Chapter 3
708 Words
As a child, Josephine once entered the palace with her master to meet the King.
Suddenly, her master turned pale and hissed urgently, "Josephine, get out of the palace now. Go."
Before she could ask why, she was already sprinting blindly through the palace's maze-like corridors.
The next news she heard about her master was his death.
Lost and terrified, she just wanted out of that gilded prison.
Just as guards were about to grab her, inches from capture, an unknown palace maid intervened, hiding her in the shadows.
When Josephine finally decided to escape alone, she saw that same maid brutally punished and killed in the palace, all because of her.
With her dying breath, the maid mouthed silently, "Look after Alistair."
She was Alistair's mother.
Josephine's heart ached unbearably.
At fourteen, she turned back into the palace's depths, taking the place of a dead maid to find twelve-year-old Alistair, freshly orphaned and drowning in grief.
She thought, 'I have nothing left anyway, and this boy is just as lost as I am. I will stay until he heals.'
Once he recovered, she would leave.
But the longer she stayed, the deeper the roots grew.
Alistair would clutch her sleeve with red-rimmed eyes, his voice trembling.
"Josephine, will you leave me too? Is it because I am useless? First Father, then Mother, now you too?"
Once, he smuggled her a stolen piece of candy, cradling it like treasure, his hand bruised from the struggle.
Her chest tightened. 'He is just a child,' she thought, though she was barely more than one herself.
Precocious and sharp, she had learned things most never would—strategy, discernment, the art of power—from her eccentric master.
From that day, she vowed to use those skills to guide this boy out of the palace's smothering shadows.
Now she regretted staying. But the bond was too deep. 'Once he does not need me anymore,' she told herself, 'I will go.'
Years slipped by until Alistair's birthday arrived, his first as Crown Prince. Courtiers descended like vultures, scrambling to flatter him.
The banquet hall hummed with the clink of wine glasses as officials presented rare treasures.
When the crowd urged Josephine to show her gift, she stepped forward with a carefully embroidered sachet.
"Your Highness," she said gently, "you often strain your eyes reviewing documents late into the night. This sachet contains herbs to soothe your mind and brighten your vision. It is a small token."
The crowd murmured praises.
"How thoughtful of Madam Josephine."
Alistair smiled faintly, reaching for it.
Then Clarice's voice cut through, honeyed but sharp.
"How considerate of you, Madam Josephine. But eye strain has complex causes. Covering it up with scent is just a quick fix. It might even make things worse."
With practiced ease, Clarice turned to address Alistair directly, her words dripping with charm.
"Your Highness," she purred, "in my homeland, we know that growing up in poorly lit places ruins one's eyesight. Using my family's traditional methods, I have crafted these special eyeglasses just for you."
With a dramatic sweep of her hand, she presented delicate golden eyeglasses that caught the candlelight.
Alistair slipped them on eagerly and gasped as the world snapped into focus.
"Everything is crystal clear. Clarice, this is magic."
He tossed Josephine's sachet aside like yesterday's trash, his voice laced with frosty disdain.
"Josephine, I appreciate the gesture. But Clarice is right. These old wives' tales are useless superstitions. Do not waste your time."
The words "waste your time" stabbed through Josephine's heart like shards of glass.
Her vision blurred as she watched him fiddle with the spectacles like a spoiled child with a new toy, while her own gift, stitched with months of pricked fingers, lay discarded like some shameful secret.
White-hot agony lanced through her chest, her trembling fingers curling into fists within her sleeves.
Meanwhile, Alistair gushed with enthusiasm as he presented Clarice to the court.
"Lady Clarice is a political genius unlike any other. Half our recent reforms sprang from her brilliant mind."
Noticing the mood, an elder minister asked with feigned innocence,
"Since Your Highness shares such profound ties with Madam Josephine, why not seek His Majesty's blessing for your marriage during this auspicious celebration?"
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