I was still half-dazed, standing in a palace hallway so clean it glimmered, when the guards swept me along.
I held the pouch of coins so tightly my fingers ached, though the weight of it felt foreign—like a costume I had borrowed for the night and would soon be forced to return.
They herded me through golden doors and past walls dressed in blue silk and candlelight. The king's voice rang in my ears:"She is to be treated correctly. See to her comfort."
No one had ever said that about me. I was used to glares, not comfort. Mostly, I was used to silence.
Now, as I stood in the middle of an enormous marbled chamber, a flurry of palace maids surrounded me, eyes flickering between my wild hair and my battered boots as if they weren't sure where to start.
"Your cloak, miss," one murmured. She reached for the fabric, and I jerked away on instinct.
Her hands were soft—too soft. The maids exchanged glances, but didn't push. Instead, another approached, arms full of linens and shimmering blue cloth.
It took three maids to convince me to surrender my cloak. Their hands were gentle but insistent, like a breeze nudging a leaf from a branch.
I let them peel it away, feeling raw and exposed, my hair tumbling free—red with streaks of white, wild as always. The maids fell silent for a moment, staring.
The next thing I knew, I was ushered toward a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a dream.
Marble everywhere: walls, floor, even the bathtub itself, as big as a trough and filled with clouds of steam. I had never seen so much water in one place, not even after a week of rain.
The smell was strange—herbs, honey, and something sharper beneath it, something like lemon or mint.
I hovered in the doorway, not quite willing to step in. A maid gestured to a pile of fresh towels.
"You may bathe in peace, miss. We'll leave you clothes when you're ready." She withdrew, her companions trailing behind, until I was alone in a room that sparkled.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the basin—hair tangled, cheeks smudged with soot, eyes tired and feral. I didn't look like someone who belonged here.
After a moment, I shed my tunic and trousers, stepping into the water. It was hotter than anything I'd ever felt—startling, almost painful.
I hissed, nearly leaping out, but then the heat soaked into my bones and turned heavy and sweet.
Dirt unspooled from my skin in ribbons. I leaned back, letting my hair float around me like a red and white halo, and tried to remember the last time I'd truly been clean.
It must have been before the orphanage. Before the matron's glare and the other children's sneers.
Before the day they found out about the fangs, the sparks, the things that made me different.
I didn't last long in any of those places, no one wanted a half-demon, not even the kind ones.
I learned to sleep with one eye open and never let anyone close enough to matter. Hunger was better than hope.
But here, in this impossible bath, I let myself relax—just a little. I scrubbed my skin until it burned, running my claws along my nails, scraping the dirt away.
My hair needed three washings before the water ran clear. I watched as the red tangled into the white and thought it looked like flame and snow, side by side.
When I stepped out, the towels were soft, thick, too heavy for my frame. The pile of clothes on the bench made my heart hammer.
I pulled on the trousers—softer than anything I'd ever worn, lined with silk, and a white shirt that actually fit, no patches, no holes.
A blue tunic, embroidered with silver thread, slipped over my shoulders like a blessing. I looked at myself again, uncertain. I felt like a ghost in borrowed skin.
A gentle knock sounded. "Miss Lyra, are you ready?" The voice was the same kind one from before.
I nodded, then realized she couldn't see me. "Yes. I'm ready."
The door opened and a team of palace maids swarmed in, brandishing brushes and scissors and little pots of cream. I shrank away, but one caught my hand.
"Your nails, miss. We'll tidy them for you."
She turned my palm upward, examining the chipped black claws that had earned me more than one beating.
She tutted softly and produced a tiny file, working away at the edges, careful not to cut or hurt.
It was the strangest thing—to be cared for. Another maid brushed my hair, untangling knots with patience I had never seen. I tried not to flinch at every gentle touch.
They oiled my hands, cleaned behind my pointed ears, dabbed a bit of scented cream on my wrists.
By the time they finished, my claws were neat, my hair shining, my skin soft as new paper.
When I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I almost didn't recognize the girl staring back—a half-demon dressed as a princess's companion.
My fangs glinted when I smiled, just to check if they were still there.
"Thank you," I muttered, not knowing if anyone heard.
They left me then, and another guard ushered me through more halls, down a grand staircase.
The world was golden, bright, smelling faintly of bread and flowers. My stomach growled so loudly that the guard looked over, eyebrows raised. I pretended not to notice.
He guided me to a dining room, bigger than any house I'd ever slept in. Chandeliers glittered above. Sunlight poured through stained-glass windows, making patterns on the white tablecloth.
The table was set with more forks and knives than I could name, and at the center, platters of food, real food, steaming, laid out like an offering.
I swallowed hard, acutely aware of every inch of my body, my patched-up heart beating too fast.
The king and queen sat at one end, regal and sorrow-etched, but their faces softening when they saw me.
Next to them stood Princess Isolde, eyes bright as amethysts, hair white as moonlight, arms folded across her chest as she glared at me as though I'd personally offended her ancestors.
Beside her, another girl—older, dark-haired, green-eyed, radiating poise and strength. Her stare was less hostile, but no less searching.
I lingered in the doorway, awkward, half-wishing I could melt back into the corridor. But the king gestured to the seat across from his daughters. "Come, Lyra. You are our guest."
I obeyed, feet silent on the tile. My hands shook as I sat down, trying to arrange myself like I belonged here.
The food called to me with a siren's voice: roast chicken glistening with golden skin, soft bread still warm, bowls of berries, cheese, and sweet honey.
For a moment, I couldn't move, afraid it was a trick, that someone would snatch it away or laugh when I reached for it.
"Eat," the queen said, her voice gentle, and something in me broke. I tore into the bread first—soft as clouds, slathered with butter.
Then the chicken, juicy and perfectly seasoned, the juices running down my chin. I didn't care if it wasn't proper. I ate until my belly ached and my eyes stung.
Isolde watched me the entire time, a frown deepening between her brows. I tried to meet her gaze, but it felt like looking into the sun.
When I had eaten as much as I dared, I sat back, hands folded in my lap, heart pounding in a different way now—full and anxious, caught between two worlds.
Princess Isolde was the first to break the silence. She pushed back her chair with a scrape, eyes narrowed. "You're the one who found me," she said. It wasn't quite a question.
I nodded. "You could say that."
Her lips pressed into a line. "I would have managed."
I wanted to laugh, but didn't. "Of course. I just happened to be there. Luck, maybe."
The other sister stepped forward, her voice cool but courteous. "I am Princess Seraphina, Isolde's elder sister. And you are…?"
"Lyra," I said quietly. "Lyra Skyblade."
The king and queen exchanged a glance, then turned to me. The queen's eyes were full of sadness.
"Lyra, you saved our daughter's life. We are deeply grateful. You may stay here for as long as you wish. The castle is open to you."
I blinked, stunned. My mind reeled. Stay here? In a place of warmth, with food and soft beds and gentle hands?
I looked at Isolde, who still glared, arms crossed like a barrier.
I cleared my throat.
"Thank you. I… I appreciate it. But I don't want to be a burden. I want to be useful." I felt the old anxiety, the urge to prove my worth, to justify every crumb and kindness.
The king smiled, a real smile, tired but true. "You have already proven your worth, Lyra. Still, if you wish to contribute, we will not stand in your way."
I grinned, baring my fangs a gesture that always frightened people, but the queen only smiled back, and Isolde's eyes widened in surprise.
"Well," I said, sitting up straighter, "I should just become a knight."