung heavy in the air. For a moment, no one spoke. The hall itself seemed to hold its breath. A few servants paused mid-step, pretending not to listen, though their eyes flickered toward us all the same.
Shame burned through me, sharp and familiar.
I bowed my head. “Yes, Father.”
He looked away, already done with me. The talk in the hall rose again with soldiers speaking of borders, harvests, and threats from the north. I ate little. The food tasted like ash.
When I finished, my father dismissed me with a simple wave of his hand.
I rose from the table, bowed low, and turned toward the doors. The guards stepped aside without a word. The sound of my slippers against the stone floor echoed faintly as I left the hall behind.
I always felt nervous after meals with him. The air in that room
was thick with his temper, even when he said little. Every movement, every glance, felt like a test I could fail.
He was strict and unyielding in every way. The king before he was ever my father. I sometimes wondered if he even knew how to be both. His world revolved around the throne, the crown, the endless need to keep power from slipping away. There was never space for softness in that world.
My mother had died the night I was born.
The world had taken her before she even had the chance to hold me.
The servants raised me instead, women with tired eyes and calloused hands who came and went as the years passed.
They were kind enough, but never close. I was never truly theirs, and they were never truly mine.
I reached my chambers, the corridor dim and quiet. The guards outside bowed as I entered. Inside, the air was cool and still. The fire had burned low in the hearth, filling the room with a faint orange glow.
I untied the headband from my hair and set it on the table beside the mirror. My reflection stared back: pale skin, tired eyes, and the faint mark still red on my cheek.
For a moment, I just stood there, listening to the soft crackle of the fire. Then I turned away from the mirror and sat on the edge of the bed. The silence pressed close, heavy but familiar.
I let out a slow breath and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow would come, and with it, the weight of duty again.
For now, at least, there was quiet.