Page 7 of Scars and Crowns

"Listen to me carefully," I say, keeping my voice gentle. "You don't leave these quarters. Not even to the courtyard. If you need anything, you wait for me. Understand?"

Sara looks up from where she's balancing on her tiny feet and gives me the most dramatic eye-roll imaginable. Honestly, she deserves an award for it. "Mumma." She folds her arms. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

The question catches me off guard.

No, precious.

I think you're far too clever for your own good.

I think you notice things I wish you were still too young to understand.

I think you're the smartest person in this entire palace—including your mother—and saying that aloud feels dangerous somehow, like the universe might hear me getting too proud and decide it's time to humble us again.

Instead, I reach over and deliberately mess up her neatly tied hair. She squeals immediately, batting my hand away. "Mumma!"

"There." I grin despite myself. "Much better."

She glares at me for exactly three seconds before her lips twitch. "I wasn't stupid before either."

"No." I cup her cheeks, smiling properly now. "You're not. You're the smartest girl I know."

Her entire face lights up. It's such a small thing, a few words, but she straightens instantly, shoulders pulling back, chest puffing out with unmistakable pride.

"Really?"

"Really."

"And prettier than you?"

I pretend to think about it. "Hmm . . . that's debatable."

"Mumma!"

She launches herself at me before I can finish laughing. Her arms wrap around my neck with complete certainty, holding on as tightly as only children know how. Sara never hugs halfway. She throws her entire heart into it every single time.

I hold her for one extra second before kissing the top of her head. "Now go finish your colouring."

She salutes dramatically—as though we've just concluded a very important business meeting—and marches over to the thin mattress pushed against the wall. Within moments she's sitting cross-legged, crayons scattered all around her like tiny pieces of a kingdom only she understands.

Red.

Blue.

Green.

Yellow.

She hums softly to herself as she begins filling another page.

I stay in the doorway longer than I should. Just watching. Just breathing. Just letting myself have this one quiet moment before I have to become someone else for the rest of the day.

The corridor outside is narrow enough that two people would have to turn sideways to cross each other.

A single flickering tube light throws pale patches across the cracked walls. The entire passage smells faintly of old paint, damp concrete, and years of people passing through without ever really belonging here.

My footsteps slow.

Funny.