The Queen’s Favor

The palace had always felt suffocating, but after the banquet, the air grew even heavier. Whispers followed Evelyn wherever she went, laced with curiosity, jealousy, and something far more dangerous—resentment. The other contestants had barely tolerated her presence before, but now, after that waltz with Prince Alexander, their patience had snapped.

She wasn't surprised. After all, she had done nothing to earn their goodwill.

The first sign of trouble came during breakfast.

Evelyn had barely taken her seat when Lady Margaret's voice rang out across the grand dining hall, loud enough to draw the attention of everyone present. "I must say, it's quite remarkable how some people can avoid participating in this competition entirely and still receive the prince's attention."

A ripple of quiet laughter followed. Evelyn didn't flinch, didn't react—Margaret was baiting her, and she refused to rise to it. But that didn't mean she was oblivious. She felt the shift in the room, the way the other contestants subtly leaned in, waiting to see what would happen next.

Lady Celeste, one of Margaret's ever-present shadows, gave a delicate sigh. "Perhaps that's the key to winning—do nothing and let the prince come to you."

Margaret smirked. "It certainly seems to be working for some."

Evelyn sipped her tea, unimpressed. If they thought she would be embarrassed, they would be disappointed. Instead, she offered Margaret a bland smile. "You sound worried, Lady Margaret. Afraid your efforts aren't enough?"

Margaret's smile froze, just for a fraction of a second. Then she laughed, the sound as light and practiced as ever. "Oh, not at all. Unlike some, I actually intend to win."

"And yet, here you are, so concerned with what I'm doing—or not doing." Evelyn tilted her head. "Almost as if you think I'm competition."

The silence that followed was delicious. Margaret's fingers curled around the stem of her goblet, her knuckles whitening just slightly before she forced herself to relax. Evelyn had seen this kind of woman before—one who had always been at the top, always controlled the narrative. The idea that someone like Evelyn, someone who wasn't even trying, could threaten that position—it was infuriating to her.

Before Margaret could recover, the doors to the dining hall swung open, and Lady Beatrice stepped inside. The room immediately fell into a hush. Dressed in her ever-impeccable navy gown, she carried herself with the kind of authority that needed no announcement.

"Ladies," she said, her sharp gaze sweeping the room, "the queen has requested your presence in the solarium."

A murmur rippled through the contestants. The queen rarely summoned them directly. This wasn't part of the usual schedule. Evelyn exchanged a glance with Margaret, whose confidence had returned at the mention of Queen Eleanor. Unlike Evelyn, Margaret thrived under courtly expectations, and a summons from the queen could only mean one thing—an opportunity to gain favor.

Without another word, the contestants rose from their seats and followed Lady Beatrice through the corridors of Averleigh Palace.

The solarium was breathtaking, filled with cascading sunlight and the fresh scent of lavender and citrus. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the sprawling palace gardens, while white and gold furnishings gave the space an air of effortless elegance.

Queen Eleanor sat near the center of the room, her presence commanding despite her relaxed posture. Beside her stood a few noblewomen—advisors, perhaps, or ladies-in-waiting. King Aldric was absent, but no one questioned it. The queen could handle matters on her own.

As the contestants curtsied in unison, Queen Eleanor's gaze settled on them, lingering just a fraction longer on Evelyn.

"I have decided it is time to test your abilities," the queen announced, her voice smooth, composed. "As future princesses—or even queens—you will be expected to do more than simply look the part. Your intelligence, diplomacy, and grace under pressure will determine whether you are truly suited for this role."

Margaret straightened slightly, clearly eager for whatever challenge lay ahead. Evelyn, meanwhile, resisted the urge to sigh. Another test. Another chance for the others to prove themselves.

"The court will be hosting a charity gala in three days," the queen continued. "Each of you will be assigned a task in preparation for the event. Some of you will manage guest lists, others will oversee entertainment or seating arrangements. And some—" her gaze flickered to Evelyn once more, "—will handle far more delicate matters."

Evelyn didn't like the sound of that.

Lady Beatrice stepped forward. "Your assignments will be delivered to your quarters by this evening. I suggest you take them seriously. The queen expects nothing less than excellence."

With that, they were dismissed.

Later that evening, Evelyn found an envelope waiting for her on her vanity.

She opened it without ceremony, scanning the neatly written script. Then she frowned.

Your task: Handle negotiations with the Montrevian delegation regarding their donation to the charity gala. Ensure their continued goodwill.

Evelyn exhaled sharply. The Montrevians were notoriously difficult, their nobility quick to take offense. A single misstep could mean losing a valuable alliance. This wasn't just a test—it was a trap.

Someone wanted her to fail.

And if she wasn't careful, they might get exactly what they wanted.

Evelyn paced the length of her room, her mind racing as she mulled over the task at hand. The Montrevian delegation was no ordinary group of guests—noble, wealthy, and influential, they held sway over several key matters in the kingdom. Their donation was crucial for the success of the charity gala, but they were notoriously hard to deal with.

She had seen them in passing, their icy glances and sharp words made it clear they did not trust the royals, especially the women in the competition. To them, the idea of a competition to win the prince's heart was nothing short of an embarrassment. And Evelyn was well aware that there were many who wished to see her fail in this task—not just Lady Margaret, but others who feared the influence her presence was slowly gaining.

The weight of the queen's gaze lingered in her mind. It was clear now: this wasn't just a test of her ability to handle diplomacy. This was a test of her character, of her ability to rise above the petty rivalries of court. If she succeeded, it could be a turning point, a way to prove her worth without bowing to anyone's expectations.

But if she failed…

She shook off the thought and went to her desk. There was no room for doubt, no time for second-guessing. The Montrevian delegation would be her first true challenge, and she had to be prepared. She needed information.

Evelyn's first step was to seek out Lady Beatrice.

The royal adviser was in her office when Evelyn arrived, poring over stacks of documents with an efficiency that made it clear she was a woman of immense skill. She looked up when Evelyn entered, her face neutral, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes.

"Lady Evelyn," Beatrice greeted her. "What can I do for you?"

Evelyn hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I need information on the Montrevians. Everything you can tell me."

Beatrice raised an eyebrow. "Ambitious, aren't we?"

"I don't have the luxury of playing games," Evelyn replied, her tone firm. "The queen has given me a task, and I intend to complete it."

Beatrice studied her for a long moment before nodding. "Very well. The Montrevian delegation is difficult, as you know. The head of the delegation, Duke Lucian Montrevi, has a reputation for being hard to please. His daughter, Lady Emilia, is rumored to have a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind." She paused, a hint of something unreadable passing through her gaze. "They won't be swayed by charm alone. You'll need to approach them with care.

Evelyn nodded, absorbing the information. "What's their main issue with the royal family?"

"The Montrevians are… traditional," Beatrice said carefully, choosing her words with precision. "They believe in maintaining a certain hierarchy. They view this competition as beneath the dignity of the crown, and by extension, it makes them skeptical of any woman involved in it. They've always had a strained relationship with the royal family, especially since King Aldric's reign began."

Evelyn absorbed this quietly. So, it wasn't just about her—this was deeper, older. A rift that hadn't healed despite the years. The Montrevians didn't trust the monarchy itself, and she was expected to navigate that animosity.

She let out a breath. "And how do I gain their trust?"

Beatrice's expression softened slightly. "You don't."

Evelyn blinked. "I don't?"

"You can't win them over with pleasantries or false gestures," Beatrice said, her tone serious. "What they respect is strength. They want to see if you can hold your ground, stand firm without being a pawn. If you can show them that you're not just a player in their game, they may respect you. But don't mistake that for liking you. The Montrevians are not in the business of liking anyone."

Evelyn's chest tightened at the thought of standing before them, trying to outwit a group of nobles known for their cold demeanor. But something about Beatrice's words resonated with her. Strength. It was something Evelyn understood well.

"Thank you," she said, rising from her seat.

Beatrice nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes as she watched Evelyn leave. It wasn't admiration or sympathy—it was curiosity.

The following day, Evelyn stood in the grand meeting room of Averleigh Palace, awaiting the arrival of the Montrevian delegation. She had already gone over the details of their donation—what they would offer, and what she was supposed to secure in return. Every word had been carefully chosen, every possible outcome accounted for.

But there was a nagging feeling in her gut. This meeting wasn't just about securing a donation. This was her first real test.

The door swung open, and the Montrevian delegation entered.

Duke Lucian Montrevi was tall, his face sharp with the kind of arrogance that came with long-held power. His daughter, Lady Emilia, stood beside him, her expression as cold as ice. They didn't look at Evelyn as they took their seats, their eyes fixed on the papers before them.

Evelyn inhaled slowly, gathering her thoughts. "Thank you for meeting with me, Your Grace, Lady Emilia," she said, her voice steady.

The duke didn't acknowledge her immediately, instead leaning back in his chair with a slight sneer. "You should thank the queen. We are here only because of her insistence."

Evelyn didn't flinch at the insult. "The queen believes in the cause of the gala," she replied evenly, "and so do I. This event is important, not just for the royal family, but for the future of Averleigh."

Lady Emilia's eyes flickered toward her for the first time. "A future you're not entirely invested in, I presume?"

Evelyn kept her gaze locked with Emilia's. "I'm invested in ensuring its success. That's why I'm here."

The tension in the room thickened. Duke Lucian smirked, clearly enjoying the subtle clash of wills.

Evelyn continued, her voice unwavering. "I understand that your family has had concerns with the royal family's direction. But this gala isn't about the monarchy—it's about charity, about building alliances. I believe that your support will not only help the event succeed, but it will also show the kingdom that the Montrevians are willing to work with us for a better future."

For a moment, no one spoke. Duke Lucian studied her with narrowed eyes, as though assessing whether she was truly worthy of the effort. Finally, he leaned forward, his tone soft but cutting.

"You have no idea what you're asking, Lady Evelyn."

Evelyn met his gaze with a steady calm. "I'm not asking for anything I'm not willing to give in return. I believe that together, we can do far more than we could apart. And if you choose not to support the event, then the kingdom will know exactly where your loyalties lie."

The room was silent. Lady Emilia's eyes flickered with something—respect, perhaps, or just the acknowledgement of a worthy opponent. But Duke Lucian remained unreadable.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "We will think on it."

Evelyn nodded, standing as they did. "I look forward to your decision, Your Grace, Lady Emilia."

As the Montrevian delegation filed out of the room, Evelyn allowed herself a moment to exhale. The challenge wasn't over, but she had held her ground. And for the first time since her arrival at Averleigh, she felt like she was finally playing the game on her own terms.