Untamed Queen

Untamed Queen 1to 4

Chapter 1 A Cage With Silk Ribbons

The year was 1902.

The sky over London was gray. Not just gray. It was the kind of gray that looked like it had been washed too many times. All the color gone.

Carriages rolled down the wet stones. Men in tall hats shouted orders. Women walked behind them. Eyes down. Hands folded.

That was how it was supposed to be.

*Adeline* Blackwood was not supposed to be different.

She stood at the window of her father’s house for the last time. The dress on her body was heavy. White lace, tight at the waist. Sleeves all the way to her wrists. It itched. God, it itched. Everything about this day itched.

“Stop frowning, child,” her mother said behind her. “Today you become a wife. Smile, Adeline.”

Adeline didn’t turn. “And if I don’t want to?”

The room went quiet. Too quiet.

Her mother sighed. A tired sound. “A woman’s job is to obey. Your husband is a good man. Lord Edmund Vale. Rich. Powerful. He will give you a good life.”

A good life. Right.

That meant sitting still. Pouring tea. Bearing children. Keeping her mouth shut when he raised his voice.

Adeline pressed her palm to the cold glass. It left a mark. Outside, a bird was trying to fly against the wind. It kept getting pushed back. Falling, then trying again.

She understood that bird. Too well.

The wedding was short. The church smelled like old flowers. And old rules. Lord Edmund Vale was tall. Broad shoulders. A jaw that looked like it was carved from stone. He didn’t smile at her. He looked at her like a man looks at a horse he just bought. Checking the teeth. Checking if it would run. If it would break.

“I do,” Adeline said. Because her father’s hand was heavy on her back. Heavy enough to hurt.

And just like that, she was property. Lady Vale.

The carriage ride to the Vale estate was silent. Edmund sat across from her, reading a newspaper. He didn’t ask if she was cold. Not once. He didn’t ask her name again either. Even though he’d forgotten it twice at the altar.

Only one other person was in the carriage with them. Thomas.

Thomas had come with her from her father’s house. He wasn’t a servant. Not really. He was the son of her father’s stable hand. He’d grown up three years older than her. He taught her how to ride. How to climb trees. How to lie so her father wouldn’t find out.

Now he sat stiff in his black suit. Hat in his hands. Eyes on the floor.

He didn’t look at her. But Adeline felt him. She always did.

The Vale estate was big. Too big. Stone walls. Iron gates. Gardens cut into perfect shapes. No mess. No wildness. Nothing out of place.

Inside, the air smelled like polish. And quiet. The floor was so shiny it felt slippery under her shoes.

“Your rooms are upstairs,” Edmund said finally. His voice was low. Smooth. “You will have dinner with me at eight. Do not be late, Mrs Vale.”

Then he walked away.

That was it. No “welcome home.” No “how was your day.” Nothing.

Adeline stood in the middle of the grand hall with her small bag. It felt stupid. Small.

A woman appeared. Older. Kind eyes. “I’m Mrs. Hale, housekeeper. Let me show you to your room, Lady Vale.”

Lady Vale. The name felt like a costume. One that didn’t fit.

The room was beautiful. Big bed. Silk curtains. A fireplace that was already lit. And yet. It felt like a cage.

Mrs. Hale set the bag down. “Dinner is at eight, my lady. If you need anything—”

“I need to breathe,” Adeline said before she could stop herself.

Mrs. Hale blinked. Then gave a small, sad smile. “The garden is open until dusk, my lady.”

Adeline waited until the door closed. Then she kicked off the tight shoes. And ran.

The garden was cold. Her dress dragged in the dirt. She didn’t care. She ran past the trimmed roses. Past the stone statues. Until she reached the back wall. There was a tree there. Old. Branches low.

She climbed it.

For ten minutes, she was free. Ten minutes where no one told her what to do. Where the wind hit her face and no one called it “unseemly.” Where her lungs could actually fill up.

“Adeline.”

She froze.

Thomas stood below the tree. Hat in his hands. Again.

“You’ll catch your death,” he said quietly. He kicked a stone. “Or worse. If Lord Vale’s men see you...”

Adeline dropped down. Landed hard. The impact shot up her legs. “Let them see. I’m tired of hiding, Thomas. Tired.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. His eyes were dark. Tired. And full of something she had pretended not to see for years.

“You’re not like other women,” he said.

“I know.”

“You’ll get hurt.”

“I’d rather be hurt than caged.” The words came out before she could think.

He took a step closer. Then stopped himself. His jaw tightened. “Come on. Dinner is soon. I’ll walk you back, Ada.”

Ada. Only he called her that.

They walked in silence. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was loud.

At eight sharp, Adeline sat at a table long enough for twenty people. Only two plates were set. Hers. And Edmund’s at the other end. Miles away.

He arrived late. On purpose.

He ate slowly. Cutting his meat with precise movements. Tick. Tick. Tick. Finally, he put his knife down.

“You embarrassed me today,” he said. “At the church. Your face.”

Adeline kept her eyes on her plate. “I’m sorry you were embarrassed, Lord Vale.”

“Don’t lie to me. I don’t like liars.” He leaned forward. “Let me be clear, Adeline. You are my wife. That means you obey. You smile. You give me heirs. And in return, you will have silk. Jewels. And a name people respect.”

She looked up. “And what if I don’t want silk?”

His eyes narrowed. “Then you will learn to want it.”

There it was. The word he hadn’t said yet. _Tame_.

He wanted to tame her. Like the horses in his stable. Break her until she was useful. Pretty. Quiet.

Adeline felt her hands shake under the table. Not from fear. From anger. Hot, angry anger.

“I understand,” she said softly. Too softly.

“Good.” He stood. “You’re dismissed.”

She walked out with her back straight. Even though her legs wanted to run.

Later that night, there was a knock on her door.

It wasn’t Thomas. It was Mrs. Hale. And behind her, two other women. Older. The kind of women who ran households. Who saw everything.

“We heard what happened at dinner,” one of them said. Lady Margaret. Edmund’s aunt. “Come. Sit with us, dear.”

Adeline was confused. “My husband said—”

“Your husband is an i***t,” Lady Margaret said bluntly. The other women actually laughed. Snorted, even.

They sat her down in a small sitting room. Tea. Warm blankets. And questions. So many questions.

“Do you know how to read?”

“Can you ride?”

“Do you want children right away?”

Adeline answered honestly. And with every answer, the women nodded.

Finally, Lady Margaret took her hand. Her hands were rough. Warm. “My dear. This house has been cold for too long. If you have fire in you, don’t let him put it out. We will stand with you, Adeline.”

Adeline didn’t know what to say. Her throat felt tight. No one had ever said that to her before.

“We consider you our daughter now,” another said. “Not his toy.”

For the first time since morning, Adeline felt something loosen in her chest. Like a knot coming undone.

When she went back to her room, Thomas was waiting in the hall. He shouldn’t have been.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He looked like he wanted to say more. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Adeline saw it. She had always seen it. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. The way he stepped between her and her father’s anger as a kid.

“Goodnight, Thomas,” she said softly.

“Goodnight, Ada,” he replied. But his voice broke. Just a little. On her name.

He turned and walked away.

Adeline closed the door. She looked at the silk bed. The locked windows. The rules waiting for her in the morning.

Then she smiled. Small. Sharp.

They wanted to tame her.

They had no idea what they were dealing with.

Chapter 2 The Woman Who Taught Me Not To Bow

I was seven. Maybe eight. The first time I got hit for talking back.

It wasn’t my father. Thank God. It was the governess. Miss Price. Thin lips. Hair pulled back so tight it had to hurt. And that ruler. That damn ruler that always made this _c***k_ sound.

“Sit up straight, Adeline,” she said. “A lady does not slouch.”

“I’m tired,” I said. Stupid. I knew it was stupid even as I said it. “The chair hurts my back.”

_Smack._

Right across the knuckles.

“Apologize,” she said.

I looked at her. My hands were stinging. Like fire. “No.”

That night I cried into my pillow. Not loud. Just... into it. Not because of the ruler. Because I didn’t get it. Why was sitting straight more important than telling the truth? It didn’t make sense.

The door opened. Soft.

Grandmother.

She wasn’t supposed to be in the house. Father said she was "too outspoken for polite company." Which meant she said what she thought.

She sat on my bed. Her hands smelled like lavender. And dirt. Always dirt. From her garden.

“Who hurt you?”

I showed her. Red marks.

She didn’t do the pity face. She just... nodded. Like she knew it was coming.

“Adeline,” she said. “Listen. And actually listen, alright?”

I nodded.

“In this world, they’re gonna tell you to bow. To your father. To your husband. To any man with a bigger purse than you. And they’ll call it respect.”

She took my hands. Her skin was rough.

“But a bow, Ada... a bow becomes a habit. And one day you wake up, and your back’s broken and you can’t even remember how to stand up straight on your own.”

I frowned. “But Mama says a good wife—”

“Your mama is scared,” Grandmother cut me off. Not mean. Just tired. “Fear makes people small. Don’t you be small. Not you.”

Ada. Only she called me that.

“Will I get in trouble?” I whispered.

“Probably,” she said. And then she grinned. That crooked grin. “But trouble goes away. Regret sticks around. It sticks.”

She kissed my forehead. “Come on. Salve for those hands. And tomorrow we’re climbing the big oak. Just to prove we can.”

That was the day I stopped bowing. More or less.

Growing up like that... it’s lonely. God it’s lonely.

Other girls had dolls. And tea sets. And they practiced curtsies in the mirror for hours.

I had questions. Too many. I had scraped knees. I had a tree I wasn’t supposed to climb.

“Adeline is wild,” the mothers said at church. Whispering behind their fans.

“Adeline has no manners,” the tutors wrote to Father.

So the invitations stopped. Birthdays. Teas. All of it.

I told myself I didn’t care.

Until I was ten. Winter. And I saw three girls from the village making a snowman. Laughing. Throwing snow.

I stood at the gate. Just watching.

One of them saw me. “Go away, Adeline. Mama says you’re improper.”

And the gate shut. _Click._

That night I asked Grandmother, “Why don’t I have friends?”

She was shelling peas. Didn’t even look up. “Because people are scared of fire, Ada. They think it’ll burn them.”

“Will I burn them?”

“No.” She looked at me then. “I think you’ll light the way. But only the brave ones will come close.”

Two days later, Thomas showed up.

Thomas was 13. Son of the stable hand. Always dirt under his nails. Always calm. Annoyingly calm.

Father told him, “Keep an eye on Miss Adeline. Make sure she doesn’t break her neck or burn the place down.”

First day, I was in the oak tree. Of course.

“What are you doing up there?” he called up.

“Proving I can,” I said.

He didn’t tell me to get down. He just... sat. Under the tree. “It’s cold.”

“Then go inside.”

“Nah.” He pulled his coat tighter. “If you fall, someone should be here. To catch you. Or, you know. To laugh. One of the two.”

He didn’t catch me. I didn’t fall.

But he came back. The next day. And the next.

We didn’t talk much. I’d climb. He’d watch. Sometimes he’d leave an apple at the bottom of the tree. Sometimes a book. One time it was _Robinson Crusoe_. Father said it was "not for girls."

“Why do you keep coming?” I asked him once.

He shrugged. Kicked a rock. “Bored.”

Lie. I knew it was a lie.

Thomas was the first person who didn’t try to make me smaller.

When I talked back to the priest, Thomas bit his lip. Hard. Like he was trying not to laugh.

When I came in with blood on my knees, he was the one who snuck me bandages from the stable.

When Father yelled, Thomas would be in the hall after. Not saying anything. Just... there. Like a wall.

I think he admired me. Even then.

Not like... not like _that_. At first. It was like watching someone juggle knives and not being able to look away.

He wanted to be near it. Near me.

But he never said anything. Never.

I know why now.

I was 14. Got in a fight with my cousin. He said girls couldn’t read philosophy. I threw his stupid book in the pond. _Splash_.

Father lost it. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl! No man will marry you!”

I ran to the stables. To cry. Because of course I did.

Thomas was there. Mucking out a stall.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said fast. Too fast. “If your father sees—”

“I don’t care!” I was yelling. “I’m so tired of caring!”

He stopped. The pitchfork in his hands. And he looked at me.

And for like, two seconds, I saw it. Everything. The way his jaw did that thing. The way his hands gripped the wood until his knuckles went white.

“I care,” he said. Quiet. So quiet I almost didn’t hear. “Because if you keep this up... they’ll send me away. And I can’t— I don’t want to go.”

That was it.

After that he did everything to stay close. Extra work in our stables. Delivering messages to the house. He even learned to read better just to argue with me about books.

But he never touched my hand. Never said my name soft.

Because for him, liking me was dangerous.

Liking me could mean getting fired.

Liking me could mean never seeing me again.

So he chose... this. Being close. And silent.

And me? I was a coward too. Because it was easier to pretend I didn’t see how he looked at me sometimes. When he thought I was asleep.

Grandmother died when I was 16.

Fever. Came fast. Went faster.

At the funeral everyone bowed their heads. Everyone.

Except me.

I stood there. Back straight. Staring at the sky.

After, Mama hissed, “Show some respect, Adeline.”

I looked at the grave. “I am.”

That night I went to her cottage. Empty. Cold. Smelled like her, but fainter.

On the table. A note. Her handwriting all shaky.

_To my Ada,_

_Don’t let them clip your wings. The world needs women who fly. Even if they fly alone. Especially then._

_Gran_

I folded it. Put it in the locket I still wear. Right here. _Tap tap_ against my chest.

And now? I’m 19.

Married to Lord Edmund Vale.

In a house made of silk and rules and _shut your mouth_.

Today at dinner he told me to learn to want silk.

He has no idea.

No idea about the girl in the tree.

No idea about the woman who told her not to bow.

No idea about the boy who stayed.

They think they can tame me.

They think wrong.

I’ve been untamed for 19 years.

And I’m not starting now.

Chapter 3 Silk On Her Fingers

The next morning came too fast.

Mrs. Hale knocked. "Breakfast in half an hour, my lady."

The dress was pale blue. Silk. With sleeves. Of course it had sleeves.

I put it on. Picking fights before coffee was a bad idea.

The dining room was empty. Except for two people.

Edmund. At the head. Reading.

And a maid.

Not Mrs. Hale. This one was younger. Maybe 20. Apron clean. Too clean.

And under it? A cream dress with lace at the collar.

Pretty.

“Good morning, Lord Vale,” she said. “And good morning, Lady Vale.”

Like the title tasted bad.

“Céline. More tea,” Edmund said. Without looking up.

Céline poured his first. Leaning in just a little.

Then she came to me.

And looked me dead in the eyes.

_I’m here_, her mouth said.

I blinked. Kept walking.

I had a locket burning against my chest and 19 years of not bowing.

I didn’t have time for this.

But Edmund did.

He ate slow. Every few minutes Céline refilled his cup. Straightened his napkin.

And stayed. Right next to his chair.

Then his hand moved.

Lazy. His fingers found hers on the tray. Squeezed once.

Right in front of me.

He didn’t even look up.

Céline flushed. Pink down her neck.

And looked at me again. _See?_

Waiting for me to break.

I picked up my fork. The eggs were cold.

I ate anyway.

Chew. Swallow. Blank face. The kind Grandmother taught me.

Behind me, I heard it.

Thomas.

A tiny breath. His _good_ sound. The one he made when I won.

He was happy I wasn’t reacting.

When Edmund left he said, “I’ll be in my study. Don’t bother me, Mrs Vale.”

Then he was gone.

Leaving me with a cold plate. And a maid who thought she’d won.

---

Ten minutes later, a knock.

Céline. No tray. Just her cream dress.

“Lady Vale. May I speak with you?”

I was at the window. “Talk.”

“I... Lord Vale and I. We have an understanding.”

“And?”

“And I thought you should know. About your place here.”

I turned.

She was standing straight. Chin up. Trying to look bigger.

“You think I care?” I asked.

“I just thought—”

“Let me save you the trouble.”

I said her name slow.

“Edmund can put his hand wherever he wants. On you. On the teapot. I don’t care.”

Her face fell.She Couldn't believe it .

She blinked. “But the other ladies—”

“Would scream? Throw things? Maybe. I’m not other ladies.”

I looked past her. “If you’re done, I have things to do. Like not bowing.”

The color drained from her face.

“You’re not even upset,” she whispered.

“Nope.” I smiled. Sharp. “And you know what’s worse? He knows that. That’s why he did it. He wanted a reaction.”

I leaned in.

“I didn’t.”

She curtsied. Messy. And ran.

---

When the door closed, Thomas was in the hall.

“Did I do good?”

His shoulders were relaxed. For the first time in days.

“You did perfect, Ada.”

Then he frowned. “He’ll try something else.”

“I know. Let him.”

We started walking.

“He touched her,” Thomas said quietly.

“I saw.”

“And you didn’t—”

“No.” I stopped. “I’m not gonna waste my fire on a man who thinks touching a maid is power.”

Something in his eyes broke. In a good way.

“Grandmother would’ve been proud.”

“Yeah,” I said. “She would.”

Somewhere in the house, I heard Céline crying.

Not my problem.

Later that afternoon_

I went to the library. Because it was the only room with no eyes.

The shelves went up to the ceiling. Dust in the air. The smell of old paper.

I pulled out a book at random. Byron.

I sat on the floor. Back against the shelves. Like I used to at home.

Footsteps.

Thomas.

He didn’t say anything. Just sat down next to me. Not close. But not far.

For ten minutes we didn’t talk.

Just the sound of pages.

“You missed breakfast,” he said finally.

“I ate.”

“Not much.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

Lie. My stomach was empty. But eating in front of them felt like losing.

Thomas reached into his coat. Pulled out an apple.

Red. Small.

He held it out.

“Here.”

I took it. “Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Don’t make it a thing.”

I bit into it. Sweet. Tart.

For the first time in days, something tasted like something.

“You were good this morning,” he said.

“I know.”

“Céline’s packing. She leaves tomorrow.”

I stopped chewing. “Edmund sent her away?”

“No.” Thomas looked at the floor. “She asked. Said the house was... cold.”

Cold. Right.

Because I didn’t cry.

Because I didn’t break.

I handed him half the apple. He took it.

Our fingers brushed.

Neither of us said anything about it.

“Be careful, Ada,” he said. Quiet.

“He’s madder when he loses quiet.”

“I know.”

“Next time he won’t use a maid.”

“I know.”

We finished the apple in silence.

And for ten minutes, the house didn’t feel like a cage.

Chapter 4 Wear Black

I heard her.

Céline.

From my room. Sniffing. Those little broken sounds people make when they want to be heard.

She was crying because she wanted me to cry first.

To feel jealous. To feel small.

I listened for ten seconds. Then I stopped.

I had better things to do. Like remember how to breathe.

Downstairs, Edmund heard it too.

He didn’t check on me. Didn’t check on her.

Men like him don’t clean messes. They use them.

And he was about to use me.

_Three days later_

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

Edmund barely spoke at meals. Just the paper. Tick tick of his knife.

Céline was gone. "Other estate," Mrs. Hale said.

I didn’t ask.

Thomas was lighter though. He’d catch my eye and almost smile.

On the fourth night, a letter came. Cream paper. Black seal.

At dinner Edmund said, “We have guests next week.”

“The Ashfords. The Whitakers. Two members of Parliament. Their wives.”

“A small gathering. To introduce you properly as Mrs Vale.”

Introduce me. Like I was a new painting.

“Of course, Lord Vale,” I said.

The corner of his mouth went up.

He was planning something.

_A week passed._

I walked in the garden. I read.

I almost forgot about the party.

Until the morning of.

Mrs. Hale came early. With two maids.

“Lord Vale’s orders, my lady.”

They opened the wardrobe.

And pulled out a dress.

Black.

But not mourning black.

This one was fitted at the waist. The neckline wasn’t low, but it wasn’t high. It hugged. The sleeves stopped at the elbow. Showing my arms.

I stared at it.

I’d been active my whole life.

But I’d never worn anything that flattered me.

My father bought me dresses that were big. To hide me. "A lady should not draw attention."

This dress didn’t hide anything.

My stomach flipped. Not because I hated it. Because I wasn’t used to being seen.

“Leave it,” I said. “I’ll get ready.”

When they left, I got dressed. Slow.

And when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself.

Not ugly. Not cheap.

Just... me. But sharper.

The black made my skin pale. My eyes darker.

I looked like a woman. Not a girl. Not a problem to be hidden.

I hated that I liked it.

Thomas found me in the hall.

He stopped when he saw me.

His eyes went from my face down and back up.

“Ada,” he said. Rough.

“Is it awful?” I snapped.

“No.” He swallowed. “No, it’s not awful.”

“You’ve never worn anything like that.”

“I know.”

“You look... like the real you. Not the one they try to hide.”

My cheeks got hot.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

He almost smiled. “Sorry.”

We walked to the drawing room in silence.

_8 PM. The drawing room._

It was full.

Candles. Perfume. Money.

And Edmund in the middle.

Then he saw me.

The room got quiet. For two seconds.

I heard a woman whisper.

I came down the stairs slow. Back straight.

Edmund took my arm. His fingers dug in.

“Ladies and gentlemen. May I present my wife. Lady Adeline Vale.”

_Trophy_, his eyes said. _Look what I made her wear._

But it didn’t work.

People weren’t looking with disgust.

They were looking at me.

At my face. At the way I held myself.

“Adeline, my dear,” Edmund said. “You look striking.”

“Thank you, husband,” I said. And I smiled.

He led me around. Little jabs.

“Such a wild spirit, this one.”

“She’s always been... energetic.”

I answered about the weather. About tea.

And the whole time, women looked at me.

Not with pity. With curiosity.

Because I wasn’t bowing.

Halfway through, he tried it.

“Adeline. Sing for us? You have such a pretty voice.”

Trap.

“I’m afraid I have a cold, my lord. But I would be honored to recite a poem.”

A murmur.

Edmund’s jaw ticked. “Of course.”

I recited one. Grandmother’s. About fire and standing.

I messed up one line. On purpose.

When I finished, silence.

Then Lady Margaret clapped.

Then everyone.

Edmund’s hand tightened on my back.

_After._

I went to my room. Shut the door.

And I sat on the floor.

Because I was shaking.

From standing straight for three hours in a dress that felt like armor.

There was a knock.

Thomas.

“You were... beautiful,” he said. “Not the dress. You. In it.”

“Don’t,” I said.

“Don’t what? Like I’ve never seen you before? Because I haven’t, Ada. Not like this.”

He was right. I’d hidden.

And tonight, Edmund tried to expose me to humiliate me.

But all he did was put me in front of the world.

_The next morning_

Edmund was gone.

“Business in London, my lady,” Mrs. Hale said.

Good.

I ate hot eggs.

Lady Margaret sat with me. “You did well, child.”

“I didn’t break.”

“No. You shined.”

She poured me more tea. Her hands shook a little.

“Edmund’s mother was like that,” she said suddenly.

“Like what?”

“Fire. She married his father at seventeen. He tried to tame her too.”

I looked up. “What happened?”

“She died.” Margaret’s voice went flat. “Fell from a horse. When Edmund was twelve.”

The room got quiet.

“Accident?” I asked.

Margaret met my eyes. “That’s what they said.”

She didn’t say more.

She didn’t have to.

Across the hall, Thomas was polishing silver. He looked up. Saw me.

And he nodded.

Just once.

I understood.

This wasn’t the first time Edmund tried to break someone.

And it couldn’t be the last time someone refused.

I pushed my plate away. Appetite gone.

“Thank you for the tea, Lady Margaret.”

“Anytime, child.”

Lady Margaret sat with me. “You did well, child.”

“I didn’t break.”

“No. You shined.”

Across the hall, Thomas nodded.

Just once.

_In London. Edmund’s study._

He threw his glass against the wall.

_Crash._

“That didn’t go as planned,” Whitaker said.

“No,” Edmund said. Low. Dangerous.

He’d wanted to humiliate her.

Instead, they whispered about her beauty.

About how "Lord Vale is a lucky man."

He was stunned. And furious.

“Next time,” he said. "Next time she will bow.”

To be continued..