The Heiress Carrying His Heir-Chapter 84 - 85 : What They Say About the Queen

Elara’s POV

The afternoon sun was high now, hot on my neck, and my arms felt like they might fall off.

I had been lifting sacks of grain for hours. First from the wagons to the tables. Then from the tables to the hands of the people waiting. Then, when the tables ran low, back to the wagons to fetch more. The work was simple and endless. Lift. Carry. Pass. Lift. Carry. Pass. My hands were raw. My shoulders ached. The muscles in my back screamed every time I bent down.

But I kept going.

The other volunteers moved around me, doing the same work, not stopping, not complaining. A woman beside me had been here since before dawn. A young man across the table had a cut on his hand that he hadn’t bothered to bandage. No one asked for a break. No one sat down. The lines of people were still long, and the grain was still on the wagons, and the work was not done.

I bent down for another sack.

At some point, there was a lull. The morning rush had passed. The afternoon crowds hadn’t arrived yet. The volunteers around me slowed, stretched, wiped sweat from their faces. Someone brought water. I took a cup and stood to the side, catching my breath.

A few girls my age were standing near the next table, talking quietly. They looked like me, plain clothes, tired faces, hands stained with flour dust. Volunteers, same as I was pretending to be.

I moved closer. Not because I meant to. Just because that was where the water was.

One of them looked up and smiled. "You’ve been at it all day," she said. "You must be tired."

I smiled back. "A little."

She had a round face and dark hair pulled back from her face. Her sleeves were rolled up, showing arms that were strong from work. "First time?" she asked.

"First time," I admitted.

"That’s good. We need more people. Sometimes they send the palace volunteers and they just stand there looking at the sacks like the sacks might bite them." She laughed. "You’re not doing that."

"I’m trying not to."

Another girl spoke up. She was taller, thinner, her face sharp and clever. "Where did they send you from? The northern district? I haven’t seen you before."

I had an answer ready for this. I had gone over it in my head the night before, lying in the dark, thinking about what I would say if anyone asked. But standing here, in the sun, with these girls who had been working beside me all day, the lie felt heavier than I expected.

"The palace," I said. "I work in the kitchens."

It was close enough to truth that I could hold it without it breaking. I knew the kitchens. I knew the corridors around them. I could answer questions if anyone asked.

The girl with the round face nodded. "That’s why your hands are soft," she said, not unkindly. "You’ll get callouses soon enough."

I looked down at my hands. She was right. They were soft. I had spent my life with my hands in silk and paper, not burlap and rope. The roughness I felt today was new.

"I hope so," I said.

The tall girl was looking at me. Something in her expression had shifted, not recognition, not suspicion, just curiosity. "You must hear things," she said. "Working in the palace. What do they say about the distribution? About the queen?"

The other girls leaned in slightly. The question had changed the shape of the conversation. It was no longer just strangers passing time. It was something else.

I kept my face neutral. "What do you hear?"

The tall girl laughed. "I asked you first."

Fair enough.

"Not much," I said carefully. "The servants talk, but they talk about everything. Mostly gossip. Which lord is out of favor. That kind of thing."

"That’s all?" She sounded disappointed.

I shrugged. "No one tells us anything important. We just do our work."

It was true enough. The servants in the palace did not get briefed on policy. They heard rumors, same as everyone else.

The round-faced girl spoke up. "Well, we hear things here. And we have opinions." She grinned. "We have many opinions."

The others laughed. I smiled, though something in my chest was tightening.

"Tell me," I said. "I want to know."

The tall girl leaned against the table, arms crossed. She looked at me for a moment, like she was deciding whether to say what she really thought.

"She’s young," she said finally. "The queen. Very young. And she’s been queen for what? A few months? Less than a year?"

"About that," I said.

"So she’s young, she’s new, she doesn’t know what she’s doing. Probably." The tall girl shrugged. "That’s what people say. That she’s just a girl playing at being queen. That she doesn’t understand how things work. That she’s making it up as she goes along."

The words landed in my chest like stones dropping into still water. I kept my face still.

"That’s what people say," I repeated.

"That’s what everyone says." She gestured at the tables, the sacks, the long lines of people waiting. "Look at this. It took her weeks to send grain. Weeks. While people were hungry. While children were going to bed with nothing. And then she sends it like it’s some great favor, like we should be grateful."

The round-faced girl shifted uncomfortably. "It is something," she said quietly. "It’s more than we had before."

"It’s not enough." The tall girl’s voice was sharp. "It’s never enough. The water channels have been bad for a year. A year. And nothing happens. Nothing gets fixed. But she sends grain one time and we’re supposed to fall on our knees and thank her?"

I opened my mouth, closed it. There was nothing I could say that would not give me away.

The round-faced girl looked at me, a little apologetic. "She’s not wrong," she said. "The queen is young. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. But at least she sent the grain. That’s something."

They were right. I was young. I didn’t know what I was doing half the time. I had spent weeks telling myself I was handling the crisis when really I was just waiting. Waiting for someone else to tell me what to do. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting until the hunger was so bad that sending grain felt like an emergency instead of just the right thing to do.

"Pretty, though," the tall girl added, almost as an afterthought. "That’s what they say. Pretty enough, anyway. But what does pretty matter when the water doesn’t work?"

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It came out short and surprised, and the others looked at me like I was strange for laughing at something that wasn’t funny.

"Sorry," I said. "It’s just... I work in the palace. I see her sometimes. From a distance. And she always looks so put together. Like she has everything under control. It’s strange to think that other people see her differently."

The tall girl snorted. "Put together. She fainted in a council meeting last week. Someone’s cousin was there, working in the kitchens, heard about it from one of the servants. Collapsed right in the middle of the meeting. Couldn’t handle the pressure."

I had fainted. I remembered it clearly. The room going dark. Corvus’s voice calling my name from far away. The shame of waking up on the floor with everyone staring.

"She’s been ill," I said, and the words came out flatter than I meant them to. "She’s been working too hard."

"That’s what they all say." The tall girl shrugged again. "She’s been ill. She’s working too hard. She’s young. She’s learning. Excuses, excuses. Meanwhile the water is bad and the apothecaries are empty and people are dying."

The round-faced girl touched her arm, gently. "She sent the grain. That’s something."

"Maybe." The tall girl looked at me. "What do you think? You work in the palace. You see her. Is she as useless as everyone says?"

I stood there, in my plain clothes, with my soft hands and my aching arms.

"She’s trying." I said.

The tall girl looked at me for a long moment. Then she nodded slowly. "Fair enough. I suppose we’ll see what happens next. If she fixes the water. If she does something about the apothecaries. If she actually pays attention." She pushed off from the table. "Come on. The lines are getting long again."

The other girls moved back to the tables. I stayed where I was for a moment, letting their words settle.

She is childish. Inexperienced. Probably doesn’t know what she’s doing. Pretty enough but what does pretty matter when the water channels don’t work. Someone’s cousin heard she fainted in a council meeting, probably can’t handle the pressure.

At least she sent the grain, that’s something, maybe she’s not completely useless after all.

I needed to hear it. I had come here to hear it. The real thing, not the polished version that filtered through Corvus’s reports, not the careful diplomatic language of the council, not the letters from lords who wanted favors. This. What people actually thought when they didn’t know the queen was listening.

I pulled my hood forward and went back to work. Lift. Carry. Pass. Lift. Carry. Pass. The sacks were heavy. My arms ached. The sun was hot on my neck.

I thought about the water channels. The apothecaries. The letters no one answered. I thought about the old man’s eyes, the woman’s tired voice, the girl waiting for her brother to come home.

I picked up another sack and kept working.