Maren burst through the doors to the princesses' wing, her steps quick as she made her way toward Cora's room. Her chest weighed heavily with Selma's words.
'There is much for us to discuss.'
What did she mean by that? Maren thought. How does she know?
The questions spiraled in her mind, pulling her deeper into a whirlpool of destruction. Before now, Maren had taken Cora's words in stride.
The dream.
The book.
She hadn't doubted Cora, but she hadn't taken her words as more than a grain of salt. She'd accepted Cora's words at face value, because it came from Cora, and nothing more. But Selma appearing outside the abandoned library didn't feel like a coincidence. Suddenly, all the talk of malevolent beings and enchanted stones felt far too real for comfort.
Until now, the only true power that existed in their country was the Starblessed.
"Oh, Princess Maren."
Maren turned.
Harriet.
Her dark eyes narrowed slightly as she approached the princess, analyzing her with that piercing gaze.
"We've been looking everywhere for you," Harriet scolded. "You're late to the fitting. Leah was nearly ready to inform the royal family of your disappearance."
"Disappearance?" Maren echoed, baffled by the word. "I only stepped out for a little while."
"Yes but this fitting was scheduled early." Harriet replied briskly. "There are two princesses to dress this year."
They rounded a corner, stopping at a large set of ornate doors. Harriet paused, drew in a breath, and turned to Maren with a bright — fake — and expectant smile.
Maren blinked, confused.
Then, it clicked.
She noticed it in Harriet's eyes — the silent urgency.
"Oh—" She startled slightly, straightened her posture, and plastered a polite, royal smile.
Harriet sighed. "Good enough."
She opened the doors to a stunning room, far more fashionable than anything Maren had seen so far. Harriet closed the door behind her with a click.
Cora stood at the center of the chamber, Leah beside her, surrounded by six women who could only be from a boutique. Fabrics, pins, and lace filled were organized around the room.
"Princess Maren," an older woman approached her, bowing deeply.
She was tall, and willowy, with similar proportions to the mannequins that adorned boutique windows. Short, sandy blonde hair curled just below her jawline and her eyes were a deep hazel.
"It is an honor to serve you today," she said. "I am Madam Christine Voutenal, designer and owner of Voutenal Boutique."
"The pleasure is mine, Madam Voutenal," Maren smiled.
Her gaze wandered past the Madam, settling on Cora. Cora had turned her back to them as three of the women fussed with a base gown in a deep berry red, more purple than red.
Beside her, Leah struggled not to stare, clearly aware of where Maren's attention had gone.
Maren caught herself, and offered Leah a smile, who mirrored her gesture.
Three of the seamstresses moved toward Maren, but Harriet ushered her past them, positioning her several feet away from Cora. The women quickly stripped Maren down to her white undergarments, discussed shades and finally settled on a soft, periwinkle blue.
Maren stood as still as a soldier while they swarmed around her like bees — taking measurements, securing pins and beads and lace.
She glanced at Cora who made not even a single attempt to look over or acknowledge Maren's presence. Maren let out a frustrated puff of annoyance, and turned her gaze forward, only to catch both Harriet and Leah watching her.
But the two of them wore strikingly different expressions. Harriet looked unphased, but curious, as though she already knew there was something between the two princesses and was content to observe it unfold. Leah on the other hand, looked unsettled. Concern shadowed her as she gazed at Maren, her gaze like a thousand tiny, accusing arrows.
Maren wanted to avoid the conversation altogether. She didn't want to explain the complexities between her and Cora — complexities that even Maren didn't know how to fully vocalize. And even still, it felt wrong to speak about it at all when she hadn't even spoken about it to Cora.
When the hours were over, the moon had fully risen, its pale light pouring between the curtains. The designers gathered their fabrics and baubles, hurrying out of the room with their bags and boxes.
"I apologize, your majesties." Madam said with a graceful bow. "This fitting took quite some time. You both must be famished, but we greatly appreciate you choosing our boutique for the ceremony of the Trials."
Maren offered her a most gracious smile, despite the fact that she nor Cora had any say in the matter. Twelve had little interest in most of the Star Court activities, but when it came to dressing the Princesses, she demanded full control. She adored fashion and trinkets more than anything.
But neither Maren nor Cora dared argue. Twelve's taste was impeccable.
Maren had grown close to many members of the Star Court over the years, as they were the adults that practically raised them. Out of them all Maren had a special bond with Twelve.
Harriet escorted Madam Voutenal out, followed by her last two remaining designers. One straggled behind the rest, doing her best to balance far too many bags.
"Oh!" The woman gasped as several items slipped from her arms and clattered to the floor.
Leah lurked at the back of the room, setting chairs and other items back in the proper place.
"Miss Leah," the designer called. "I hate to be a bother, but may I ask for your assistance?"
Leah paused and flashed a bright smile, but Maren instantly sensed that something was off.
Without hesitation, Leah rushed over, scooped up the fallen bags and followed the designer out of the room. Maren watched them go, unease settling low in her stomach. Just before Leah disappeared into the hall, she glanced back, and her eyes met Maren's.
In that brief moment, a lightbulb went off in Maren's head.
The way Leah had lingered at the back of the room hadn't been a coincidence, especially not when a guest of the castle had brought far too many bags to carry in a single trip from this room to their carriage.
Leah knew.
It wasn't a lingering suspicion or a baseless rumor.
She stayed behind, busying herself with work that could be done later because she didn't want to leave Maren alone with Cora.
She. Knew.
Maren dropped her gaze to the floor, biting her lip. All of Leah's stalling had been for nothing because now it was just them.
Maren and Cora — alone together.
Maren stood there silently for a moment, head bowed, ransacking her mind for the right words. Their last interaction had been complicated, and unfinished, and only Maren had voiced her truth. She wanted to reach for Cora, and bridge the silence that plagued the room.
She wanted Cora to say anything, even if the conversation ended in anger and yelling.
Cora moved to the back of the room, slipping behind the dressing divider to fasten the gold plated waist belt around her dress. Each step scraped against Maren's nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
This strange, unspeaking version of Cora frightened Maren more than any outburst ever had. When Cora was angry, at least Maren knew where she stood.
But this cold, withdrawn person that stood before Maren was not the woman she knew — was not the girl she grew up with.
Without thinking, Maren turned on her heel.
"Why aren't you speaking to me?" she demanded, her voice wavering but commanding.
Cora tensed.
"I'm not trying to," she replied flatly.
A lie.
Maren stormed behind the divider, and grabbed Cora's wrist as she fastened the buckle.
"You're lying, Cora." She said, her eyes blazing.
"No I'm not." Cora shot back, stubborn.
"You're acting so weird!" Maren snapped. "And I'm sick of it. If you need to yell— then yell! If you need to talk, talk! This silence isn't you, and I hate it!"
Cora stared at her, eyes wide and baffled.
Maren had hoped, for just a moment, that Cora would break this ice. That her friend would give in to her bid for affection.
Cora clenched her teeth, and looked away.
She simply wasn't there yet.
The door creaked open.
"Princesses?" A Forsythian maid called nervously. "I heard some yelling, is everything alright?"
Cora bolted, slipping past Maren before she could even react.
Maren stood there for a moment, her mind unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Did she just…run away from me?
The idea of it stung. It was so petty. So immature.
Maren giggled, confounded by Cora's audacity.
Fine, she scoffed.
Maren kicked her heels to the floor, and took off after her, nearly colliding with the maid in the process.
"Cora!" she shouted.
Cora was fast — much faster than Maren — but she wouldn't stop now. Maren was done indulging in this childish game. They had five more Kingdoms to visit, and a lifetime ahead of them. She refused to spend it playing this odd new game of emotional tug-of-war.
"Stop right there!" Maren yelled again after her.
The girls tore through the halls, weaving past knights and startled officials, rudely knocking over the occasional maid and whatever they happened to be holding. Cora slipped through them with ease but Maren was far clumsier. Eventually, she learned to match Cora's rhythm, though hers were far less graceful.
"You're being ridiculous!: She cried out to Cora once more. "STOP!!!"
Ahead, Cora slowed slightly, and Maren realized why.
Prince Darrin of Forsyth walked beside two other men that looked vaguely familiar, but whom she couldn't place.
For a moment, she thought Cora might stop, or at the very least, slow to a walking pace.
She, in fact, did not do that.
Maren watched as Cora darted past them, even faster than before, as though her speed was enough to camouflage her identity. As though her flaming Garynian red hair wasn't giveaway enough.
But Maren was practically on a hunt now. She barreled past the prince and his commrades, leaving them behind with a breathless, "Sorry!"
"Coraaaa! That was so rude!" She scolded her.
The men stared after them, stunned watching the girls fight like children down the corridor.
"Was that the Princesses?" Prince Darrin asked, blinking.
"I thought they didn't get along," said the taller man with dark hair and a purple uniform, smirking.
"I heard that as well," the other replied blandly, dressed in white. "Rumors are usually wrong, anyhow."
Prince Darrin let out an amused puff, "Ah well. Better to have two beautiful wives who get along than ones constantly at each other's throats."
"What makes you so sure you'll win?" The tall man scoffed.
Darrin stretched his arms lazily. "The goddess favors charming men."
They rolled their eyes and continued on.
Maren chased Cora into the gardens. She'd expected the soft earth to slow her down, but it only seemed to make her faster. Cora was nearly out of sight now.
Sweat dripped into Maren's eyes, blurring her vision. Her lungs burned, and she knew she'd soon have to stop. She'd never run so hard for anything in her life. She'd never been one for sports, and held a bit more weight on her body than Cora's tall, lanky figure.
Then, BAM!
Maren, her vision hazed with sweat, crashed right into someone. But just as soon as she made contact, arms wrapped firmly around her waist, guiding her gently into the grass. Maren rubbed her eyes free of the sweat.
Cora hovered over her, holding her still to the ground, but instead of that heated intensity fixated on Maren, her expression was alert, and searching.
"Cor-" Maren tried to speak but no sooner was Cora's hand clamped over her mouth.
Maren furrowed her brows, ready to bite back and complain.
But then, a voice cut through the shadows of the garden.
"I trust it's been done."
The queen's voice.
Maren's body froze. What was the Queen doing at this hour, lurking between the roses and the shadows?
Maren's eyes flicked between the direction of the voice and Cora's face. While she was about ready to collapse from the strenuous exercise, Cora was still sharp enough to know they weren't alone, and quick enough to react and hide them in the brush.
"It has, my Lady." A man replied.
"And you confirmed it's been awakened?" the Queen asked again. Her voice was steady, but laced with tension.
"Of course, my Lady."
This voice was familiar, pulling at Maren's memory, but she couldn't place it.
"Although," the man added, "we nearly lost one of our men. That creature has a rather nasty temper."
"Nobody was bit, were they?" the Queen snapped. "You know the protocol."
"Of course not, Your Majesty. He was thoroughly searched and is currently in quarantine."
"Even quarantined!" She hissed. "It can still spread. This is not an ordinary plague, nor a creature that can be defeated by physical means. Your lackadaisical attitude concerns me."
"Rest assured, Your Majesty," the man replied calmly. "The situation is contained. You and your people are safe. And the trial is secure."
Maren heard the soft rustle of the grass as the Queen approached him.
"Understand this, Stranger," the Queen said, her voice sharp, like a knife dipped in poison. "Your success in this venture is critical. Not only to my family or my Kingdom, but to the Empire itself. The plague we harbor spreads faster than anything I've ever known. It is darkness. And this shadow — this Darkspirit — comes from a time before the daughters of the Goddess. Its malevolence rivals even the most powerful Starblessed in history."
She stepped in closer, her face edging the shadows that hid the Strangers face. "Do not underestimate the Darkspirit, Stranger. It desires only infection and death. Even a moment of carelessness, and it will take everything. By then…"
She paused.
Maren glanced up at Cora, her eyes wide. Cora gazed back down at her, mirroring her expression.
"...you will have already cursed us all."
They didn't understand what they'd heard.
"Never, my Queen." His voice laced with humor.
But they knew, without question —
This was not meant for their ears.