Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 447. The Cabbage Scholar of Euphorion
"What's hard?" Claire asked, pouring drinks.
"Jane wants to do something," Rose said. "Something helpful. But not too public. And not political. Or dangerous. Or complicated. Or traceable."
Claire deadpanned. "So, gardening?"
Jane snorted into her tea.
"She's serious," Rose added. "And she's not wrong to ask. I've been keeping you sheltered, but if you stay idle too long, someone's going to mistake you for a bored noble wife, and I really don't want to clean up that mess."
Claire crossed her arms. "She can't work with records, and she can't be seen at council. Can't be in the royal kitchens—too many nosy staff. Noble salons are risky. Stitching circle?"
"I can stitch. A bit. But it's not my specialty," Jane said quickly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Rose raised an eyebrow. "You can stitch?"
Jane nodded, a little sheepish. "I used to mend clothes in the village. Torn sleeves, ripped hems, things like that. Nothing fancy—just enough to keep people warm through winter."
Claire smiled faintly. "That's still a skill. More practical than half the noble ladies here who can't thread a needle without stabbing themselves."
Rose chuckled softly. "But not good enough. We'll skip embroidery contests, then."
Jane sighed in relief. "Please do."
Claire sighed. "Right. What did you do back in the village?"
Jane shrugged. "I helped run a small garden out back. Brewed tea for the old healer sometimes. Cleaned. Fixed carts. Sometimes I acted in the town's little harvest plays. Nothing fancy."
Rose blinked. "You acted?"
Jane's face reddened.
"No, I'm serious," Rose said. "Why didn't you tell me that?"
"Because it's embarrassing," Jane muttered. "I once had to play a cabbage."
Claire burst out laughing. "You're joking."
"I wore a cabbage hat. It had layers."
"Oh my gods," Rose wheezed.
"Okay, okay!" Jane waved a hand. "Forget the cabbage. The point is—I don't need to feel like a princess. I just want to feel like a person."
That sobered them up. A little.
Rose turned her head, watching the breeze ripple across the fountain's surface. The late sun painted everything in soft gold, and even the hedges looked like they were glowing.
"…We could make something up," Rose said slowly. "A quiet assignment. Something indoors, small, unglamorous."
Claire perked. "Like what?"
"Something that gets her out of her room and gives her a reason to be here without drawing questions. Hm…"
Jane looked between them, hope flickering. "I can be a helper? Like a handmaid? One of those assistants who just… carries books or whatever?"
Rose hummed. "Too risky. Someone might order you around for real."
"Then maybe a library assistant?" Claire offered. "No one goes in there. Usually. Except the king."
Jane blinked. "You have an archive?"
Claire grinned. "This is Euphorion, darling. We archive everything."
Rose nodded slowly. "Actually… that's not a bad idea."
"Really?" Jane lit up.
"You'd be cataloging, mostly. Sorting. Dusting, organizing old records. No access to current royal papers, but the historical ones? No harm in those. And if we say you're one of my scholarship wards from the countryside… well, that fits."
Jane blinked again. "Wait—so I'd be your… what?"
"Ward," Rose said, smirking. "From a minor household. Under protection. Educated enough to read but not enough to pose a political threat. Basically a nerd who grew up in a barn and got lucky."
"…Rude but accurate."
Claire giggled. "So… the cabbage scholar of Euphorion?"
Jane laughed, but her throat felt warm. A role. A purpose. Something to do that didn't involve wearing a mask or pretending she was just fine.
"You'll be supervised," Rose said gently. "And the librarian is a little strange, but he's loyal. You'll get access to the side corridors and some training. It's quiet work. Peaceful. But meaningful."
"Will it help?" Jane asked.
"Absolutely," Claire said. "You'd be surprised what we find buried in those scrolls. Old magic theory. Family trees. Secret affairs."
Jane grinned.
But something inside her—something small and curled-up and quiet—finally exhaled.
Because yes, she was still a princess in hiding. Still scarred, still afraid. But now she wasn't just waiting anymore. She was doing. Learning. Building something of her own, even if it was shelved alphabetically.
And maybe, just maybe, that would lead to the truth she'd asked for. One faded page at a time.
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