Chapter 1 — A Glimpse of the Cage

Third Person

The carriage wheels groaned under the weight of expectation as they rumbled over the cobblestones, sending faint vibrations through the small figure seated inside. Kimberley Mae Blossom clutched the lavender journal Queen Ethel had handed her earlier that morning, its velvet cover soft against her trembling fingers. The faintest scent of lavender lingered on it—a quiet but poignant reminder of a world that already felt impossibly distant. She pressed it to her chest, drawing comfort from its warmth as muffled cries of laughter from the orphanage yard echoed in her thoughts.

Through the window, the orphanage—the only home she had ever known—faded into the distance, its worn stone walls and weathered archways retreating into a haze of memories. Kimberley’s fingers gripped the edge of the journal as she tried to hold onto the sound of children’s voices, the soft lullabies shared on cold nights, and the unspoken bonds of freedom that made every threadbare blanket and shared meal feel like a treasure. Each turn of the wheels seemed to grind those memories further away, leaving an ache in her chest sharper than she could name.

“You’ll find the palace quite different, my dear,” Queen Ethel’s voice broke softly through Kimberley’s thoughts, gentle but tinged with something unspoken. The queen sat across from her, the faintest ghost of a smile playing at her lips. Though the words were meant to reassure, her hazel eyes—framed by silver-streaked hair—betrayed a flicker of hesitation, as if she, too, carried a weight she could not voice. “I know this is a lot to take in, but you are not alone.”

Kimberley glanced down at the journal, her green eyes clouded with apprehension. The scent of lavender felt heavier now. She raised her gaze to the window just as the palace came into view, and the breath caught in her throat.

It loomed ahead like something from a dream—or a warning. The white stone walls gleamed under the sun, their pristine façade broken only by the towering gold spires that seemed to pierce the sky itself. The gates were wrought iron, thick and intricate, and as they creaked open with a groan that sent a shiver through her small frame, Kimberley’s chest tightened. The gates swung shut behind them with a resounding clang, sealing her inside the gilded cage.

Queen Ethel’s delicate hands rested in her lap, her fingers interlaced with practiced composure. Kimberley thought she saw them tighten for a moment as the carriage rolled to a halt. The door swung open, and there he was—King Richard.

Tall and commanding, his presence seemed to fill the entire courtyard. His sharp blue eyes swept over Kimberley with the precision of a man who was used to weighing everything in his domain. His expression was unreadable—stern, but not unkind—and yet something flickered there, momentarily cracking the mask of authority. Kimberley caught it: a fleeting glance at the journal in her hands, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as he adjusted the heavy signet ring on his finger. Then, as quickly as it came, the moment passed, and his gaze settled into measured control.

“So,” he said, his voice deep and steady but edged with a formality that made Kimberley’s stomach twist, “this is Kimberley.”

Queen Ethel stepped out first, her movements as fluid as a ribbon caught in the wind. She turned back to extend a hand to Kimberley, her smile soft but strained. “Come, Kimberley,” she said gently. “Let me introduce you properly.”

Kimberley hesitated, her legs feeling like stone. Her gaze darted between Ethel’s outstretched hand and King Richard’s imposing figure. Finally, grasping the journal tighter, she placed her trembling fingers in Ethel’s and allowed herself to be led from the carriage. The cobblestones were cool beneath her shoes—unyielding and unfamiliar. Richard’s shadow loomed large as she stepped forward, swallowing the light of the midday sun. When she dared to look up at him, she saw it again: that flicker in his eyes, not unlike the glow of something long buried. Guilt.

“We welcome you to Eldralore, Kimberley,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “You are no longer an orphan. You are part of this family now. With that comes privilege—and responsibility. Do you understand?”

The words hung heavy in the air. Kimberley felt the edges of the journal dig into her chest as she pressed it closer, seeking comfort from its solid weight. She wanted to say no, that she didn’t understand, that nothing about the loss of everything she had ever known felt like a gift. But her voice betrayed her, and she nodded instead.

Richard’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as though searching for something. When he didn’t find it, he turned briskly toward the palace. “Come inside. There is much to prepare.”

The grand entrance hall unfolded before Kimberley like a frozen tableau, each detail more overwhelming than the last. The marble floors gleamed, reflecting the dazzling light of gilded chandeliers that hung like constellations. The scent of lavender was stronger here, mingling with the faint sharpness of wax polish. Servants glided silently at the room’s edges, their movements precise and rehearsed. Kimberley caught their whispers as she passed:

“Is that her? The orphan girl?”

“She doesn’t look like royalty.”

“Poor thing. She has no idea what’s waiting for her.”

Queen Ethel’s hand came to rest lightly on Kimberley’s shoulder, steadying her. “You’ll grow accustomed to this,” she murmured, her voice low enough that only Kimberley could hear. “It may feel overwhelming now, but you’ll find your place here. I’ll see to it.”

They ascended the grand staircase, its carved motifs of roses and thorns catching Kimberley’s wary gaze. She trailed behind the king and queen, her steps faltering as the magnitude of the palace pressed down on her. Somewhere in the distance, faint bells chimed the hour, their sound echoing through the vast, cold halls.

At the top of the staircase, a pair of double doors swung open to reveal what would be her chambers. Kimberley froze in the doorway, her eyes darting across the room that stretched far larger than her imagination had allowed. The pastel walls were trimmed with gold filigree, every piece of furniture too ornate to touch. The bed—draped in silks that shimmered in the sunlight—seemed almost surreal in its opulence. She turned toward the bay window, drawn to the view beyond.

The North Garden Maze stretched out like a labyrinth of shadows, its twisting paths promising secrets and escapes that felt as distant as the mountains on the horizon. Kimberley pressed her hand against the cold glass, the edges of her reflection blurred by the sunlight.

“This will be your room,” Queen Ethel said, drawing the curtains aside with a practiced motion. Her tone was careful, neutral, though Kimberley noticed the slightest tremor in her hands. “You’ll find it quite beautiful here. The gardens are especially lovely in spring.”

Kimberley said nothing. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared out at the maze. It felt alive, its hedgerows shifting ever so slightly in the breeze, as if whispering a quiet invitation.

Behind her, King Richard cleared his throat. “You’ll be expected to adjust quickly,” he said, his voice as firm as the stone beneath their feet. “There are rules to follow, lessons to learn. You are a Blossom now, and that means—”

“Responsibility,” Kimberley interrupted. Her voice was quiet but unwavering as she turned to face him, her green eyes meeting his with a flicker of something unspoken. Defiance. “I understand.”

For a moment, Richard faltered. His brow furrowed, and then, as if remembering his role, he straightened. “Good. Then we’ll speak no more of it.”

He left the room without another word, his footsteps fading into the distance. Ethel lingered, her expression softening as she approached Kimberley and knelt beside her. She tucked a stray strand of auburn hair behind Kimberley’s ear, her hand lingering for a moment longer.

“You’re braver than you think,” she whispered, her voice warm. “But bravery doesn’t mean you have to face everything alone. Remember that.”

Kimberley didn’t respond. She watched as Ethel rose and followed Richard out, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence that remained was vast—and deafening.

Kimberley turned to the journal in her hands and opened it for the first time. Her fingers hovered over the quill resting on the desk before she finally scrawled four small, uneven words across the blank page:

*This is not freedom.*

Setting the journal aside, she climbed onto the windowsill, drawing her knees to her chest. Her gaze returned to the maze, its winding paths seeming to twist and shift beneath the sunlight. Somewhere beyond those hedgerows, beyond the gilded gates and rolling hills, lay a world she had yet to see. And somewhere within her, beneath the fear and uncertainty, a spark of determination flickered, waiting to catch flame.

For now, she would wait. But not forever.