{Third Person}
The conversation in the pavilion continued, light on the surface, but layered beneath.
Servants moved gracefully between them, pouring tea, offering delicacies, adjusting placents. Then, sothing happened.
A servant approached Amara from the side, carrying a teapot. Her movents were careful until they weren’t.
Her hand slipped, and the tea tipped. And before anyone could react, a stream of warm liquid spilled across the front of Amara’s dress.
The sound of it—soft, but unmistakable, drew imdiate attention.
The servant gasped. "My lady—I—"
Amara froze for the briefest second as the warmth soaked into the fabric. Then she looked up calmly.
"It’s alright. It was an accident," she said, before the servant could spiral further.
The servant looked stunned, even relieved, but still terrified, knowing how things could have turned out differently for her if it had been another woman she had accidentally hurt.
Around them, the reactions ca quickly.
"Oh dear..."
"How careless..."
"That could have been worse..."
Julia did not speak, but the faint curve of her lips suggested she was far from displeased.
Lysandra, however, instructed calmly, her tone carrying authority without urgency, "Go back." Then her gaze shifted to Amara, softening just enough to appear considerate.
"You should not remain like that. Go and have it changed," she said.
’Huh?’ Amara blinked a few tis, confused at first.
She hesitated as her thoughts had already begun to turn. ’She wants to leave alone?
The mory of everything that had already happened—of how easily situations were twisted, of how carefully words were used—made her instincts sharpen.
This did not feel simple.
"I will manage, Your Majesty," Amara replied politely. "It is nothing serious."
Lysandra’s expression did not change, but her gaze sharpened slightly. "Nonsense," she said, her tone still gentle, but firr now. "You cannot sit through the rest of this gathering like that. A servant will escort you."
Amara felt the subtle pressure. It was clear, and she did not like it. She was very uncomfortable. Before she could respond again, Elowen’s voice cut in smoothly.
"I will go with her."
Elowen was already rising to her feet, her expression easy, her smile light as though nothing at all was amiss.
"I was just about to step away anyway," she added casually. "I will take her."
Lysandra’s gaze snapped to her just briefly—a silent, unmistakable warning passed between them. But Elowen didn’t even acknowledge it.
In fact, she pretended to be oblivious to her mother’s intentions.
Her attention remained on Amara, her smile unchanged, her hand already extending toward her.
"Co," she said gently.
Amara looked at her, then at Lysandra, then back again. Relief settled quietly in her chest. However things were supposed to turn out, it had changed with Elowen’s intervention.
Though, she didn’t rule out the fact that the situation could still get dangerous.
She rose to her feet. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
Lysandra said nothing, but her silence was not approval.
---
Elowen led Amara through a quiet corridor within the Queen’s palace, away from the open space and watchful eyes, until they reached a set of double doors at the end.
Without hesitation, Elowen pushed them open and stepped inside. Amara followed and paused at the room filled with clothes.
Not just a few garnts or neatly arranged selections, but rows upon rows of dresses in different fabrics, colours, and designs.
So were simple and elegant, others elaborate and detailed, each piece carefully displayed as though it belonged to a collection rather than a wardrobe.
Amara blinked, her gaze moving slowly across the room. "Why are there so many clothes here?" she asked, unable to hide her curiosity.
Elowen smiled, clearly amused by her reaction. "My mother used to be a designer before she beca Queen," she said. "She still makes clothes in her spare ti."
Amara almost scoffed. ’Spare ti?’
The thought ca so quickly that she had to stop herself from reacting outwardly. In her mind, it felt almost absurd.
Lysandra hardly seed like soone who had ti to sit and design garnts when she was constantly orchestrating one thing or another.
But she said none of that. Instead, she simply nodded faintly. "I see."
After a brief pause, Amara looked down at her dress, then back at Elowen.
"I don’t think I need to change. I can just wash the stain off. It should be fine," she said.
Elowen let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as though she had expected that answer.
"Co on," she said, already turning toward another door. "There is no need to make this complicated."
Amara followed her to a smaller adjoining room, where she was able to use the basin to wash the stain from her dress.
Then Elowen reached for a hand dryer and used it to dry off the wet parch. Within minutes, it looked as though nothing had happened.
Amara thanked her with a smile on her lips, and they both stepped out together, heading back toward the garden.
For a while, Amara remained quiet, but the question from earlier returned to her mind, refusing to settle.
"Can I ask you sothing?" she said at last.
Elowen glanced at her. "Of course."
Amara hesitated briefly before continuing. "Why was the Queen... so tolerant earlier with the King’s concubine."
Elowen’s steps slowed slightly, then she let out a quiet sigh.
"I heard sothing," she said. "It’s not sothing openly discussed, but... my father placed that concubine under my mother’s care."
Amara stared at her, her brows lifting slightly.
Elowen continued, her tone more subdued now. "If anything happens to her or the child, the bla will fall on my mother."
The implication settled imdiately.
Amara’s eyes widened slightly as understanding clicked into place. ’So, this was the reason for her tolerance. It was forced.’
"I see..." Amara murmured.
Everything from earlier suddenly made sense. The way Lysandra had held herself back, the way she had allowed the concubine’s behaviour without confrontation—it had not been by choice.
By the ti they returned to the garden, the atmosphere had settled. Still, a few eyes lifted when Amara stepped back in.
They noticed that she hadn’t changed her dress, but no one asked her why.
Lysandra’s gaze followed her quietly as she returned to her seat, watching her with a calm that revealed nothing.
Amara sat down quietly, while deliberately refusing to et anyone’s gaze.
The rest of the gathering passed without incident, the earlier tension fading into sothing more contained.
Conversations shifted, laughter appeared here and there, and eventually, the gathering ca to a natural end.
Amara could not have been more relieved. ’Finally!’
As the won began to rise and leave in small groups, she stood as well, letting out a quiet breath. Then, she turned to Elowen with a small smile.
They waved at each other, and with that, they parted ways.
Amara made her way toward the front, where the carriages were already being prepared. Mrs. Woods stood nearby, waiting for her, and Amara felt a small sense of comfort at the familiar sight.
She was just about to reach her when a voice stopped her in her tracks.
"Amara."
She turned sideways and saw Julia approaching.
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