Chapter 155: Rumors
I’ve always hated these—tea parties. On Aspen, I was fortunate that Thorne never needed me to play socialite at these excruciatingly dull affairs. Tea parties are illogical, really, a senseless gathering where people sit around pretending to enjoy each other’s company while exchanging gossip that rarely holds any substance. I stay seated, bored out of my mind, fingers fidgeting with the embroidery on my sleeves.
The room buzzes with conversation, laughter tinkling like false music, and I feel a sense of disconnect, as if I’m a misplaced puzzle piece in this world of polite facades. Even Felix’s never-ending ramblings about poisonous plants and the best way to brew toxins would be preferable to this monotonous charade. At least his voice was something lively, something with substance.
"-unlike her royal highness Mirelle, you are so well-behaved," a lady’s voice cuts through the droning background noise, and for the first time, I lift my head, my curiosity piqued. It’s not often I hear people mention my mother in these circles, and something about the way they do makes my ears perk up.
"I’ve heard tales about her," I reply, a little cautiously, unsure whether to brace for more scandal or something entirely unexpected.
The lady chuckles, her expression softening with a hint of wistfulness. "You have no idea, Princess Mirelle, the only daughter of the royal family, was anything but what you’d expect from a princess," she says, and there’s a fondness in her voice, a trace of sadness that makes me pause. I study her face, the longing in her eyes, and wonder if she was once my mother’s friend.
"I didn’t even know she was royalty until I was much older," I admit, my voice betraying a touch of nostalgia.
"But my mother was always proud, confident, and fiercely self-serving." I smile faintly at the memories, at the wild stories I’ve pieced together about her. Mirelle, the village wildcard, the woman who raised me in a world far removed from the court, had never been the type to conform to expectations. She was a storm, a force of nature, always dancing to her own rhythm.
"Yeah, if only the king hadn’t—" one of the women starts, but she’s quickly hushed by another. An uncomfortable silence settles over the table, like a shroud, and I force myself to remain quiet. It’s an open secret, whispered about in dark corners and behind closed doors: the king’s obsession with his sister. My mother’s sudden departure from the kingdom has always been a mystery, one shrouded in gossip and scandal. They say that mere days before she fled, there had been a heated argument between her and the king, one that left ripples throughout the entire court.
What exactly happened between them? What could have driven a spoiled princess, beloved and infamous in equal measure, to abandon everything she knew, cross the seas, and build a new life in a foreign village—pregnant and alone?