Chapter One

Ivy

Lyra Nerad tried to steady herself on the rickety old ladder, allowing it to lean on one side as she cautiously took another step up. Her knuckles blanched as she gripped tighter than death both on the ladder itself and a bucket of soapy water in her other hand. She let go of a deep breath as she hauled the bucket onto the butt of the ladder. The liquid from within the bucket sloshed about from the sudden movement and drenched the front of her gray dress.

She let out a soft curse as she pulled a rag from her pocket and dipped it into the bucket’s waters.

The maids had tasked her with the most difficult chore; she had to clean each chandelier in the castle, both big and small– thoroughly. She scowled at the wax drippings the metal had acquired and began to realize just how long this would ultimately take her. But like any good servant of the kingdom of Embercall, she put on a brave face and began cleaning.

Beginning the work, she soon realized, was fairly easy in terms of reach. Though once she had finished one side of the chandelier, she had to start the wobbling descent down the ladder, bucket in tow. This was the pattern she had become accustomed to, managing at least six chandeliers before the sun had reached the highest point in the sky.

She worked her way to the entrance hall, most people allowing the young maid room to work as she did her best not to lean too far in any direction. The ladder creaked against the marble landing on the ornate staircase, and her legs began to shake as she did her best to keep her balance.

As she was finishing what she could of the chandelier before needing to readjust her position again, she heard the faint sound of barking coming from one of the ground floor corridors, just past the marble staircase. With the barking came indistinct yelling, both drawing closer and closer. Lyra was halfway down the ladder when the prince’s two hunting dogs came bursting through the kitchen entrance, heading straight for the legs of her ladder.

She had only a few seconds to react before the moment of impact. The dogs knocked into the ladder, the servant chasing them letting out an audible gasp as the ladder began to topple. With only one hand on the rungs, Lyra lost her balance and the ladder followed her to the ground.

The world turned black, fading into a wet darkness.

***

The next thing Lyra could remember was the golden brightness of the infirmary, a familiar hooded woman’s face, and the dull pain of her head feeling as if it had split open. She blinked a few times before letting out a groan and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.

“Finally, you’re awake, child,” the nurse huffed. She gently pulled Lyra’s hands away from her face before she sat down on the edge of the bed. “We were concerned you might never wake.”

“Good day to you as well, Sister Agnes.” Lyra began to sit up in the bed, only for the nurse to place a hand on her shoulder to stop. “What happened?”

“After all these years, you’d think I taught you better than to talk back. Foolish child,” Sister Agnes chided. “To put it simply, you had a rather nasty fall. We’re keeping you here overnight to supervise your injuries and make sure nothing worse will come of them.”

“I think I’ll be just fine,” Lyra said, attempting once more to sit up only to receive the same hand on her shoulder.

“I know you think that but it is my professional opinion that we watch over you for at least the next twenty-four hours. It’s simply protocol for these types of injuries, especially when you fell from such a height,” Sister Agnes stated.

Lyra looked up at the matriarch of the infirmary. She had grown up under her tutelage and in many ways felt like a mother to Lyra, despite their vast differences in appearance.

Lyra had dark skin the color of the earth itself, with unruly curls that could match a raven’s feather in color. Her body was nothing but bones with how little she had to eat from day to day. She barely found time in between tasks to scarf down what little food wouldn’t be missed in the kitchens.

Sister Agnes, on the other hand, had skin the color of cream, and gray hair that was once more brown in color during Lyra’s youth. She had watched the subtle wrinkles deepen and carve themselves onto the woman’s face over time. The crow’s feet and laughing marks were most evident, but Lyra couldn’t imagine anything else that would suit Agnes more. She was always a serious woman, but Lyra had learned over time that she had a sense of humor unlike others who lived in Embercall. 

They really were two different faces of the same coin.

Lyra knew she wasn’t Sister Agnes’s actual child. Those of the cloth had to remain in a vow of chastity, and most often remained as virgins–as were the ways of the church. Lyra never could remember her birth mother, but Agnes always told her she was a kind woman with a fierce spirit that Lyra had no doubt inherited.

“I only bumped my head,” Lyra rolled her eyes with a soft sigh. “Please, I need to finish my chores.”

“Someone else will take over your duties, Lyra. I suggest you relax in the meantime.” Sister Agnes gave her a look that frizzled any argument within her. To fight with her would be pointless, and Lyra knew that.

She nodded defeatedly and reluctantly did as she was told. Sister Agnes gave her a satisfied smile and walked off to tend to her other patients. Lyra sighed loudly, looking up at the familiar stone ceiling of the infirmary. She had been here so many times over the years, it was almost laughable that they didn’t keep her here all the time for her own safety.

She ignored all the hushed whispers of the nuns and nurses that walked past her bed. The last thing that would help her head’s slight throbbing was their constant gossip.

Mercifully, night came quickly and sleep took Lyra in its gentle grasp as the sun fell. Her mind fluttered with strange dreams, most too strange to remember, when she was roused from sleep by voices echoing out of the entrance to the infirmary.

“Shhhh! Ke–ahaha, keep yer voice down,” a male voice said, slurring his words to whomever was listening to him. “Someone migh’ hearrrr.”

“Pfft,” a second, more baritone voice responded, sounding equally as drunk. “Like anyone would care. If I was the prince, I’d skip the whole marriage thing, and jus’ fuck a new bitch a week. Keep it fresh, ya know?”

The first man laughed and a loud clang sounded from the hall, from what Lyra could only assume to be armor hitting against the stone walls of the castle. The second man shushed the other, as if it would help to drown out the noise.

“Y–ya know,” the first man hiccuped. “I heard he was putin’ off the whole marriage thing cus’ he’s a faiiiry.”

“Oh don’ be so daft,” the second giggled.

“Then you tell me wha’ his excuse is.”

Lyra listened keenly as his friend took a second to think over his drunken answer.

“Mmm…Fuck, maybe you’s righ’.” Their voices began to retreat as they walked farther away.

“See? You know, I can be a good judge of character sometimes.”

Lyra rolled her eyes as she turned over in her bed, their conversation impeding her thoughts.

If the crown prince, Jacob Dolion, really wasn’t interested in women…then that posed a threat to the kingdom, as the king’s only heir to the throne. What didn’t make sense to Lyra was that she had seen glimpses of the prince dancing with women at balls and galas before. He had always been known as a charmer, the maids always fighting over who would oversee his caretaking anytime there was an opening.

It was a problem, however, that the prince still hadn’t married yet, despite being in his fourth year of eligibility. It wasn’t uncommon for men to reign without a female properly wedded at his side, but with the marriage law indoctrinated a few years before Lyra was born, the country was eager to see who Prince Jacob would wed. It was a law that would allow the heir to court anyone they chose, regardless of status or power. The Queen herself was a simple baroness when the King began courting her, and ever since her coronation, everyone dreamt of the possibility of a royal life.

Before she could delve too far into possibilities, the feeling of eyes staring at her stopped her thoughts in their tracks. She looked around, finding nothing but the soft glow of dying candlelight and the warm darkness that filled the gaps.

Lyra shook her head before pulling the scratchy blanket over her shoulders and tried to fall back into a blissful sleep. She was letting her imagination get the better of her. She couldn’t allow herself to listen to rumors, let alone those that came from drunkards who couldn’t find their way through a lit corridor.

With a huff, she closed her eyes and tucked the thoughts away before the night took her in its gentle embrace once more.

***

“Lyra!”

She whipped her head toward the familiar voice of her friend Marcy Williams, a wide smile plastering her angular face. Lyra had been released from the infirmary a day later, much to Sister Agnes’s squabbling, and eagerly returned to her work. She had half expected the steward to have fired Lyra for her clumsiness, but thankfully, she was once again quite generous with her.

“Marcy,” Lyra called back to her friend, turning her body to face Marcy as she jogged towards her.

"Lyra, thank goodness I caught you!” Marcy bent over once she had reached Lyra, panting heavily in an effort to catch her breath. “I got worried when I didn’t see you in the infirmary.”

“Oh you didn’t need to check up on me, Marcy, I just bumped my head.”

“From three feet, Lyra!” Her friend glared as she stood up straight, her flushed cheeks slowly returning to the soft paleness they were originally. “You’re lucky your head didn’t open like a melon! You really need to be much more careful with your tasks.”

“Well, the prince should be more careful with his dogs then,” Lyra shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can’t even begin to tell you all the stories I have of when they crashed into me. He ought to have better leashes on them by now.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that about the prince, Lyra,” Marcy warned. “You don’t know who could be listening.”

“Oh Marcy,” Lyra sighed. “This isn’t Cerellsi, I’m not going to get my head chopped off for one little comment.”

“Well I’d rather not chance it and see your head on a pike,” Marcy huffed, glaring up at her friend. Marcy was shorter than most girls in the castle, causing her to often make up for it in a fiery personality. Lyra on the other hand, was more towards the taller side, her lanky body often causing her more problems than most would actually believe. “Where are you headed anyways?”

"The library in the north wing. Selma thought it would be easy enough work for me,” Lyra chuckled.

“Well, mind if I walk you there?” Before she could respond, Marcy linked arms with Lyra and began their journey to the library.

Lyra smiled as her friend chatted and gossiped their entire way there. It was moments like this that she looked forward to in her days. The monotonous chores she was handed to everyday were often enough to drive anyone to madness. Luckily, Marcy was always there to brighten her day even just a little bit.

Though her life was often colored in gray, Lyra sometimes dreamt of a time she would go exploring the lands beyond what she’d known. Her dreams would sometimes be so vivid in memory, it would be like glimpsing into a life she could’ve only hoped to achieve. Marcy always made sure to keep Lyra grounded, often joking she’d float away if she ever dreamt too hard. But something inside of Lyra yearned to know what adventures awaited her outside the kingdom’s borders.

“But then I told her,” Marcy went on, pulling Lyra out of her thoughts as she revealed the latest gossip that seemed to only have accumulated over night. “She can try to out bake me in anything, but there isn’t a chance in hell she’d ever succeed.”

Their journey came to an end as they walked up to the large oak doors of the library, Lyra’s work awaiting her inside. She unlinked her arm from Marcy’s and pulled her rag and feather duster from her apron. She turned to Marcy and said her goodbyes, her friend venturing off to her daily chores.

“Now try not to get any papercuts, Lyra, we wouldn’t want you to bleed out,” Marcy called from down the hall.

Lyra chuckled and she pushed the door open with her hip, promising for the last time that she’d watch her step.

“Believe me, it’ll be more difficult to injure myself in here. Not unless the prince finds it appropriate to play fetch with his dogs in the library,” Lyra laughed as she walked past the threshold.

Her smile faltered as she turned and faced Prince Jacob Dolion himself, lounging in front of a desk that faced the doors. He looked up from the large book he had been reading and raised a brow as Lyra’s throat went dry.

She had only ever seen him from afar, never getting too close as her work was more of a background demand to the kingdom. Looking at him now in the morning sunlight, she could see why so many swooned at the mere mention of his name.

He was fit from what Lyra could see, and handsome too. Dark brown eyes under thick eyebrows and a head of equally dark brunette hair. He had high cheekbones and a square jaw that was currently set. His clothing hung off him loosely, obviously more dressed down than Lyra was used to seeing a royal. Perhaps it was a day away from his studies, she thought. Heat tingled her face, despite the cool shade.

“I’m very sorry, Your Highness,” she said quickly, slowly backing away to the door. “I–I didn’t know you were here. I can come back to–”

He held up a hand and she fell silent, her feet halting mid-step.

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice carrying across the room. “I can assure you my dogs are with their trainer for today. Carry on with what you were doing.”

The prince went back to his book with a slight smirk and Lyra relaxed slightly, looking around the messy library. Books were scattered and stacked everywhere that was possible. Even the floor was littered with novels that carried titles she pretended she couldn’t read.

She began her work by setting her rag and duster back into the pockets of her apron, and loaded her arms full of books before carrying them to the shelves they belonged on. She began to sort the titles alphabetically, humming a soft tune as she worked. She had sorted about twenty books when the prince cleared his throat.

She heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and felt a presence behind her. Her shoulders tensed as the book she was holding was gently taken out of her callused hands.

She slowly turned around, the prince examining the cover of the book as Lyra pressed her back against the bookshelf. She could smell the exotic cologne coming off the prince, the scent of sandalwood filling her nose, nearly suffocating her. She kept her gaze down at the worn shoes she’d had for years. She couldn’t help but notice the strong detailed leather of the prince’s boots and compare it to tattered slippers she had repaired on a nearly monthly basis.

“Do you know how to read?”

Lyra could hear her heartbeat in her ears, as loud as a drum. She knew she was caught, but she shook her head nonetheless.

"Liar.” The prince examined her, his gaze piercing. Lyra felt like a bug kept in a glass jar with no room to breathe. “How long have you been able to read?”

To act ignorant now would’ve been a foolish decision, Lyra realized. It didn’t help that her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

“Since I can remember, Your Highness,” Lyra mumbled.

“How old are you now?” He quirked a brow.

“I’m twenty years of age, Your Highness,” Lyra said.

“And who taught you?”

“I don’t remember, Your Highness.”

“Hm…” The prince turned the book over in his hands, setting it down on the table behind him. “Who else knows?”

“No one, Your Highness,” Lyra said quickly. A lie, but a necessary one.

Sister Agnes was the only person who knew she had been able to read and write. From a young age, Agnes would tell her to keep it well hidden, for many would shun the idea of an educated woman. Lyra would’ve been able to do such things in privacy, and failed to notice the prince’s eyes on her as she worked. Now, Lyra was paying for her carelessness.

The prince only smirked at her, resting back against the desk as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“If you’re worried I may tell anyone, you have my word that I will keep it a secret,” he said.

A knot loosened in Lyra’s chest and she felt like she could breathe again. She bowed as best as she could, missing the roll of the prince’s eyes.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, keeping her head low.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” he chuckled. “What’s your name?”

"Lyra, sir.” She stood up straight, daring to look the royal in the eye. “Lyra Nerad.”

“Well, Lyra, how would you like to be my personal maid?” Lyra’s eyes widened from the proposition. “My current maid has become pregnant and cannot achieve her duties. I assume, based on her husband’s work, she’s not making plans to return either. I need someone to fill the role, and having someone with your skill set would be quite valuable.”

“Valuable how?” The question slipped past her lips before she could stop herself. The prince merely smiled.

“Valuable enough to keep my lips sealed shut should I have any need for them,” the prince smirked. He grabbed a book from behind him and examined it for a moment. It was small, with red bound leather and intricate gold detailing. “But regardless of if you accept, Lyra, your companionship would be most appreciated.”

A stone sat in Lyra’s stomach. Any other maid would jump at the opportunity, possibly hoping to become a potential candidate for marriage. But Lyra understood those types of romances were simply fiction, only stories to give women hope that perhaps one day their situation would get better than the bleak reality they faced. Luckily, romance was the farthest thing from Lyra’s mind.

However, Lyra knew to reject the offer downright would be foolish as well. Lyra knew better than to keep a man simply at his word when he held the thread of your world in his hands. Simply going about her duties as a general maid wouldn’t allow her to build trust with her prince or vice versa. It seemed the only way to make sure her life didn’t completely upend itself.

She nodded, and the grin that blossomed on his lips did little to soothe the knot that turned in her stomach.

“Excellent,” he beamed. “I’ll allow you to finish your work here and have everything arranged by the morning.”

She nodded and turned back to her sorting, feeling all the more self conscious as the prince watched her work. When she had cleared the floors of all the books, he began to make idle conversation with her.

“Do you enjoy reading for pleasure, Lyra?” He asked as he scribbled something on a piece of parchment.

“I’m not often given the time to do so, Your Highness. And when I am there aren’t many stories that interest me,” she said, beginning to clear off the remaining dust from the shelves.

The prince made a disappointed noise, crossing out whatever he had just written with his quill. Lyra stared at the parchment in front of him. He had whipped it out shortly after their initial conversation, writing things down every so often. She wondered what he was writing or if he might’ve just been doodling.

“And what kind of stories do interest you?"

Lyra couldn’t help but shrug.

“Most stories are the same, at least the ones I’ve heard and read about. A maiden is captured and a man comes to her rescue, it’s all very predictable,” she explained, carefully dusting off a ceramic vase.

“I see,” the prince said, a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. “Well, this has been a rather interesting morning, Lyra, I will admit. But I shall take my leave now, and give you some privacy.”

He stood up, grabbing a book from the desk he had been occupying and handed it to Lyra.

“Here, I’d like you to read this when you get the chance. It isn’t like all the stories you’ve read about, it has more to it than a simple maiden being in peril. I hope you’ll enjoy it.” He smiled as Lyra took the book in her hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lyra.”

Lyra gave a curt bow as the prince took his leave, her stomach in knots as she read the title of the book and noticed it was a romance novel.