Her Throne

Chapter 3: 🔸A Friend🔸

The Queen's Friend

For three days, Mirelle did not leave the Queen's wing.

Every morning, she brewed the dandelion root tea herself. Every afternoon, she massaged Veronica's swollen ankles with warm oil and comfrey. Every evening, she sat by the fireplace and told her which foods would help her sleep.

The other maids whispered.

"She's been in there too long. The Queen will get tired of her."

"She's just a village girl. She doesn't know how to talk to royalty."

But inside the chamber, it was different.

On the fourth morning, Veronica was sitting by the window, her cheeks pinker than they had been in months. She was brushing her own hair — something she hadn't done in a long time.

Mirelle entered with the tea tray, head bowed. "Your Majesty, your tea."

Veronica looked up and smiled. A real smile.

"Mirelle, how many times do I have to tell you? When it's just us, it's just Veronica."

Mirelle froze. "I... I cannot, Your Majesty. It's not proper."

Veronica stood up and took the tray from her hands herself. She placed it on the table and pulled Mirelle to sit down beside her.

"Proper? I have spent five years surrounded by proper people. Proper ladies who bow, proper lords who pity me, proper maids who are afraid to look me in the eyes," Veronica said softly. "Do you know how lonely that is?"

Mirelle's eyes widened.

Veronica poured two cups of tea — one for herself, and one for Mirelle.

"You are the first person in this palace who looked at me and saw a woman, not a failed womb. You didn't look at me with pity. You looked at me like... like you wanted to help me because you cared."

She pushed the cup toward Mirelle.

"Drink with me. As a friend."

Mirelle's hands were shaking. No queen had ever offered her tea. In her village, healers were respected, but never invited to the table.

"Thank you... Veronica," she whispered.

And for the first time, Veronica laughed. A light, happy laugh that echoed in the cold stone room.

"See? That wasn't so hard."

From that day on, everything changed.

Veronica demanded Mirelle eat with her. She asked her about her village, about the herbs in the forest, about her life before the palace. Mirelle, in return, listened to Veronica talk about how much she missed her mother, how scared she was of never giving the King an heir, how much she hated the cold palace dinners where everyone stared at her belly.

"I feel better, Mirelle. Really better," Veronica said one evening, her hand resting on her stomach. "For the first time in years, I feel... hope. And it's because of you. You are my first true friend here."

Mirelle felt her throat tighten. She took the Queen's hand gently.

"You will be a wonderful mother, Veronica. I can feel it. Your body is healing. It's strong."

Veronica squeezed her hand back, her eyes shining.

"Promise me you won't leave? Even after the baby comes? Promise you'll stay by my side?"

"I promise," Mirelle said.

Outside the door, the guards heard the Queen laughing again. And down the hall, King Ulric, who was passing by to check on his wife, stopped when he heard that laugh.

He hadn't heard his wife laugh like that in five years.

And it was because of the village healer girl.

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The King Starts to Notice

At first, King Ulric was only grateful.

He would come to his wife's chamber in the evening and he would see her — not crying by the window anymore, but laughing. Talking fast. Alive again.

And always, beside her, was the small healer girl in the patched wool dress.

"Mirelle made me this oil for my hair, look Ulric!" Veronica would say, beaming. "And she told me the funniest story about her goats!"

Ulric would smile and nod. "I am glad you have a friend, my love."

He saw Mirelle only as his wife's friend. Nothing more. A kind, clever girl who had saved his queen when all the royal physicians had failed.

But slowly, unintentionally, he started seeing her.

The Library

One rainy afternoon, Ulric went to the royal library to find a book on the northern borders. He didn't know Mirelle was there, searching for a book on birthing herbs that Veronica had asked for.

She was standing on a small stool, reaching for a high shelf. Her dress was a little too big, her sleeves rolled up, her hair falling out of its braid.

The stool wobbled.

She gasped —

Ulric moved without thinking and caught her waist to steady her. She fell right against his chest, her hands gripping his arms.

For a second, they both froze. Her eyes were wide, green like wet leaves. He could smell rosemary and rain on her.

"Forgive me! I — I lost my balance!" she said quickly, stepping back, her face red.

"It's alright. Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

She shook her head and ran out, clutching the herb book. Ulric stood there for a long time, his hands still feeling warm where he had held her. He told himself it was nothing. Just an accident.

The Herb Garden

Veronica had insisted Mirelle needed a small herb garden of her own. So Mirelle spent her mornings there, hands in the dirt.

One morning, Ulric was walking with his council and cut through the garden to get to the training yard. He saw her there, kneeling, humming softly to herself, dirt on her cheeks, talking to the seedlings like they were children.

"Mirelle?"

She looked up, startled, and tried to stand too fast. Her foot slipped in the mud.

Again, he caught her — this time by the hand. Her fingers were cold and covered in soil.

"Careful," he said softly, and pulled her up.

They were close. Too close. He could see a smudge of dirt on her nose. Without thinking, he reached out and wiped it with his thumb.

Mirelle's breath hitched. His own heart hammered against his ribs.

He pulled his hand back like he had been burned.

"You... you had dirt," he muttered.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

That night, Ulric could not sleep. He told himself: She is your wife's only friend. She is a healer. She is like a little sister. Stop it.

But his heart wouldn't listen.

The Storm

It was late. A storm hit the palace. Veronica was already asleep after taking her evening tea.

Mirelle was returning to her chamber with a lantern when the wind blew all the torches out in the hallway. It was pitch black.

She collided hard with someone coming from the opposite direction.

Books and a lantern clattered to the floor.

It was Ulric. He had been in his war room.

In the dark, he caught her shoulders so she wouldn't fall. The only light was the small, flickering flame from her fallen lantern on the ground.

"Mirelle?"

"Your Majesty! I am so sorry, I couldn't see —"

"Shhh, it's dark, don't worry," he said.

For a few seconds, in the dark hallway, with the storm roaring outside, it was just the two of them. Her hands were on his chest. His hands were on her shoulders. Her face was tilted up to his, lit by the small firelight. Her lips were slightly parted.

Neither of them moved.

Then footsteps came from the end of the hall. A guard with a torch.

Ulric let go instantly and stepped back. Mirelle scrambled to pick up her lantern, her heart beating so loud she was sure he could hear it.

"Goodnight, Mirelle," he said, his voice low.

"Goodnight, Your Majesty," she said, and hurried away without looking back.

Ulric watched her go, his fists clenched at his sides.

He was the King of Arthemia. He had a wife he loved. He had a kingdom. He had no right to feel this way about the one person who had brought happiness back to his queen.

This is wrong, he told himself. She is Veronica's friend. Nothing more. It was just an accident. All of it was an accident.

But deep down, he knew he was lying to himself.

He was already falling for her.