Chapter 33: Of Straw, Stench, and Small Mercies

Lyria’s POV

Kyia did not speak to me as we left Her Highness’s chambers.

She did not need to.

Her displeasure walked ahead of her like a banner.

I personally felt like she should have carried one with her, and perhaps the words "I hate the princess’s sister, I hate walking around with her even if it is an errand by the princess herself" written across it.

I stifled my laughter. Now that would be a sight I would love to see, and I daresay I would enjoy it too. I was pretty sure people would stare at Lyria like she had grown two heads if she dared carry something that absurd with her.

I followed two measured steps behind, my hands folded neatly before me, my head inclined, my pace careful to match hers without appearing eager.

As long as I would not be seeing Jacinta’s face for a while, even if I would be more likely seeing the arse of the horses, which, contrary to what others would think, was actually a thousand times better than being in Jacinta’s presence.

The palace corridor stretched long and pale beneath the high windows, its polished floors reflecting the slow movement of servants and guards who parted for us with practised discretion.

We had nearly reached the south passage when I spoke up.

"Kyia," I said softly.

She did not turn, neither did she reply to me. I rolled my eyes discreetly at that. She always behaved as though she and I were not on the same level, especially when Jacinta was not around.

Honestly, I daresay I was in an even higher position than Kyia was, given that the king had fathered me.

"Kyia?" I called softly again.

"Yes?" Her reply was clipped, almost bored.

"W–with your leave... m–may I change into s–something more s–suitable b–before we reach the stables?"

At last, she slowed, but only slightly.

"No, you demon, you cannot," she told me.

"I–I do not appreciate you c–calling me a demon," I told her.

She ignored my words.

"The Princess has instructed me to deliver you to the stables at once," she said coolly. "I have no time to indulge your inconveniences."

"I c–cannot wear a d–dress to work in the s–stables. It is i–i–inappropriate and you know that," I said as calmly as I could, even though I was this close to hitting her on the head.

"You will do exactly as Her Highness commanded," Kyia replied, her tone sharpening. "My duty is to carry out her instructions. If the gown is inappropriate, then it is your fault and not mine."

How was it my fault that Jacinta had sent me to work in the stables?

I wondered if the goddess would be merciful if I made Kyia trip on the floor.

I did not say anything more after that, and thankfully neither did she.

We turned through a narrower corridor, one that servants favoured when they wished to avoid the grand halls. The walls here were plainer, the tapestries older, their colours faded by years of sun and candle smoke. A thin chill crept along the stone beneath my slippers, and I wondered vaguely if the morning warmth had ever reached this part of the palace at all.

The stables lay beyond the western courtyard.

As we stepped outside, the air shifted at once.

It was heavier and warmer.

Thick with the unmistakable mingling of hay, leather, manure, and warm animal breath.

The courtyard bustled with unusual activity.

Grooms hurried back and forth with pails and bundles of tack. Stable boys darted between the horses tethered near the mounting blocks. Two coaches stood drawn up beside the far wall, their lacquered panels bearing unfamiliar crests.

There were far more horses than I was accustomed to seeing. But there was no surprise there, given how many guests were currently residing in the palace.

The stable building itself stretched long and low, its wide doors thrown open to the sunlight. Inside, shadows layered themselves between wooden beams, stalls, and hanging lantern hooks.

The steady rhythm of hooves upon packed earth echoed faintly within.

Kyia halted just outside the threshold, her nose wrinkled. She looked very similar to a pig when she did that.

"Disgusting place," she muttered.

She lifted her skirts slightly, as though the very dust might leap upon her.

I did not bother.

A broad-shouldered man stood near the central aisle, overseeing two younger lads struggling with a restless bay mare. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, his boots thick with dried mud.

Kyia raised her chin.

"You."

The man turned.

His gaze flicked from her embroidered cuffs to her expression.

"Yes, madam?"

Kyia stepped forward with unmistakable authority.

"Are you the one in charge?" she asked him.

He nodded. "Yes, madam."

"The Princess has given instruction."

His posture straightened immediately.

"This one," she said, tilting her head toward me with open disdain, "is to work here today."

Her eyes swept over me briefly, as though I were no more than an inconvenient parcel.

"She is not to be given lunch, and she is to be put to work at once," Kyia continued. "And she is to be given the hardest labour you can find."

The stable fell subtly quieter.

The man studied Kyia for a moment longer than politeness demanded.

Then he nodded.

"As Her Highness wishes."

Kyia’s mouth curved in satisfaction.

She turned on her heel almost at once.

"I cannot imagine how anyone tolerates the smell of horses," she complained as she moved away, "nor why wolves such as ourselves would stoop to such primitive modes of travel."

The comment barely left her lips when a sharp, sudden neigh rang out from one of the nearer stalls. It was loud and very close to Kyia.

She screeched, and her steps faltered.

Her hand flew to her chest.

And in a most undignified hurry, she nearly tripped over her own hem as she fled the stable doors.

I watched her go with a slight smile.

Only when her figure vanished beyond the courtyard did the man finally turn back to me.

Up close, I saw that his hair had gone iron-grey at the temples and that his eyes carried the quiet weariness of someone long accustomed to difficult orders.

"You cannot work in that," he said simply.

I glanced down at my dress. I knew I could not work in it, and that was why I had told Kyia to let me change.

"W–with your permission... m–may I return briefly to change into something more p–practical?"