Althena - POV
The morning in solmira was too calm.
A strange calm - the kind that feels heavy, as though the world itself is holding its breath before something happens.
I was getting ready when a soldier appeared at the healer's wing. His armor clinked faintly, his posture stiff, and his eyes avoided mine.
"The Princess has summoned you," he said. His tone was clipped, almost nervous.
Of course she had.
I'd been waiting for this.
When you're promised a position as the handmaiden to Princess Yasmin of Solmira - the so-called Ice Princess - you don't stroll in late. Still, I made her wait a full minute at the door before stepping inside. Call it curiosity. Or mischief.
Her chambers were immaculate. Not a cushion out of place, not a single speck of dust on the jeweled windowpanes. The air was cool, faintly perfumed with something sharp - like winter roses laced with steel.
And there she was.
Princess Yasmin sat at her desk, posture perfect - a blade drawn from its sheath. Her eyes skimmed over a parchment with such focus it looked as if the paper might ignite under her gaze. She didn't look up when I entered.
I bowed, low and deliberately slow. "Your Highness."
"Althena." She didn't raise her gaze. Just said my name like it was already a test. "You're late."
"I arrived the moment I was summoned," I replied smoothly.
"Then you should have arrived before I summoned you." Finally, her eyes lifted - cold steel cutting across the room, pinning me in place. "A handmaiden is meant to anticipate, not trail behind."
I bit back a grin. Ah. She's starting with the rules.
"Then I shall endeavor to read your mind, Princess," I said lightly. "Though forgive me if I miss a page or two."
Her brow arched ever so slightly. "You think yourself clever?"
"Not clever, Highness. Just... surviving. Humor helps with that."
Her lips tightened - not quite disapproval, not quite amusement. "Surviving. That seems to be your specialty."
"Yes," I said softly, leaning into the role. "And apparently, yours is reminding people of their place."
The air thinned for a second. Her gaze sharpened.
"Do you know what it means to serve me, Althena?" she asked.
"Polishing mirrors until I see my reflection perfectly? Folding dresses without a single wrinkle? Making sure your tea is neither too hot nor too cold?"
Her eyes narrowed. "It means obedience."
"Ah," I said with mock solemnity. "My specialty."
The corner of her mouth twitched - quickly suppressed.
"Stand straight," she ordered. "If you slouch like that in my presence again, I'll have you carrying books on your head until your spine remembers how to exist."
"Yes, Princess," I said, instantly straightening. Then muttered just loud enough: "Though I'd make an excellent walking library."
Her eyes flickered - annoyance, but also... interest. She leaned back in her chair, studying me like I was an experiment she hadn't decided whether to burn or keep.
"You're insolent," she said finally.
"And you keep me alive," I shot back. "So I suppose we're even."
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring.
Then she set her parchment down. "You will attend me at all hours. You'll wake before I rise. You'll shadow me until I dismiss you. You'll speak only when necessary, and only with respect. Fail once, and you'll find yourself scrubbing floors in the stables."
I tilted my head. "Do I get to scrub the horses too, or is that an advanced punishment?"
Her stare could have frozen the sun.
"Test me, Althena," she said quietly. "And you'll regret it."
I lowered my head, letting the smile stay hidden this time. "Yes, Princess."
But inside, I was grinning.
Because the Ice Princess wasn't used to someone pushing back.
And I had every intention of pressing until she cracked.
She stood, the movement graceful but sharp as a blade drawn from a sheath.
"You will not speak to me the way you speak to the palace guards."
I tilted my head, feigning innocence. "Noted. They smile more."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of frost across storm-grey irises. "Do you enjoy testing boundaries?"
I took a small step closer, deliberately slow. "Only the ones that are frozen solid."
The air between us tightened. A beat. Two. The chamber's silence had weight now, like heavy velvet pressing against my skin.
Then she moved - a subtle turn, a flick of her hand toward her desk. "Your tasks begin here."
Her voice was steady, but there was a faint undertone - not irritation exactly, but something sharper. "Sort these scrolls by seal color, then importance. Do not mix the two."
She crossed the room to the glass display cabinet. "Then you will clean these shelves. Every inch. I'll know if you miss a spot."
I looked at the gleaming, already-immaculate glass. "So basically I'm just polishing your perfection?"
She turned her head slowly, her expression a sculpted warning. "Would you prefer mucking horse stalls?"
I considered it, lips quirking. "Tempting. Horses at least don't glare."
"I don't glare," she said flatly.
I gave her a look over my shoulder. "Princess, if looks could kill, I'd have died twice already since walking in."
Something in her jaw twitched. Not quite amusement. Not quite anger. "Just get to work."
I walked over to the scrolls and began picking through the wax seals, the reds from the blues, the golds from the silvers. "You know," I said casually, "you could've picked any handmaiden in the empire."
"I didn't pick you." Her tone was immediate, cool. "You were... assigned."
I hummed. "Ah. Royal politics. Classic. My favorite game."
She resumed her seat, quill scratching against parchment. For a while, the only sound in the room was ink and wax and paper.
Then - without looking at me - she said, "Do your injuries still bother you?"
I froze for just a fraction of a second.
Concern? From the Ice Princess?
I glanced at her, my lips tugging into a sly half-smile. "Only when I laugh. Which is rare in your presence."
The scratching stopped.
Another silence.
And then - I swear by every god I don't believe in - the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. A shadow of a smile, so brief it might've been imagined.
I smirked. "That almost looked like a smile."
"Must've been a shadow," she replied without missing a beat.
"Right. A very expressive shadow."
She finally turned to the window, her posture still rigid but not as severe. "You talk too much."
"You need someone who does," I said lightly, sliding another scroll into place. "Otherwise the silence in here would commit murder."
No answer. Not a word. But I could feel her gaze flick to me every few minutes, sharp and measuring, like a predator watching another predator.
Perfect.
Let her wonder what I am.
Let her keep me close.
Because soon enough... she'll learn the mistake in doing so.
I continued my task.
I picked up the first scroll, held it up to the light like it contained secrets of the gods.
"Red seal, gold trim... fancy."
"It means urgent," Yasmin said without glancing up from her parchment.
"Urgent? Then shouldn't someone read it instead of letting me play librarian?"
Her quill paused mid-stroke. She looked up, cool as frost. "Are you refusing your task already?"
"Not at all," I said sweetly, dropping the scroll neatly into a pile. "I just like knowing if I'm sorting life-or-death matters or dinner menus."
Her eyes narrowed. "You'll know when I tell you."
"Understood, Princess Frostbite."
Her chair creaked as she sat straighter. "What did you just call me?"
I flashed an innocent smile. "An affectionate nickname. Builds morale."
She inhaled slowly, like she was resisting the urge to throw her ink bottle at me. "Sort. The. Scrolls."
"Yes, Your Radiance of Eternal Chill."
Silence.
Then the faintest sound - a muttered exhale, almost a laugh. Almost.
I grinned and went back to stacking.
My purpose for coming to Solmira wasn't this.
Yet here I was, in the royal chamber of Princess Yasmin Solmira - the most feared creature in this marble palace - sorting scrolls by seal color and importance. The kind of task that felt designed by someone who had never laughed in their life. Which, come to think of it, might just be her.
"Red seal. High priority. Gold trim. Foreign envoy," I muttered to myself, placing it neatly into the correct pile. "I'm learning diplomacy through color theory. Fascinating."
"Althena," came her voice from behind, cold and clipped, "I can hear you."
"Oh, that's good. I was worried the heavy silence might've crushed your hearing."
She didn't respond, but I didn't miss the way her fingers twitched slightly as she sipped her tea.
I moved to the second stack, exaggeratedly gentle as if the scrolls might explode if handled improperly.
"Blue seal, royal archive request. Definitely screams 'urgent.' I should probably call the High Council for this one..."
Yasmin stood slowly from her seat. Her gaze was sharp enough to pierce armor.
"Do you plan to comment on every scroll?"
"Just the ones that might bore me to death. I'd like to at least die entertained."
She exhaled sharply. Not quite a sigh. Not quite patience either.
After a while, I stood in front of the glass display cabinet. I leaned down, peering at the reflection of my bandaged face. "You weren't kidding. I can see myself. I look half-dead."
"You looked worse when I found you," she said bluntly.
"Ouch. Honesty, sharper than a blade." I dragged the cloth across the glass in a lazy circle. "Do you always terrify your handmaidens, or am I just special?"
"Special," she said, with zero warmth.
I turned, pressing the cloth to my chest in mock affection. "Finally, a compliment."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You're insufferable."
"And yet... you haven't thrown me out."
Her gaze lifted, cold steel pinning me. "Not yet."
I smirked, polishing another spotless shelf. "I'll take that as progress."
She set down her quill with a soft thud. "Enough."
I straightened, cloth dangling from my hand. "Enough cleaning? Or enough of me breathing in your chambers?"
"Both."
"Harsh."
Her eyes glinted with restrained irritation. "You seem to think this is a game. Let me correct you."
She stood, gliding toward me with that unshakable, predatory grace. My grin faltered just a hair as she stopped close enough for me to feel the shift in air between us.
"As of today," she said coolly, "you will scrub the stables with the other servants. By hand. No shortcuts. If you still think sarcasm is amusing after a day with mud, sweat, and horse dung, we'll see."
I blinked. Then tilted my head. "Horse dung? From polishing perfection to shoveling filth. A fall from grace."
Her mouth twitched, but her voice was flat. "Consider it a lesson in humility."
"So... you're sending me to shovel horse dung. Bold move, Princess. Almost personal."
Her eyes narrowed. "Do not flatter yourself. You're not important enough to offend me personally."
I gasped, pressing a hand to my chest. "Cold words from my own mistress. My fragile heart..."
"Fragile? You survived being stabbed, dragged, and half-starved. You'll survive the stables."
"True," I said lightly. "But nothing wounds like your indifference."
Her jaw tightened. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Do you ever stop glaring?" I shot back.
The room went still.
Her icy composure didn't falter, but the silence stretched until I realized - she was choosing not to answer. Refusing to give me the satisfaction.
Which, of course, only made me grin wider.
"You're learning," I said softly, turning back to the shelves. "Ignoring me is the smartest tactic yet."
I heard her inhale slowly. Then the scrape of her chair as she sat again. "Today. The stables."
"You'll fit right in with the beasts."
I muttered just loud enough for her to hear: "Already do."
The tiniest pause. I knew she caught it.
But she didn't take the bait. Not this time.
She was getting better. Dangerous.
Perfect.
---
It was my first day as her handmaiden
and the very first day I managed to irritate her enough to earn a punishment.
And now, here I was, in the royal stables.
The smell hit me before I even stepped inside. Acrid, earthy, heavy enough to choke.
I wrinkled my nose. "Ah. The perfume of royalty."
The stable master shoved a bucket and brush into my hands. "Princess Yasmin said by hand. No magic shortcuts. You understand?"
"Crystal clear." I smiled sweetly, crouching down to scrub.
The man snorted and walked off.
Minutes turned into hours. Sweat dripped down my back, hay stuck to my knees, and horse dung squelched under my nails. Absolutely disgusting.
But I kept my grin.
Because the other servants had gathered nearby, whispering, sneaking glances.
Finally, one of the stable boys couldn't hold it in. "You're the new handmaiden, right? The one the princess took in?"
I glanced up, feigning innocence. "Me? Oh no, I'm just here on holiday. This is how I relax."
Laughter broke out, hushed but sharp.
Another servant - a girl with straw in her hair - leaned closer. "Is it true you made the Ice Princess glare?"
I smirked. "Sweetheart, I made her almost smile."
Gasps. Murmurs. Then eager chuckles.
Within the hour, I had them all talking - about palace gossip, about who liked who, about which nobles cheated the tax records, and which guards were hopeless drunks. I asked the right questions, dropped the right sarcasm, and soon the stories flowed like wine.
Scrubbing dung had become... entertaining.
I sat back, wiping fake sweat dramatically across my brow. "Honestly, if this is punishment, I might misbehave more often."
The stable girl grinned. "Careful. She'll make you scrub twice as hard."
I winked. "Then I'll just get double the gossip."
The servants laughed again, and I tucked away every secret they spilled, filing them neatly in my mind.
The princess thought she was humbling me.
Instead, she'd just given me my first weapon inside the palace.
By the time I dragged myself back into the palace, hay still stuck in my hair, my arms aching, and the faint stench of horses following me like a curse, I was half-convinced Yasmin had won.
Half.
Because the truth?
The punishment had been worth it.
I had gossip. Real, juicy, dangerous gossip. Servants loved nothing more than to talk when someone else was covered in muck.
So when a guard finally escorted me to her chamber that evening, I wore my exhaustion like armor - but I smiled like the devil.
She didn't look up as I entered. Still perched by her desk, her quill scratching over parchment. Calm. Controlled. Ice carved into human form.
"Your Highness," I said sweetly, bowing low. "Reporting back from my holy pilgrimage into the land of horse dung."
Her quill paused. Just for a beat. Then continued.
"You survived."
"Barely," I said, holding up my hands for inspection. "My hands may never be clean again. I expect the kingdom to honor my sacrifice."
She glanced up, eyes flicking over me. "You're still standing. That's enough."
I grinned. "Oh, Princess, I'm more than standing. I'm thriving. Did you know stable boys talk more than bards after a drink?"
That made her still.
A subtle stillness. But I caught it.
"You gossiped with the servants."
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Gossiped? Such a cruel word. I prefer collected intelligence."
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "You are not here to collect anything."
"Then maybe you shouldn't send me where tongues are loose," I said lightly. "Because I now know which guard naps on duty, which noble cheats the tax records, and which maid is stealing from the kitchens."
Her quill snapped in two.
The silence between us was sharp enough to cut.
Finally, she stood. Slow. Deliberate. Crossing the room until we were only a pace apart.
"You think this palace is a game," she said, voice quiet but razor-sharp. "You think survival is wit and sarcasm. But this is not the gutter, girl. This is the heart of a kingdom. One misstep here does not earn bruises - it earns executions."
I tilted my head, smiling just enough to needle her. "And yet, Princess, you're still talking to me."
Her eyes blazed for a fraction of a second before she shuttered them again. Ice. Always ice.
"You will burn yourself," she murmured.
"Or melt you," I said under my breath.
Another silence. Thick. Heated.
Then she turned abruptly back to her desk. "Get cleaned. Tomorrow, you serve beside me at court."
Court.
The wolves' den.
Perfect.
I bowed again, hiding the grin tugging at my lips. "As you command, Your Highness."
She didn't look up. Didn't answer.
But I swear - the quill in her hand trembled.
"You may go." She said finally.
I turned to leave, but paused at the door.
One last glance then I left.
The scent of horses, dung, and humiliation still clung to me like a second skin. My arms ached from scrubbing floors, mucking stalls, and dragging water barrels across the stable yard under the cruel sun. All thanks to Her Royal Glacierness.
Stable duty. A punishment, sure. But a small price to pay for the satisfaction of watching her nostrils flare every time I called her "your iciness."
After hours of pretending to suffer (maybe suffering just a bit), I was finally dismissed.
A soldier met me at the entrance of the inner palace.
"Lady Althena," he said with a stiff nod, "you've been assigned permanent quarters inside the palace. Her Highness's orders."
That made me pause.
Inside the palace?
Interesting.
He led me through marble corridors and up a winding staircase, past velvet drapes and polished silver lanterns. We stopped before a heavy carved door, and when he opened it-I blinked.
A real bed. A fireplace. A washbasin. A wardrobe. A window with actual sunlight.
Luxury. Not a cell. Not a servant's hole. Not punishment.
"Why?" I muttered under my breath.
Even though I knew the answer. Keep your possible enemies close.