"Jorren wants to see you," she said, her voice as sharp as ever.
Nysa padded over, wiping her hands on her apron. Her uncle stood near the workshop door, strapping on his leather satchel, his jaw tight.
"You'll come with me," he said, not looking at her.
Nysa blinked. "To the palace?"
Lina and Kaeli were in the doorway, wide-eyed. Kaeli stepped forward, lips parted. "Why does she get to go?"
"She helps. You whine."
"But I thought I—!"
"You're not," Jorren snapped. "Nysa's been helping with the lacquer work and knows where I keep the scrolls. That's that."
Kaeli's face flushed a deep red, and she stormed off without another word. Nysa stood frozen, unsure whether to smile or apologize. Instead, she gave a small nod and whispered, "I'll get my cloak."
Nysa turned toward the back room, her skin prickling under Kaeli's searing glare. She moved quickly, eager to escape the weight of the moment—but before she could take three steps, a hand clamped around her wrist, nails biting into flesh.
Nysa spun, meeting the other girl's furious gaze. Kaeli's lips curled, her voice a venomous whisper meant only for her.
"You think you're clever, don't you?"
Nysa stiffened. "I didn't ask for this."
"No, you just happened to be the one always hovering near his work, always so helpful." Kaeli's grip tightened. "You knew he'd notice."
Nysa yanked her arm free, heart hammering. "I'm not stealing anything from you."
Kaeli smirked. "Aren't you?"
Before Nysa could retort, Uncle Jorren's voice cut between them like a blade. "Enough."
They both flinched. He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable, but the air around him simmered with warning.
Kaeli lifted her chin, defiance flashing—but she knew better than to push him. With one last scorching look at Nysa, she turned on her heel and stalked away, her skirts snapping like a banner in battle.
Nysa exhaled, her fingers trembling as she reached for her cloak.
"It's time to go, get everything ready" he said.
Aunt Mara said nothing as Nysa rushed past. Her heart beat faster with each step—half nerves, half disbelief. She was going to the palace. The place she'd only heard whispers about from customers in the shop or Kaeli's gossiping tongue. She tightened the thin cloak around her shoulders and tucked her pendant beneath her collar, where it always lay close to her skin.
---
The road to the palace wound through hills dusted in spring green, the trees just beginning to bloom. Nysa sat beside her uncle in the cart, the wooden wheels creaking steadily beneath them. He said little, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. She didn't mind the silence. Her thoughts were loud enough.
Her hands fidgeted in her lap, thumbs tracing the grooves in her palms. What would the palace look like? Would the prince or princess be there? Would they serve cakes dusted in gold like Kaeli claimed?
She was still imagining powdered sugar and sparkling chandeliers when the golden spires came into view.
"Aeloria's heart," Jorren muttered.
Nysa gasped.
The palace rose like a dream above the trees, its walls a soft cream kissed by sunlight. Tall banners of crimson and silver fluttered in the wind. The gates were flanked by guards clad in gleaming armor, motionless as statues.
They passed under the high archway, and Nysa felt her breath catch in her throat. The air smelled of roses and something else—lavender? Cinnamon? It was impossible to tell. Everything felt too big, too clean, too perfect.
She clutched the edge of her seat as Jorren drove around the main courtyard, finally halting near a side entrance. A steward in dark velvet met them.
"Master Jorren of Windale?" the man asked, peering at a scroll.
"Yes. This is my assistant," he said, jerking his chin toward Nysa.
The steward's eyes barely flicked to her before he nodded. "Stable your cart and follow me."
Nysa trailed after them, heart pounding, eyes wide. The inside of the palace was even more dazzling. Marble floors shone like glass. The ceilings were painted with stars, gods, and birds mid-flight. Servants bustled past, carrying trays, scrolls, linens. No one paid her any mind, which made her feel even smaller.
She kept close to Jorren as they were led through hallways and down into a room lined with polished wooden panels—some kind of meeting chamber. A few men were already seated at a long table, deep in conversation. One looked up and gestured at Jorren.
"The king's advisors will review your designs shortly. Wait here," the steward instructed.
Jorren gave a grunt and stepped into the room, casting a glance at Nysa. "Stay out of the way."
"Yes, Uncle," she said quickly.
But the moment he disappeared, her feet drifted of their own accord.
---
She wandered down a quieter hallway, each step cautious. No one stopped her. The palace was a maze, but she followed the scent of flowers and the sound of birdsong. A door stood slightly ajar at the end of the corridor, sunlight spilling through it.
Nysa peeked through.
It was a garden—unlike anything she'd ever seen. Wisteria draped from carved arches. Flower beds bloomed with exotic colors she didn't know the names of. A fountain sang at the center, water cascading in crystal sheets.
She stepped inside, the stone path cool beneath her slippers. Her hazel eyes sparkled with wonder.
She twirled once, giggling softly to herself. No one was around. For the first time in forever, she didn't feel like someone's helper or burden. She just felt… free.
Then she heard footsteps.
Nysa froze and ducked behind a tall bush. A boy stepped into view—tall for his age. He looked about ten, dressed in dark navy with silver trim. His midnight black hair fell over one brow, and his eyes were as dark as night. He moved with a quiet confidence, hands behind his back, inspecting the flowers like they owed him explanations.
Nysa tilted her head. He looked familiar somehow… or maybe just important.
He crouched near the fountain, dipping his fingers into the water, murmuring to himself.
Without thinking, she stepped out from her hiding spot.
"You shouldn't talk to water," she said boldly.
The boy jumped and turned, startled.
.
.