41. Adelina #3
She sets the page down carefully. “Adelina, what Kaedryn said to you last night was cruel. It was also wrong.”
“He said the court cannot walk over me.”
“Yes. And then he walked over you while saying it.”
The spoon trembles in my hand.
Maelin mutters something under her breath that sounds very much like agreement.
The queen takes the chair across from me again. “You do not have to become a doll to survive this place.”
The words are too close.
Too close to the thoughts I had in the dark, when I told myself dolls do not ask for gardens or make choices or disappoint princes. I look down before she can see it.
“But,” the queen continues, “I know you may not believe that yet. So for today, we will begin with something smaller. You will finish this broth. You will eat half that bread. You will drink the water. Maelin will decide what your body can tolerate. I will handle my son.”
That last sentence knots my stomach. “No!”
Her brows lift slightly.
“Please,” I say quickly. “Do not make him angry.”
Queen Elowyn’s face stills. Then something ancient and regal moves through her, quiet enough not to frighten me, powerful enough to remind me exactly who she is.
“Adelina,” she says, “my son’s temper is not yours to manage. His fear is not yours to manage.”
I stare at her.
She holds my eyes a moment longer, then lets it go. “Eat,” she says gently.
So I do.
Spoonful by spoonful.
Sip by sip.
I take small bites of bread softened with broth so they do not scrape my throat or twist my stomach. Maelin watches me like a hawk. Linnea hovers near the wardrobe, trying very hard not to look like she is hovering. Queen Elowyn remains beside me, speaking occasionally about harmless things.
The weather. The rain. The fact that Lady Ceronna once declared a banquet “rustic” because the pears were sliced too thickly.
I still do not know what to say to most of it.
But once, when the queen imitates Lady Ceronna’s pinched mouth with startling accuracy, my lips move before I can stop them. And a giggle escapes me.
By the time the bowl is half-empty and the bread is mostly gone, my hands have stopped shaking.
Maelin checks my pulse again. “Better,” she says.
“Can I attend?”
Her expression tells me she does not like the question. “The appearance is short?”
Queen Elowyn answers, “It can be made short.”
“Seated?”
“It can be made seated.”
Maelin looks back at me. “Then yes, if you drink the rest of the water, rest for one hour before dressing, and agree that if you feel dizzy again, you will tell someone immediately.”
I nod.
“Words,” she says. The same thing Kaedryn said. But in her voice, it sounds like care rather than command.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I agree.”
Queen Elowyn reaches for the book on the desk and closes it. The sound is quiet but final. “No more studying this morning.”
I almost protest.
Then I see her expression and stop. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
She stands and gathers the loose pages, stacking them neatly but away from my hands. “And no more sleeping at desks.”
“I did not intend to.”
The queen shrugs. “I rarely intend to do unwise things either. It still happens.”
Maelin snorts. “Frequently.”
The queen gives her a look. “You are unusually bold this morning.”
“I am always this bold. You are usually less guilty.”
The queen’s mouth presses together, but there is affection in it.
I watch them, confused by the ease between them, the way Maelin can speak to her queen without fear and remain whole. The way the queen can be corrected without becoming cruel. It feels like seeing a language I should know and cannot read.
Queen Elowyn notices my watching. “Rest now,” she says. “I will return before the appearance.”
I nod.
Linnea and Mirelle step forward. “May I help you to bed, Princess?” Linnea asks.
My first instinct is no, but my legs still feel unsteady, and the walk from the desk to the bed seems longer than it should. I glance at Queen Elowyn. She waits, not deciding for me.
I look back at Linnea. “Yes,” I say quietly. “Please.”
Linnea’s face changes. She comes slowly, offering her arm rather than taking mine. I use it. Just enough. Mirelle stands on my other side and simply follows us.
The bed is cool when I sit, then softer than I expect when I lie back against the pillows. The ache in my body rushes forward the moment I let the mattress hold my weight. Maelin pulls the blanket over me.
Queen Elowyn pauses near the foot of the bed. “Adelina.”
I look at her.
“You did well last night,” she says again. “And you are not weak because you are tired this morning.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I whisper.
Her eyes narrow faintly. She knows I do not believe it. Still, she lets it pass.
When she leaves, Linnea and Mirelle dim the lamp and draw the curtain halfway, softening the daylight into a pale blur. The room grows quiet except for Maelin cleaning the desk, the clink of my dishes being moved, the faint rustle of pages being moved beyond my reach.
I close my eyes.
Another event waits.
Another room.
Another chance to fail.
But broth sits warm in my stomach, and for one hour, no one expects me to be perfect.
For one hour, I only have to breathe.