The Old Queen listened in silence.
She did not need eyes to see fear—she could hear it.
The erratic rhythm of a pounding heart. The slight tremble in breath. The almost imperceptible shake of limbs trying desperately to stay still.
Her eyes narrowed.
Before her, Dydra's heart sank.
Has someone recognized me?
Panic clawed at her chest. It shouldn't have been possible. The girl who attended the ball and the maid standing here now shared the same face, yes—but nothing else. The gown, the poise, the presence… all gone. And her hair—carefully hidden beneath the tightly wrapped scarf.
Unless…
Did it slip?
Slowly, cautiously, she turned, keeping her head bowed.
"How may I be of assistance to you, my lady?" she asked softly, her voice carefully controlled despite the storm within her.
The Old Queen's brow lifted slightly.
"My lady?" she repeated, almost amused. "How about Your Highness?"
Dydra's breath hitched.
Her heart skipped violently.
No…
