The corridor whispers were louder today.

  "Not only does she steal men, but she's violent too."

  "Poor Princess Francesca. Her own sister."

  "We should be careful around that one."

  Estelle's expression didn't change. She placed the rose on her table with practiced grace.

  Stay patient. Don't lose yourself to anger.

  A memory surfaced, unbidden.

  Her mother, pale and fevered in bed, holding Estelle's small hand with the last of her strength.

  "Remember, my child... we need good in this world. So remember to stay patient. Don't lose yourself to anger." Her mother's silver hair spread across the pillow like moonlight. "Treat people with kindness and forgiveness. Promise me."

  "I promise, Mama."

  Her mother's voice, echoing from years ago.

  Knock Knock. "Excuse me princess"

  Estelle took a steadying breath and crossed the room. But by the time she reached the door, she couldn't control her jaw clenching.

  ***

  Three maids arrived. Clara entered first, the silver tray balanced perfectly. Lila and Mara followed with linens and a folded dress.

  "Good morning, Your Highness." Clara's voice was smooth. Polished. "Your breakfast."

  Estelle looked strangely at the maids.

  "Has Anne not returned?" Estelle pondered.

  "No she will be back in a few days she's still visiting her family". Lila replied.

  Estelle nodded.

  She set the tray on the table by the window with meticulous care.

  A single porcelain bowl of porridge—thick, congealed, cold. The kind served in the servants' hall yesterday. Shriveled berries floated on top like drowned things. Beside it: stale bread, a chipped cup of weak tea.

  Clara adjusted the placement. "The kitchens were running low this morning. We thought this would still be suitable."

  The three maids stood in a neat row. Their faces: careful concern. As if they were doing her a kindness.

  Estelle looked at the tray.

  At them.

  "Thank you." Her voice was flat.

  The maids turned toward the bathing chamber. Water sloshed too quickly, splashed too loudly.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Estelle sat at the table. Picked up the spoon. The porridge was cold and thick. She took one bite. Put the spoon down.

  When the maids returned, Clara carried a towel over her arm. "Your bath is ready, milady."

  Estelle stood slowly.

  She stepped into the bathing room.

  No steam rose from the copper tub.

  The water was cold. Not freezing—nothing she could formally complain about. Just cold enough to sting.

  Estelle's eyes burned.

  Stay calm

  "Is there a problem, Your Highness?" Clara's voice drifted from the doorway.

  "No." Estelle's voice was calm. Empty.

  Lila giggled behind her sleeve. "Oh good. We just thought... well. You might be accustomed to it."

  Mara elbowed her. The smirk never left her face.

  Estelle started to undress, her back to them. Her fingers fumbled with the laces.

  Clara lifted the bucket she still carried—half-full of soapy water. She tilted it slightly. Drops splashed near Estelle's feet.

  "Oops." No apology in her voice.

  Estelle flinched.

  "Oh, Your Highness is so understanding." Clara's voice dripped false sweetness.

  Then something crunched beneath her heel.

  Estelle froze.

  She turned slowly.

  Clara's shoe was planted firmly on something pink.

  The rose petal.

  The one Estelle had kept. The last piece of her mother's flowers. She'd placed it carefully on the small table by the bath, next to her hairbrush.

  Clara lifted her foot. The petal was crushed. Destroyed.

  "Oh my." Clara's eyes glittered. "Was that important?"

  Lila and Mara giggled.

  Estelle stared at the ruined petal. Her mother's rose. The last one.

  Her hands stopped shaking.

  "Was it from the greenhouse?" Clara continued, her voice light. "You know, the weeds Princess Francesca had to destroy because you attacked her?

  Something inside Estelle went very quiet.

  Very still.

  She looked up at Clara's smug face.

  "They weren't weeds," Estelle said softly.

  Clara blinked. "What?"

  "They weren't weeds." Estelle's voice was still quiet. But it's different now. "They were tea roses. Rosa odorata. My mother planted them before she died."

  She took one step forward.

  Clara's smirk faltered.

  "And you just crushed the last piece I had of it" Estelle reached out. Calm as breathing. Her hand closed around the bucket handle.

  Clara's fingers were still wrapped around it. She didn't let go fast enough.

  "Your Highness, what are you—"

  Estelle upended the bucket.

  Soapy water cascaded over Clara's head. Soaked her cap. Plastered her uniform to her skin. Clara gasped, sputtering, eyes wide with shock.

  Lila and Mara froze.

  Estelle set the empty bucket down. It clinked against marble.

  The quiet girl who'd whispered "thank you" was gone.

  "Get out."

  Clara wiped water from her eyes. "You—you can't—"

  "I said get out." Estelle's voice cut like glass. "All of you. Now."

  Lila and Mara dropped their linens and fled, skirts whispering against stone.

  Clara remained. Dripping. Fury burned through the soap and shock.

  "You'll regret this," she hissed. "I'll tell the Queen everything. You assaulted me. You're mad, just like they say. Just like your whore mother—"

  Estelle moved.

  Her hand cracked across Clara's face.

  The slap echoed in the small room.

  Clara stumbled back, hand flying to her reddening cheek, eyes wide with disbelief.

  "My mother," Estelle said, her voice shaking now—not with fear, but rage, "was a lady. She was kind. She was gentle." Her eyes burned. "And you will never speak of her again."

  Clara's mouth opened. Closed.

  "Leave," Estelle said quietly. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

  Clara backed toward the door. Her face was white except for the red handprint on her cheek.

  "The Queen will hear about this," she whispered.

  "Good." Estelle's smile was terrible. "Tell her everything".

  Clara fled.

  Estelle stood alone in the bathing room.

  Her hand throbbed where she'd struck Clara.

  Her breath came in short gasps. Her whole body shook now.

  What had she done?

  She sank to her knees on the cold marble. The crushed rose petal lay nearby, pink and broken.

  Estelle picked it up with trembling fingers.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered. "

  The words choked off.

  She pressed the ruined petal to her chest and let herself cry. Not quiet, careful tears. Real sobs that tore from her throat.

  For seven years she'd been good. Quiet. Obedient. Patient. Stayed calm like her mother taught her.

  they destroyed her anyway.

  And She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep that promise.

  End of Chapter 3