AURORA

WHISPERS IN THE MARBLE HALLS

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Morning came with the sound of clanging pans and muffled footsteps in the servants’ quarters. Aurora was shaken from a shallow, restless sleep and sent to join a group tasked with polishing the floors near the east wing. It was her first time seeing more of the palace beyond the narrow servants’ corridors.

Kingdom Everest’s palace was vast—an empire of marble, gold, and shadow. Sunlight poured through tall windows, catching on the crystal chandeliers, yet somehow, the light never seemed to touch the corners. Every hall was guarded by statuesque soldiers whose eyes followed her as she passed.

It didn’t take long for whispers to reach her ears. The King had four concubines, each housed in a wing of the inner court, their chambers draped in silks from far-off lands. His queen was gone—dead. The story went—from a fall off the palace tower. An accident, so the official word claimed. But the servants told it differently, in voices lowered to a hush. A conspiracy. A push, not a fall.

Before her death, the queen had borne a single child: Crown Prince Jael. Rumoured to be the most handsome man in all of Kingdom Everest, his beauty was matched only by his charm. Servants spoke of him with a mix of awe and longing. But Jael was far away now, sent to another kingdom on a peace mission.

The concubines each had their place in the palace hierarchy. The one Aurora had been “gifted” to serve was Lady Racheal—Concubine Two. Her beauty was striking, her temper sharper still, and she was known to smile only when it could wound someone. Racheal had hoped to become the Queen herself after the queen’s death, but the King had not made the title hers. The shadow of that disappointment still clung to her like a second skin, and her rivalry with the other concubines burned bright.

Concubine One, Lady Mirabel, was older, cunning, and fiercely protective of her position. Concubine Three, Lady Mario, had recently given birth to twin girls—Rain and Blue—praised as the most beautiful children in the palace, much to Racheal’s annoyance. Concubine Four, Lady Jessica, was the youngest and most fragile-looking, yet to bear a child, and whispered to be desperate to give the King a son.

The King himself—Hillard the First—was a man the people no longer revered. The servants’ whispers about him were dark. “A sick man,” they said. “Not sick in the body—sick in the mind.” A lecherous ruler who took what he wanted and cast it aside once bored. His rages were unpredictable, his pleasures cruel.

It was while sweeping a corridor that Aurora met Aida. The girl was plain-faced, with eyes too large for her narrow features and a long, shiny scar running from her jaw to her collarbone. She was quick to talk, quicker to gossip.

“That scar?” she said when Aurora’s eyes flickered toward it. “Boiling tea. Lady Racheal herself threw it at me for dropping a comb. Lucky for me, it was only the side of my face. She aimed for the eyes.”

Aurora winced. “And you stayed?”

Aida laughed—a sharp, humourless sound. “Where would I go? Besides, I know this place better than anyone. I know who sneaks into whose chambers. I know which guards are cowards. And I know more about our sweet King Hillard than you want to hear.”

Aurora hesitated. “Tell me.”

“Oh, he’s sick all right. It's not the kind a doctor can cure. The kind where his mind’s twisted and his heart’s black. But you’ll see for yourself soon enough.”

As they worked side by side, Aida fed Aurora a steady stream of gossip—about the concubines’ feuds, about the prince’s absence, about the games of cruelty that passed for entertainment in the palace. Each story was another thread in the web Aurora was now caught in.

By the time the day ended, she realized the palace was more than marble and gold. It was a nest of serpents, each beautiful and venomous, waiting for the right moment to strike.

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As the afternoon light shifted through the palace windows, Aurora followed Aida deeper into places servants weren’t usually allowed to linger. The girl moved quickly, glancing over her shoulder to be sure they weren’t seen.

“You should know the layout,” Aida whispered. “It’ll keep you out of trouble—or at least help you run when it finds you.”

They passed the west wing, home to Lady Mirabel. The corridors here were lined with ancient portraits, all stern-faced royals with eyes that seemed to watch them. “Don’t let her calm manner fool you,” Aida murmured. “She’s a snake that doesn’t strike until you’ve forgotten it’s there.”

The southern wing was for Lady Racheal. Even the air seemed heavier there, scented thickly with her perfumes. Aurora’s stomach tightened as they passed the entrance—she could still feel the concubine’s eyes on her from the day before.

Lady Mario’s quarters were in the eastern wing. From the open doorway, Aurora glimpsed silks in pastel shades, the faint sound of children’s laughter drifting through the hall. “Those are Rain and Blue,” Aida said. “Beautiful girls. Too beautiful. Their mother is already plotting how to use them.”

The northern wing was quiet—Lady Jessica’s chambers. The windows were half-covered, the hall cool and dim. “She’s the youngest,” Aida whispered. “Sweet to your face, but desperate. A woman who wants a crown will smile even as she poisons you.”

They stopped before a narrow staircase leading to a tower. Aida’s voice dropped. “That’s where the Queen fell. Or was it pushed. They cleaned the stones after, but…” She trailed off, her eyes flicking to the steps as if seeing blood still pooled there.

Aurora shivered, her fingers tightening around the broom handle she carried. “And the Prince?” she asked.

Aida grinned, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Crown Prince Jael? Oh, you’ll know when he’s back. The whole palace changes when he’s here. Men respect him, women swoon, and the King—well, the King remembers what it’s like to feel threatened.”

They returned to the servants’ hall just as the dinner bell rang. The smell of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air, but Aurora’s stomach was too knotted to eat much. She kept glancing toward the high archways, half-expecting to see Lady Racheal sweep in and pull her away.

Later that night, she and Aida sat on the edge of their cots while the other girls settled in. “Listen to me, Aurora,” Aida said quietly, her scar catching the candlelight. “This place will chew you up if you don’t learn fast. Beauty is dangerous here—it draws eyes you don’t want and sparks hatred you can’t control. Keep your head down. Stay plain if you can.”

Aurora nodded, though the thought of hiding herself felt like another kind of prison. As she lay down, the day’s sights and words played over in her mind—the silent portraits, the children’s laughter, the shadowed stairwell, the scar on Aida’s face.

She realized then that she had not been brought to Kingdom Everest to serve. She had been brought here to survive.

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