Irene's secret

Several days had passed since the royal physician had left the king's quarters. Not long after, he insisted on a new step in Irene's treatment:

He requested permission for her to go outside to the garden, to breathe fresh air and be exposed—if only a little—to life beyond her walls.

In his report, he wrote that the trauma she was experiencing required an open environment, that nature itself might begin to dissolve the walls of silence the child had built around herself.

The king agreed—on one condition: that she be constantly accompanied by a maid, and kept under strict surveillance.

And so, Irene began to go outside from time to time.

Step by step.

Whisper by whisper.

She would mumble fragmented words as her fingers brushed against petals, or when a ray of sunlight filtered into her open palm.

Her progress was slow—but in her own way, she was healing.

One morning, Irene walked through the garden accompanied by a royal maid.

The woman clearly disliked being assigned to her and followed her with visible boredom, trailing behind while Irene gazed silently at the flowers, the statues, the flowing streams.

Suddenly… she froze in her steps.

At the far end of the path, she saw three of the king's sons training with wooden swords on the open grass.

They were in their early teens:

Dimitri (15),

Eric (14),

Ivan (13),

training with excitement and pride under the watchful eye of a knight.

She stared at them in silence, her heart trembling with an unnamed weight.

She didn't know who they were—but something heavy pulled at her chest when her eyes settled on them.

Then, without warning, Selena (13) appeared, accompanied by Adelene (12½).

Selena walked with empty confidence, her gown swaying arrogantly as her eyes scanned everything around her like she owned it all.

As soon as her gaze landed on Irene, she stopped, raised her eyebrows, and shouted:

> "Look at this one! Isn't she… the one my father brought in?!"

The three boys turned their heads to where she pointed.

They fell silent.

Their eyes locked onto the strange girl who didn't resemble them—yet bore an eerily familiar face.

Irene didn't move.

She stood frozen, staring at them as if caught in a never-ending dream.

Selena stepped forward with sharp steps until she stood before Irene, glaring down at her with disdain:

> "You… What's your name?"

There was no answer.

> "Are you mute? Do you think you're better than us, ignoring me like that?!"

Still, Irene remained silent.

Selena scowled, then screamed:

> "A filthy brat like you dares ignore me? Don't you know who I am?!"

The maid stepped forward, attempting to defuse the situation:

> "Lady Selena, please, she's just—"

But Selena cut her off coldly:

> "Silence! You—speak!" – she turned back to Irene – "You! Answer me!"

When no sound came…

Selena suddenly slapped her across the face—a violent blow that knocked her to the ground.

Irene fell onto the grass, her head tilted, her eyes wide and shaking in shock.

The maid cried out:

> "My lady!!"

But it wasn't over yet.

Ivan (13) stepped forward, amusement and cruelty mixing across his face.

He crouched down toward Irene, still lying on the ground, and said mockingly:

> "Didn't you hear my sister? Are you mute?"

He reached for her mouth, trying to pry it open:

> "Let's see… Do you even have a tongue?"

But the moment his finger touched her lips…

Irene bit him—hard. A raw, instinctive force.

Ivan screamed:

> "Aaaagh! That lunatic bit me!!"

Blinded by rage, he pulled back and slapped her hard across the face, her head snapping back against the ground again.

> "You'll regret that…"

He grabbed his wooden sword, lifted it high—then brought it crashing down on her head.

The blade cracked.

And a gash opened across her forehead.

Warm blood trickled down her face—scarlet lines streaking her pale cheeks.

Irene lifted her hand, touched the wound…

Then looked at the blood…

And suddenly—she screamed.

Screamed with terrifying hysteria, a violence that tore through her.

She sobbed, screamed, shook her head, kicked at the ground with her small feet.

Even the maid couldn't hold her down.

Eric shouted:

> "She's crazy! Look at her!"

Dimitri muttered, deeply concerned:

> "Ivan… you went too far…"

But Ivan clutched his bitten hand, howling:

> "She bit me! She's a monster!"

Amid the chaos…

Queen Elvira arrived, followed by Queen Melany, both drawn by the noise from within the palace.

They froze at the scene before them.

Elvira snapped:

> "What is going on here?!"

Ivan ran toward his mother, Queen Loren:

> "She bit me! I was just talking to her and she hit me! She's dangerous!"

The queens looked down at Irene—collapsed, trembling, her forehead bleeding, as the maid desperately tried to clean her up.

Elvira said with disgust:

> "So this is her?… the child of that disgraceful bloodline?"

The maid trembled:

> "Y-Yes, Your Majesty…"

Elvira stepped closer and asked coldly:

> "What is your name?"

Irene didn't answer.

She cried. Only cried—her body shivering like a bare branch in a storm.

The maid replied nervously:

> "Your Majesty… Irene hasn't spoken for nearly a year and a half… She's… undergoing treatment…"

Melany asked:

> "Is she mute?"

The maid responded:

> "No, just… deeply traumatized. The physician says she—"

Elvira let out a mocking laugh:

> "Trauma? How convenient, isn't it? To earn everyone's pity…"

She stared at the child with contempt and muttered:

> "Disgusting…"

Then she barked:

> "Take them inside! This farce is over!"

Everyone left.

Only the maid remained, holding Irene and helping her back to the palace.

Once inside, she sat beside her, wiping the dried blood from her forehead, washing her face with a damp cloth.

But Irene was no longer there…

Her eyes unfocused, her faint whimpers inhuman…

As if she had returned—once more—to that night.

The night her mother died before her.

---

3. The Physician's Visit

The royal physician was finally allowed to see Irene.

The moment his eyes landed on her… he froze.

She was lying on the bed, her head wrapped in bandages, face pale, eyes wide open—but empty.

It was as if she had been torn from reality and left behind… suspended in nothingness.

He approached slowly, then turned to the maid and asked in a tense voice:

> "What happened?"

The maid bowed her head and told him everything.

He didn't need to ask further.

The signs were clear—in her expression, in the dried blood around the bandages, in the faint tremor in the girl's limbs—things had spiraled beyond control.

He sat silently by the bed, gently took her small hand, ran his fingers over it with quiet sorrow, and whispered:

> "It's alright… it's alright, little one… I'm here."

A long silence followed. Only her slow breathing pushed back against the void.

Then he looked up at the maid—not with anger, but with heavy grief—and said:

> "Listen carefully… From now on, she is to have no contact with the royal family.

Any encounter with them could destroy everything we've built in her recovery."

The maid nodded quietly.

He looked down at Irene again and whispered:

> "A child like you doesn't deserve this…

But I won't let them destroy what's left of you."