I moved around the tables of food like a circling hawk, picking absent-mindedly at the strange dishes. My thoughts were racing and my whole body was juddering with nervous jitters.
A weight had been lifted off my shoulders since seeing Prince Arthur's encounter with the King and Queen. He had handled it well, and I felt immensely pleased for him.
But now I had my own mission to accomplish; escape the celebration, search the servants' quarters, find more evidence. Simple. Kind of. It turns out that servants didn't really have 'quarters' in the truest sense of the word, instead they slept wherever they wouldn't get in the way and for this particular occasion they were all crammed into a large basement underneath the castle, that was according to Prince Arthur's information.
It would be easy to find and get into, but the castle currently housed hundreds of servants and searching through all their belongings would certainly be a task to accomplish.
I slipped out of the celebration after sabotaging my reputation during serval sets of dances, and left Prince Arthur behind to cover for me. No one would dispute my early departure after witnessing that monstrosity of movement.
The castle had many rooms for lodging the guests of prestige and so the hallways were decorated with elaborate tapestries, long carpets and various sculpted centrepieces. It was depressing then, as I followed the stairs into the servants' quarters where the atmosphere immediately became dull and dank, the smell of mildew hanging pungent in the air.
The huge space underneath the castle was surprisingly sparse, it seemed servants didn't have that many belongings. I gulped, thinking about the amount I used to pack just to go on a short trip away for three days. I stood frozen for a few moments, trying to compute that the only things these people owned were a couple of items of extra clothing, straw mattresses and some personal effects. It seemed I had worried about the enormity of my task for nothing; something I felt inexplicably guilty for now.
I sifted through the hay and cloth satchels, looking for something that could resemble a giant flower, in whole or part, and a weapon that could've sliced Arthur's face. I did have one final suspicion too, that Prince Arthur was likely drugged or sedated throughout the ordeal, which would harmonise with his lack of memory surrounding the incident. Unless Prince Arthur was lying, which seemed inconceivable.
My systematic sort through the items seemed to be over as quickly as it had started. It was anticlimactic to say the least and yielded no results. I was stumped, and on the edge of panic too. For there were two options; one, the evidence had been destroyed or hidden extremely well, or two, a noble was in possession of the items.
My mind was swarming, was this the work of a mastermind and an accomplice or just a mastermind who carried everything out alone?
"Small feet, expensive plants, creativity, access to Prince Arthur to score his face and potentially drug him-" I froze, an image of blonde eyelashes fluttering entering my mind's eye.
I halted abruptly, imagining a clay statue carved with delicacy and love and admiration. A clay statue that captured every imperfection in a way that made it perfect. A clay statue that exuded the affection of a mother. And clay statue that utilised the same material in its creation as a certain dragon skull. My heart skidded to a stop, the implications of my reasoning hitting me like a high-speed train.
The Queen was a golden suspect. She had motive, the most powerful thing of all — love. She had the skill, the craftmanship of the statue proved that. She had the means; she was the wife of the king after all!
An element of panic and denial started to roll over me. I didn't want the culprit to be Prince Arthur's mother, that was too sad! She was someone that loved him unconditionally and I didn't want to take that away. I shook my head, trying to steady my thoughts. I didn't know for certain she had done it, so I had to check.
Without thinking I rushed to furthermost point of the castle's quarters, hoisting my skirts up as I bustled through the corridors. You could tell the royalty slept in this section of the castle for despite the festivities, servants still roamed the halls and guards stood stationed by the doors.
I passed by what seemed to be the prince's rooms, the doors looked ornate and important, but the guards were not on high alert. They did not stop me as I passed by.
Now the King and Queen's quarters were unmissable.
I stood behind a corner, my heart in my mouth. Which one was the Queen's room? There were two rooms situated diagonally across the hall from each other, both with grand wooden doors and multiple stoic guards. I watched intently, struggling to figure out which one could be the Queen's.
I almost chewed my nails down to the fingertip as I watched the servants milling about doing their duties. They were let in and out of the rooms mechanically as they performed various tasks. I noticed a few servants bringing clothing into one of the rooms, one carried a pile of dresses. That was all I needed to confirm which room was the Queen's, the suspense was too much, and I was willing to take the risk without more clues.
And that was how I found myself standing in the cold, staring at a pathetically skinny window reaching almost eight metres above my head. What on earth was I thinking of doing? Did I think I was Spiderman or something? Apparently so.
You see, as I watched in the hallway I realised there was absolutely no chance of sneaking past the guards or trying to talk my way in without suspicion. Therefore, I decided to see if the room had a window outside, which it did. The only problem being that the window was incredibly slim and high up.
I opted to not think too hard and just go for it. I had done climbing walls before, this was exactly the same, just with far less health-regulations, no harness and the ever-mounting pressure of being caught breaking and entering. Easy.
The stone of the castle was chunky, providing me with good foot and hand holds. I had to internalise the occasional blood-curdling scream as the stone crumbled away in a shower of dust and debris beneath me. But I was surprised at how quick I managed to move.
I pulled my way up to the sorry excuse for a window, peering inside cautiously. There were no servants around, for now. I shifted to approach the gap with my shoulder, that way I could go in length-ways. I sucked in a breath and slid inside, flopping onto the floor with a bungling thunk.
Now where would a queen keep potentially damning but also valuable evidence?
The room was huge and nicely furnished by ancient standards, by modern standards it could be considered quite sparse. I chuckled to myself at the state of the bed, it was practically taller than me, with layer stacked upon layer. Apparently, the story of the princess with pea held some truth to it, I thought as I looked at the pile of assorted mattresses.
I immediately dived my hand inside the first layer, swiping it around the inside thoroughly. My search came to naught. I searched along the next layer. Still nothing. By the third layer I was beginning to feel confident there was no evidence hidden inside the bed, much to my relief. But just as I began to relax, my finger hit something hard and round. I felt around curiously, finding more balls hidden within the folds of fabric.
When I pulled them out, I noticed they were pills of some description in two different colours. Some were powdery and yellow; the others were waxy and green. Alarm bells immediately went off in my head. Drugs of some kind? I scraped a sliver of the substances off both pills with my fingernail and stuffed the tiny shavings into my sock.
The door jangled and I dived for the privacy screen, the one that allowed for a lady's solitude whilst using the chamber pot. I held my breath as a servant entered the room and began placing items into a hefty wooden chest. I doubted The Queen would've put incriminating items in there, not when servants freely looked at the contents.
So as soon as the servant left, I ran once again to the bed to search through the many layers. I stuffed my arms deep into the final layer and it wasn't long before I hit something hard. I grabbed it and with a firm tug I pulled it out, my jaw dropped.
It was much like a modern-day mini gardening fork, but the prongs were far thinner and sharper, and the tool had a lot more weight in it than the ones from modern times. Blood was encrusted onto the end of each of the three tongs, dry and flaky but thick from doing serious damage. I noticed also the corner of a sooty cloak peeking out from where I had pulled the object out.
I dropped it in shock, my blood running cold. Silently I gasped, scooping it back up before it clanged against the floorboards. Wired, I stuffed all the evidence back where I found it and with my heart pounding, crossed back over to the window to leave.
The door of the room began jangling again as soon as I swung my leg out of the gap. Freaking out, I turned into a bundle of jelly limbs and roaring adrenaline. Like a cat losing its footing, I scrambled over the rim, disappearing from their view as the door swung open.
My arms were the only things that aided me as I swung freely for a few moments. It turns out the movies make swinging by your fingers look at lot easier that it is, surprising I know. I felt my fingers tearing with the friction as I desperately searched for a foothold. There was none to be found, so I had to desperately lay my feet flat against the surface for support.
I began slipping. Tears eking out from the corners of my eyes as I went sliding against the jagged stone like it was ice. Apart from it wasn't slick like ice, it was sharp and agonising. It tore away at my sleeves like a cheese grater and once they were in shreds, it went for my skin.
My descent down the wall probably only lasted a handful of seconds but it felt like a whole eternity. I screamed soundlessly as the sharp stone tore away at my forearms leaving blood smeared its wake. I pulled myself flatter against the wall, so I didn't plummet straight to my demise, but the trick was a double-edged sword as it only gave the wall a larger surface area of my skin to peel away.
When I landed flat against my bottom on the grass I was on an adrenaline high, and with my blood pumping from the few seconds of terror I had just experienced I was able to quickly flee from the scene. Because of that, I wasn't aware of any pain nor the severity of the damage. So, I was fit to speedily run to my quarters and grab a cloak to cover my ruined dress before returning to the festivities.
I felt energised as I made myself presentable again but my trot to the hall slowly became a walk, and my walk wavered to a trudge of swinging one foot ahead of the other, until eventually I was practically dragging myself inside.
I grinned brightly as I stepped back into the hall of music and dancing, my eyes struggling to adjust to the cacophony of sounds and sights and smells. I slurred pleasant greetings to people that passed me, grabbing on to the tables for support. Sweat beaded down my temples as the alertness wore off to be replaced by burning pain.
I surreptitiously peeked underneath a table at my forearms. Bile shot up my throat as I assessed the wounds. I had been cleaved like a piece of meat. The skin of my arms flappy and raw. I tried not to gag as I looked at my left arm, where the skin had been so badly sliced that I could see the white of my bone.
I lifted my head to look at the room of celebrating people, how could these people treat such a wound with their limited view of medicine? Dread clutched at my throat, and that sense of loneliness that had been following me around like a ghost for a while now threatened to sallow me whole.