I still remember the day I arrived at the mansion, my heart pounding in my chest as the carriage came to a stop. The weight of my new title—Duchess of Vinsmug—pressed heavily on my shoulders, and I was too shy, too scared, to even breathe properly. The grand doors opened, and there she was. Bluebell. She stood among the staff, but her presence felt different, even then.
She stepped forward, her expression calm, almost indifferent, as she introduced herself. "I am Bluebell, my lady. I've been assigned as your personal maid."
Her voice was soft, but there was something reassuring about it, something steady. In that moment, surrounded by strangers in a place that felt so foreign, Bluebell became the only person I could trust. She must have seen the fear in my eyes because, without saying another word, she gave me a small, almost imperceptible nod. It was as if she knew. She understood.
Back then, I was too scared to say much. I barely knew how to act as the Duchess. But Bluebell never pushed. She was always there—quietly helping, offering calm, reassuring words when needed, never letting me feel alone in that overwhelming place. Over time, we fell into an easy rhythm, and though I've become queen now, that bond remains.
As I sit here with Bluebell by my side, the memories creep back unbidden, as clear as if they had happened yesterday. It wasn't long after I arrived at the mansion when the late Duke had his important business meeting with the Sect of the Cultivations. He had spent days talking about getting that new terrain—how it would make him wealthier, more powerful. I should have known something would go wrong. He was always drunk, but that day, he was worse than ever.
I tried to help him sober up, to get him ready for the meeting, but it didn't matter. He missed it completely, and when the deal fell through, he blamed me. My heart aches at the memory of his words—how he said I was 'good for nothing,' as though I could have stopped him from his own destruction.
The humiliation of that day still stings. I remember the sharp pain of his hand striking me, the fury in his eyes as he threw his failure at my feet. He beat me as if it was all my fault, and when he was done, he locked me in my chambers. I didn't know how long I was in there, alone and bruised, lost in the dark. Days? I couldn't tell.
He had always been cruel, but that day, I learned how much power he had over me—how powerless I truly was.
When I finally appeared from that dark chamber, weak and bruised, it was Bluebell who was there, waiting for me. She didn't say a word about what had happened—she never needed to. She saw the marks on my skin, the way I could barely stand, and without hesitation, she took me into her care.
I remember her gentle hands as she cleaned my wounds, the cool cloth against my battered skin. She never flinched, never showed pity, just quiet determination to see me through it. I hadn't expected anyone to care, least of all her, but there she was—tending to my bruises, helping me heal in more ways than just the physical.
I had been so afraid, so convinced that I was truly 'good for nothing,' just like the duke had said. But Bluebell's silent care reminded me that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't as worthless as I felt in that moment. She helped me regain a piece of myself that day.
Even now, I can still feel the way her presence soothed me. She didn't ask questions, didn't push me to speak, just stayed by my side until I was strong enough to face the world again.
Not long after I began to heal, just as I was trying to piece myself back together, my mother arrived. She swept into the mansion with her usual air of control, and of course, it wasn't out of concern for me. No, she came with a business proposal, a deal involving the Harmony Hotel. I remember how cold and detached she was, as if my bruises, my pain, were invisible to her.
It's strange, isn't it? How the one person who should've cared for me—who should've been there through all the pain—was never truly a mother at all. My own mother, so cold and distant, cared more about deals and profit than the bruises on her daughter's skin. She never saw me, not really. I was just a tool, something to be used and discarded when convenient. The one time she did come, it was for a business deal, not to ask how I was. Not to ask why I could barely stand or why my eyes were so hollow.
She didn't ask about what had happened, didn't wonder why I looked as fragile as I did. She was more interested in securing the deal than in anything that concerned me. That was always her way—business over everything, including her own daughter. I listened as she laid out her plans to the duke, talking about profits, about opportunities, as if I were just another part of the decor.
I had hoped, just once, that she might show some sign of caring. But all she saw in me was an asset, another piece to move on her chessboard of schemes. And so, I stayed silent, as I always did back then, watching her make her deal while I tried to heal from wounds far deeper than the ones on my skin.
And yet, Bluebell... sweet, quiet Bluebell, who wasn't much older than me, somehow became the person I turned to. She was the one who picked me up when I was at my lowest. It wasn't her job to care. She could've just done her duty as a maid and left me to wither in my misery, but she didn't. She saw me—saw my pain—and helped me through it in a way my own mother never could.
I know it's foolish to think of her as a mother. She's not that much older than I am, after all. But in a way, she filled the space my mother left behind. She cared when no one else did, when my mother couldn't even be bothered to ask if I was alright. I can't help but feel ashamed for needing her so much. For leaning on her like that.
It wasn't her job to heal me, to be the one who soothed my fears, but she did. And now, in some twisted way, I've put her in a role she never asked for. She became the mother I never had, even though she shouldn't have had to bear that burden.
The truth is, I don't even know if she realizes it. Maybe she just thought she was helping. But to me, she became everything I wished my real mother could've been—everything she wasn't.
I am not really angry at her for sometimes not telling me things, but I just feel like this each time she hides things from me, like I do not hold any good feelings for her and always using her to heal and never be her own medicine. others will say she is just my servant, but a servant would not care if her master had a problem with her mother and that affected her to the point of wishing death upon herself, but, Bluebell always try to understand my situation at one point she ask if perhaps my mother was possess or I wasn't her daughter but I said that was pure exaggeration even if I can't say I haven't thought about it.
"No, I am not... I just... it's" she tries to say but stutters and fan her face with her hands while loudly breathing out I know she finds it hard to tell her problems to others because she is a problem solver.
"it's alright, I understand" I try not to sound defeated with the fake smile I pasted on, but she sighs as though she spotted the lie, I am visibly trying to hide
"Saltanat" she calls, and I know each time she calls me by my name, what comes after is of utmost importance, she walks and sits next to me and instantly shout of joy and laughter's erupt outside as the knights cry out their victory, it startles us for a moment, but we have pressing matters at hand. "Aizikelle and I... carry a long story that only I seem to care about for now" So that's how she calls him, her voice decreases as her face turns sad, the light in her eyes dimming while her lips press into a thin, wavering line "...and as I promised you, now isn't the best time to explain all this as I will need two days to sum you all this, but for now..."
"You want me to be patient and wait for my problems to be solved first," I mutter, my voice growing quieter with each word. Her expression falters, sadness creeping into her eyes as her shoulders slump slightly, as though the weight of it all is finally settling in. She always wants to help me, jumping in at every opportunity, but every time I ask to return the favor, she rejects my request. It's as if she's put up this wall between us, and no matter how hard I try to break through, she won't let me in. Each refusal stings, and it makes me feel so small, like I'm not strong enough or worthy enough to be someone she can lean on. It hurts, knowing that she can't see me as someone capable of carrying her burdens, even though I desperately want to be there for her, just like she's always there for me. "I understand" I tell her turning my face away from her and looking out the window. I don't like to act like this with her but...
"We will be stopping at a tavern for you to have some proper rest" the king unexpected voice echoes inside the carriage breaking through my thoughts but I'm to drained, and depress to respond, I hear movements beside me, the soft rustle of fabric and the shift of weight. After a moment, I can feel the king's presence beside me, his warmth radiating like a steady flame, though I can't bring myself to acknowledge it. My eyes remain fixed on the passing scenery, unable to focus on anything but the heaviness in my chest. He doesn't speak, and instead, his hand gently finds its place on my chest, right over the spot where my heart feels like it's melting, breaking apart piece by piece. His touch is warm and steady, grounding me in a way that words never could. I want to say something, to acknowledge the comfort he's offering, but the weight of my sadness holds me in silence. All I can do is breathe, feeling the quiet strength of his hand, as if he's trying to hold together the fragile pieces of my heart that I can't seem to mend on my own.
"Come here" he says but before I even have the time to turn to him, he gathers me in his arms and without other thoughts I let the sorrow out in tears form, crying my heart out for someone I just want to help for everything she did for me, I don't know if it is out of guilt or shame but all I know is that I feel bad she rejects each of my attempts without even considering it. "You know, I am quite sad I am not the reason that makes you feel this way, and this, believe me or not is punishable by death with the honors of the culprit dying by my own right hand, but I will let Bluebell this once." his tone is firm as though he just broke a rule of his. "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but... do you want to listen to a little story to pass time" I push my head further into his neck and nod. He holds me tighter and embraces me closer to him.
"Many moons ago, a family awaited the coming of the prophesies baby who would be the keeper of the celestial dragon breather, unfortunately for the family who desperately needed or good to say, have been celebrating for a male keeper gave life to a beautiful baby girl..." I don't know why but the story is not what I imagine as a story to help me stop crying. "Shhh, I haven't even stated yet" he whispers pulling me as close to his body as I could ever be.
"It sounds sad" I manage to say in-between tears, a whole family waiting for the arrival of a male in their family just to be disappointed, I don't even want to know what that lady went through. He scoffs and after some time it turns into laughter's.
"She certainly lived a very difficult life... the hardest life you could ever think of, but don't you want to know the story of Elixirs the celestial dragon keeper who married the most fear monsters in the whole Lore, who also happen to be the child of the dragon she kept?" He asks, and my face flew wide open, I almost forgot I was crying.
"She married a... dragon?" I ask as I try to stop the bewildering feeling that covers my entire face and he finally flicks his fingers over my lips before gently smiling at my current state.
"Oh, she did that and more. She was the one who led, won, and ended both the first and third wars between the Twelve Creators and the Cursed Girls, who were entrusted with the river that keeps the heavens and cultivators at peace. while fighting for both site"