Chapter 3

On November twentieth, the Queen Mother summoned Beatrice.

The royal steward claimed Her Grace had heard of the Commander's wife being ill and wanted to see her.

That was the official story. Beatrice knew this was really about Aurora.

The Kingdom of Northmarch sending a princess for a political marriage was not something the Queen Mother liked.

But the King favored it, and nobody could stop him. Summoning Beatrice was just an excuse to ask about the princess's stay at the Commander's Manor.

Beatrice wore a modest pale lavender gown. She kept her makeup elegant and understated, then took a carriage to the royal palace.

Queen Mother Margaret Adonis lived in the royal chambers. She looked like a kindly old woman.

Beatrice knew she was entirely ruthless. When the late King died, Margaret ruled as regent for the young heir. She executed disobedient lords and seized their entire estates.

"Your Grace," Beatrice said, dropping into a deep curtsy.

"Rise," Margaret said lazily. "Bring her a chair."

Beatrice thanked her and sat carefully on the edge of her seat. She kept her eyes respectfully lowered.

Margaret looked her over in silence for a long moment.

"Look up. Let me see you," she said.

Beatrice raised her head. She kept her gaze fixed on the hem of Margaret's skirt to avoid direct eye contact.

"A lovely girl." Margaret nodded. "Why so pale? Are you still recovering?"

"I am much better now, Your Grace," Beatrice replied.

"Glad to hear it." Margaret took a slow sip of her wine. "I hear William hasn't visited you once during your illness."

Beatrice tensed.

'This is a trap,' she thought quickly.

If she said yes, she was lying to the crown. If she said no, she was filing a complaint against her husband.

"William is busy with military matters," she replied evenly. "I wouldn't dare disturb him."

Margaret gave her a knowing look and smiled faintly.

"Very sensible," she noted, setting her cup down. "But what good is being sensible? If a husband doesn't care for you, being sensible gets you nowhere."

Beatrice stayed silent.

"I was told you met the princess from Northmarch at the Ambassador's Hall a few days ago," Margaret pivoted smoothly. "What is she like?"

Beatrice paused for a second.

"I am rather unobservant, Your Grace," she answered carefully. "I only noticed she is beautiful and speaks very kindly."

"Kindly?" Margaret scoffed. "A princess sent from Northmarch has to be kind. We all know their game. Offering a bride is just a way to test our Kingdom's defenses. And yet the King..."

She trailed off and shook her head.

Beatrice kept her head bowed and said nothing.

Margaret glanced at her again and chuckled. "You are remarkably composed. I just said all that, and you didn't offer a single unnecessary comment."

"I wouldn't dare discuss state affairs, Your Grace," Beatrice replied.

"Dare not, or care not?"

Beatrice met her sharp gaze briefly before lowering her eyes again. "I am just a lady of the house. I know nothing of such matters."

Margaret looked at her with profound meaning.

"A lady of the house?" she repeated slowly. "Even noblewomen have their own kind of power. Your late mother-in-law was quite a formidable woman.

"It is a pity she died so early and couldn't teach you a thing or two."

Beatrice's fingertips curled slightly.

She had only seen portraits of William's mother. Rumor said she was a breathtaking beauty with a tragic fate.

When her husband fell in battle, she took her own life out of grief.

"I am dull, Your Grace. I pale in comparison to her," Beatrice replied softly.

"Dull?" Margaret laughed softly. "I don't think you are dull at all. You are far too clever. You are clever enough to know exactly when to play the fool."

Beatrice said nothing.

Margaret observed her. Her eyes held a mix of scrutiny, appreciation, and something completely unreadable.

"Enough." She waved her hand. "I won't make things difficult for you. I only called you here today to see what kind of person you are. Now that I have seen, you may go."

Beatrice rose and curtsied. Just as she reached the door, a voice stopped her. "wait."

Beatrice turned around.

Margaret looked at her and spoke very slowly. "I watched William grow up. He has a cold heart, a cold face, and ice in his bones.

"If you are hoping he will ever warm up to you, you should kill that hope right now."

Beatrice cast her eyes downward. "Thank you for the advice, Your Grace."

Margaret waved her away, and Beatrice exited the chambers.

Stepping out of the palace, her maid Lyra hurried over. "My lady, Her Grace didn't give you a hard time, did she?" Lyra asked quietly.

"No," Beatrice replied, walking down the stone path. "Let's go home."

As they walked down the grand corridor, a large group approached from the opposite direction.

Leading them was Aurora.

She wore a pastel yellow court dress today. The color made her look incredibly delicate. A grand procession of maids and valets followed closely behind her.

Beatrice stopped in her tracks.

Aurora spotted her as well and paused before breaking into a bright smile.

"Lady Ashford," she greeted, stepping forward. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here."

Beatrice offered a polite curtsy. "Your Highness."

"Please, no need for formalities." Aurora made a show of gently supporting Beatrice's arm. "Are you feeling better? You looked so unwell at the Ambassador's Hall the other day.

"I even mentioned my concern to Lord Ashford after we returned."

Beatrice looked at her with a faint, polite smile. "Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. I am much better."

"That is wonderful," Aurora beamed. "I am on my way to see the Queen Mother, so I won't keep you. I would love to visit you at the manor sometime soon."

Beatrice nodded. "You are too kind, Your Highness."

The two walked past each other.

Once they were a good distance away, Lyra muttered under her breath, "My lady, why does the princess's smile seem so fake?"

Beatrice didn't answer.

'I remember when she smiled at me exactly like that in my old life,' Beatrice thought bitterly. 'She told me I had a delicate constitution and shouldn't overwork myself.'

She thought Aurora was being genuine back then. She was actually grateful.

Looking back now, it was just laughable.

They left the palace gates and boarded their carriage. Lyra was still complaining. "What is that princess playing at, my lady?

"Why is she always hovering around the Commander? Isn't she here for a political marriage? She should be hovering around the King."

Beatrice leaned against the carriage wall and closed her eyes. "Whoever she wants to court is her own business."

"But..."

"Lyra." Beatrice opened her eyes. "From now on, we stay out of her affairs. If you see something, pretend you didn't. If you hear something, pretend you are deaf."

Lyra nodded blankly. She didn't understand. But she would do whatever her lady ordered.

The carriage clattered down the main street. Beatrice pulled back the curtain and stared at the gloomy sky.

It was going to snow soon.

'I remember that winter,' she recalled quietly. 'The snow was incredibly heavy.'

She had stood in the freezing snow, begging William to save her eldest brother. Her knees went numb, her entire body shook, but he refused to even open the door.

Eventually, Aurora came out. She ordered the servants to help Beatrice up and send her home.

Beatrice was so grateful to her back then.

'Now I realize the truth,' Beatrice told herself. 'Aurora only helped me to play the saint in front of William.'

Beatrice dropped the curtain and let her eyes close.

There was no rush. She had plenty of time.