The Grace Was Never Mine
In the morning, inside the Queen’s chambers before the council meeting in the Grand Hall…
The golden morning light streamed through the heavy curtains, but the room felt anything but warm. A young maid stood behind Mira, her trembling hands carefully adjusting the queen’s long dark hair, with a comb.
The maid flinched at the sharp tone. Mira’s eyes, reflected in the polished mirror, were void of emotion—calm yet suffocating.
Carlee
"Yes, Your Majesty…” the girl whispered.
An hair accessorie slipped, falling to the marble floor with a faint clink. The girl froze. Mira’s eyes flicked upward in the mirror, making her blood run cold.
Mira Veyra -
“Do you enjoy testing my patience?” Mira’s voice was soft. Too soft.
Carlee
N-No, Your Majesty. Forgive me.
But her clumsy hands fumbled again, and----
A faint crack.
Mira’s eyes flicked to the mirror. She saw it—the hairpin. Her hairpin.
The delicate golden branch with tiny red blossoms now lay snapped in two. One of the dangling chains slid across the floor with a soft clink. The red gemstone at the center—so like a drop of blood—was split down the middle.
For the first time in days, Mira’s breath caught in her throat.
That pin wasn’t just gold. It was her mother’s—the only thing left of a woman she’d never met. Its delicate golden branches and red blossoms were meant to symbolize her mother’s beauty and strength—a queen who, like a winter flower, bloomed even in harsh times. The dangling chains and tiny beads spoke of grace, of victories and tears.
Her father had kept it locked away for years, saying, “One day, when you wear this, you’ll carry her grace too.” He had it crafted by the best artisans in the empire when her mother was carrying Mira. “A gift for my queen,” he had said.
But her mother never lived to wear.
Now Mira—the daughter her mother never held—wore it every day as her only anchor to a family long turned to ash. And now… it was broken.
Her fingers tightened on the armrest. She didn’t look away from the broken pin. Not once.
Mira Veyra -
"Do you even know what you have done?” Her voice was soft, but it struck like a blade.
The maid dropped to her knees, tears streaming. “
Carlee
“Your Majesty… forgive me! It slipped—I didn’t mean—”
Mira Veyra -
"Sixty lashes. Expel her from all royal service.” Mira’s tone was cold, emotionless.
Another maid dropped to her knees.
Xanthe
Your Majesty… she won’t survive. Please
Mira’s gaze didn’t waver from the pin.
Mira Veyra -
Then let her die.
Carlee
Your Majesty, please! Have mercy.
Mira Veyra -
“Take her away.” Mira’s voice held no warmth.
The guards moved. The girl’s wails faded as the door closed.
Mira Veyra -
Send word to the kitchens. Breakfast is late. I don’t tolerate delays.
Bethan- maid
Yes, Your Majesty.
The maid bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the floor before scurrying out.
Left alone, Mira stared at her reflection.
Only then—when the room was empty—did Mira move. She rose slowly, her crimson robe whispering against the floor, and crouched by the broken pieces. Her fingers hovered for a moment before gathering them gently into her palm.
She stared at them for a long time. The delicate gold and red fragments reflected in her eyes like tiny dying embers.
No one would see this moment of weakness. Not here. Not ever.
And yet… she couldn’t bring herself to let the pieces go.
She closed her fingers around the broken hairpin, the jagged edges biting into her skin. A bitter smile ghosted her lips.
Mira Veyra -
"It seems… the grace was never mine, Father,” she whispered to the empty room.
The words lingered like ashes in the air, unseen and unheard.
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