Pampered By All

Palace life? Even with her back to them, Elara could feel the thousand eyes of the beast.

Her footsteps no longer merely resound; they were accused.

Where she once slipped through unnoticed, whispers now trailed her like a shadow.

The courtiers didn't speak with words. Their eyes narrowed, and conversations would suddenly come to a sudden silence whenever she walked past.

"She looks too ordinary," someone mumbled once, unaware she heard.

"She's dangerous," another whispered. "Or worse, she's powerless."

They didn't know which scared them more.

Elara found herself torn between the Chosen, whom no one dared believe in, and the forgotten servant, whom no one remembered.

She stood in her new chambers, a palace room far too large for one person. Secrets pressed like a second skin around her, marble glittered in the faint light, and velvet covered the walls.

She touched nothing. Not the robes with embroidery spread out like sacrifices... Not the fruit arranged like crown jewels. Not the scrolls sealed with royal wax.

"Why are you giving me all this?" she had asked, surprised.

He didn't blink. "The Stone chose you. We serve the Stone."

"But none of you look like you believed it, but just have to serve as its tradition."

He blinked, just once.

"The palace doesn't run on belief, my lady. It runs on fear."

And fear, she learned, was everywhere.

At night, she walked the corridors with her hood down, learning every stone crack and awkward hallway by heart. Behind one tapestry, she discovered a secret door. A stairwell spiraled into a dark tunnel behind it.

She lit a candle. Didn't hesitate.

She wasn't running away.

She was watching.

Her young, vivacious chambermaid Ana, whose fingers were sore and cracked, said on the third day as she scrubbed the floor:

"You shouldn't walk alone. Not here. Not anymore."

Elara raised a brow. "Why? Is something watching?"

Ana froze mid-scrub. "Everything's watching. Even the Stone."

Elara moved closer, kneeling by the fire. "Do you believe it? That I'm the Chosen?"

Ana didn't meet her eyes. "Does it matter? The court thinks you are. That alone will determine whether they want to kill you or love you."

Elara stared into the flames. "Let them try."

Ana's voice dropped. "They won't try to kill you. Not outright. That would make a martyr. No, they'll do worse. They'll break you. Twist you. Make you question yourself until you relinquish your authority. Willingly."

Elara went still. "Then they'll be disappointed."

Ana's lips twitched, just a little. "Then maybe you really are the Chosen."

That night, sleep escaped her. Her thoughts burned too loud.

In the dark, she scrawled queries like, "What does it mean to be chosen?"

Why me?

What power?

What price?

She folded the shreds and threw them into the fireplace, like offerings to an unidentified god.

A message slipped under her door on the sixth night.

No footsteps. Not a sound.

Just silence and a tiny, trembling sheet of paper.

Her hands continued to shake while she read and lit a candle.

"They fear what they can't control. But you? You were never meant to be controlled. Keep your eyes open. M."

She read it twice. Then again.

Then she grinned, not because she felt secure, but because the game was being played by someone else.

She folded the note and slipped it inside the lining of her coat.

She didn't examine the starlight robe that embraced her body when she stood in front of the mirror.

She discovered she had keen, inscrutable, and fearless eyes.

The girl from the servant's quarters was gone.

In her place stood something harder. Quieter. Ready.

She didn't know who M was.

But she knew this:

The walls had ears.

And Elara was done whispering.