Chapter 7: A Gilded Cage

A few hours later, after a bath that felt like I'd been dipped in warm clouds—soap, water, luxury—I was escorted into the palace by a young elven servant who clearly had better posture than I'd ever hoped to achieve. I had the distinct impression that this was their palace, and I was just a passing curiosity. They probably had a file on me already. "Maryse: mysterious stranger, wearing piecemeal leather armor and looking thoroughly confused at all times."

The servant led me into a massive room that felt more like a library than anything else. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and a giant fireplace dominated one side of the room, the fire crackling lazily as if it, too, had nothing better to do. The whole place smelled like dust and old leather, but in a good way—like the kind of place where someone might sit by the fire and read something scandalous about the royal family, if you were lucky.

Before I could wander further into my new "home", Cailan and Eamon walked in. Eamon's presence was as heavy as ever. The air seemed to thicken around him, and I could practically hear the frown lines in his forehead deepening. If I could have walked into a room and immediately gotten the feeling that someone didn't like me, it was definitely that guy.

"Maryse," Cailan said, his tone a little more cheerful than I thought the situation called for. "This is my uncle, Eamon. Uncle, this is Maryse."

I gave Eamon a polite nod, which he returned with a glance that could have frozen a wyvern in mid-flight. I didn't need to be a mind reader to tell that he was already assessing me, cataloging my every move for later use, like a hawk watching a rabbit. Or worse, like a nobleman sizing up a potential asset. I wasn't sure which was worse.

I was about to ask if he'd ever had a personality transplant when Cailan gave his uncle a cutting glance, "You're probably tired, Uncle. We'll let you get back to Isolde."

Eamon, always the picture of charm, gave a brief nod and excused himself. I almost expected him to leave behind a trail of cold air.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, the room felt a little less suffocating. Cailan turned to me with a kind of quiet understanding, but I could still feel the remnants of that earlier scene with Anora hanging between us like an awkward cloud. I wasn't sure if I was imagining it, but it seemed like he was trying to go back to "normal," like we could pretend everything was fine and I wasn't a complete outsider.

I could feel myself slipping into that uncomfortable silence again, so I blurted, "Tell me about the mages."

Cailan blinked, clearly caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation, but he went along with it. "The Circle? We've written a letter. It'll be sent soon, but it'll take about a fortnight to get there. Another fortnight for a response."

I tried to hide the disappointment that curled in my stomach. A month. A month? I'd be stuck in this bizarre place for that long? My sense of time had always been a little skewed since but a month in this palace might as well have been an eternity.

"A month," I repeated, the words slipping out of my mouth like they were made of lead. "Right. Of course."

Cailan looked at me with such empathy, and then, as if by instinct, he placed a hand on my shoulder. It wasn't overly forward—more of a gesture of reassurance. I took an immediate step back without thinking.

I wasn't used to being touched. Not like that. And the fact that it was coming from him... well, that just made everything a little more complicated.

Cailan looked at me and for a moment there was a brief flash of hurt behind his eyes. Before he could say anything, there was a knock at the door. He cleared his throat and the king's mask fell back into place, "Come in."

The door opened and a girl walked in, I froze.

She had wild red hair, curly and pulled back in a loose knot that barely contained it. The green eyes that met mine were sharp, burning with a spark of rebellion that didn't quite match the quiet dignity she held in her posture. But it wasn't the look in her eyes that made my breath hitch. It was the name that I knew before she even spoke it.

Kallian Tabris.

Of course. Why not? I'd barely stepped foot into this world, and already I was meeting the second potential warden.

There was a strange sense of something in the air as I looked at her. Fate? Destiny? Some unexplainable force shoving me toward these people who were about to become part of something monumental—something I couldn't even begin to understand.

And then, in the back of my mind, the thought came crashing in like a runaway wagon: Did fate want me to help the potential wardens?

There could only be one Hero of Ferelden—the rest would end up dead, or worse, tranquil. A part of me couldn't shake the feeling that I was somehow meant to be in their path, like some kind of unasked-for guide. But I couldn't figure out why.

Cailan, oblivious to the thousand thoughts swirling in my head, was explaining something—something that was probably important. "This is Kallian. She'll be assisting you while you're here—acting as a handmaiden of sorts. Helping you get accustomed to court life. She'll help dress you, clean, and look after your hair."

I blinked at him, trying to process. Handmaiden. It wasn't the word itself that bothered me; it was the idea of it. Someone—this potential hero—would be serving me, doing things I could easily do for myself. As if I needed help simply existing in this foreign world.

"Tomorrow," Cailan continued, "a seamstress will be coming to fit you for a wardrobe. As much as I love you in pieced-together leather armor, it's better to have you dressed properly for your position here."

Position?

Cailan's voice broke into my thoughts as he watched me, his eyes still warm but serious. "Eamon and I decided the best course of action is to say you're a noblewoman. Highborn, of course, lost after a darkspawn attack. You were part of a larger caravan, all of whom are dead now. The truth but more..." He gave a slight pause, as if testing my reaction. "Palatable."

I opened my mouth to protest, but no sound came out. My mind was too busy trying to process the absurdity of it all.

A noblewoman. Me.

I didn't feel like a noblewoman, not in the least. A noblewoman wouldn't have spent the last two weeks running through the woods with nothing but her wits to keep her alive. A noblewoman wouldn't have fallen from the sky, lost and confused, in a world that wasn't her own. I wasn't some exalted lady of high birth. I was just… me. A random person who had ended up here by some strange twist of fate, trying to figure out how to get back.

But it seemed like I was going to be playing along with a story someone else had made up for me.

The lie hung so loosely in the air, I almost didn't want to touch it, but that wouldn't change anything. It wasn't like I had a choice. I had to play along, didn't I?

"So, I'm supposed to be some highborn lady from… where, exactly?" I couldn't keep the skepticism from my tone. "Where am I supposed to say?"

Cailan hesitated, clearly already well-prepared for this conversation. "You won't be able to remember. You were hit during the darkspawn attack, and you're still trying to piece together your memories."

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the weight of his words sink in. The feeling of being trapped in someone else's story, wearing someone else's skin, was overwhelming. I wasn't that person. And yet, here I was, forced into a story that didn't even begin to resemble the truth.

I glanced nervously at Kallian, who was still standing quietly by the window, watching the two of us with her usual impassive expression. She hadn't spoken much so far, but her presence loomed large in my mind now that the plan was on the table. What if she overheard something she wasn't supposed to? I didn't know what she'd make of my story—or worse, what Cailan might make of it if she blabbed.

I couldn't help but feel a little paranoid, especially with someone I didn't know well and who, for all I knew, could end up being another piece of this twisted puzzle.

"Kallian…" I trailed off, not sure how to ask what I needed to. She might have been just a servant, but if she was going to be part of my life now, I needed to know where her loyalties lay.

Cailan's gaze shifted to her, and I saw a brief flicker of understanding pass between them. He nodded slightly, as if reassuring me that my concerns weren't unwarranted.

"Kallian is here to help," he said. "She's your handmaiden now, Maryse. She'll assist you with court matters, with your dressing, and whatever else you need. But whatever she hears while serving you, she is sworn not to repeat. You have my word." He turned to Kallian then, giving her a firm but quiet look. "Kallian knows her role here. She won't speak a word of anything she learns in your service, not to anyone."

The assurance felt comforting, but only just. The trust that Cailan had in his people—whether it was misplaced or not—was something I couldn't easily embrace. I wasn't used to this kind of blind faith, especially when it came to my safety.

Still, I nodded, though I wasn't entirely convinced. I wasn't sure what to make of Kallian yet, but for now, I'd have to trust Cailan's judgment. It didn't seem like I had much of a choice in the matter. Not when my whole life had been uprooted and I was supposed to be someone else entirely.

"So, I'm to be some noblewoman with no family, just… lost in the wind?" I repeated, trying to make sure I had the details right, even as the whole thing felt absurd.

Cailan gave a short nod. "That's right. For now, it'll keep people off our backs. But…" He hesitated, his gaze hardening as he considered the future. "Eventually, people may start asking questions. The court can be a cruel place, and when they smell something off, they won't stop sniffing until they find the truth." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable with that reality. "We'll have to play it by ear."

I frowned at the idea. A lie could only work for so long, and the longer we kept up this façade, the more likely it was that someone would poke holes in it. What happened when they did?

I didn't have the answers. I wasn't sure anyone did.

"You don't have to worry about anything for now," Cailan said, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. His voice softened, and I noticed the slight tension in his shoulders as if he, too, understood how fragile the situation was. "Just focus on getting settled. I'll take care of the rest."

I wanted to believe him. I really did. But something told me that being here wasn't going to be as easy as just getting settled. And the longer I stayed in this palace, playing the part of a noblewoman, the harder it was going to be to untangle myself from all of this.

Kallian was still standing there, waiting patiently for Cailan to finish speaking. She didn't look at me with pity or sympathy, which, in its own way, was a relief. I didn't need any more of that, especially from someone who might be part of some bigger plan I couldn't even begin to comprehend. Instead, she seemed... neutral. Respectful, but distant. That suited me fine.

She led me to my rooms, and once again, I was overwhelmed by the opulence of it all. The space was massive—decorative tapestries hung on every wall, a grand bed draped in silks, and the view of the courtyard made me feel as if I were perched on some kind of pedestal. Everything was polished, pristine, and impeccably arranged. I could barely wrap my head around it. Two weeks ago, I had been sleeping in the woods, fighting to stay alive, and now I was being placed in a palace, like some prized bird in a gilded cage.

When Kallian turned to me with a more purposeful look in her eyes, I realized she was waiting for something. "Would you like help getting undressed? Or should I…?" She gestured toward my armor.

I stiffened, her offer hanging in the air like an unspoken demand. Part of me recoiled at the thought of a stranger undressing me, even though I knew there was nothing malicious in her offer. It just… felt wrong. I wasn't used to being served, especially by someone who, I suspected, had been raised to be more than just a servant.

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. "If you could help with the armor, I can handle the rest," I said, more brusquely than I intended. I didn't want to be rude, but the thought of her seeing me in my most vulnerable state felt too much like... well, fate pushing us together again.

She nodded without protest, and I saw her expression soften just a touch, a faint glimmer of understanding passing between us. She wasn't here to be my friend, and I wasn't going to try and make her. But even if she didn't care to be anything more than a servant, I couldn't help but wish for something else—a friend. Someone who wasn't simply following orders.

I tried to make small talk while she helped me peel off the armor, but she seemed uninterested in chatting. She was efficient, respectful, and mostly silent.

After a while, once she'd brushed the tangles out of my hair and folded my armor into neat piles, she stepped back with a polite, "Goodnight, Lady Maryse."

It wasn't the "goodnight" that got to me. It was the way she said it—Lady Maryse. Like that was the name I was supposed to wear now. The sound of it left me feeling sick. She was halfway to the door when I stopped her.

"Just Maryse," I said, and she looked at me with those distant eyes. "At least… in here, please? I don't really feel like a lady quite yet…"

Kallian didn't say anything at first, but she slowly nodded. I gave her a tentative smile, and then she left, closing the door softly behind her.

I turned back to the mirror and stayed there for a long time, staring at the reflection. Alone again.

The room was too quiet. The weight of everything pressing down on me—being so far from home, from everything I knew—was almost suffocating. I wasn't even sure how I was supposed to act anymore. Was I supposed to embrace this?

I didn't want to be royalty. I didn't want to live in a palace. I didn't want to play whatever game they were playing here.

But I was here now. And I'd play along, for now. I just hoped I didn't lose myself in the process.