Changeling

He blinked slowly and then his gaze shifted past me to the window behind. I paused before turning my head in the same direction. “I see,” he spoke before I even had time to look out the panes of glass. “How old are you, Caitlin?” A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed by the booming sound of thunder that seemed to shake the very foundations. It was as if the storm outside was a display of power from some higher, defensive being. The howling wind beyond the warm and safe space sounded like the cries of lost souls, causing me to suppress a shiver creeping down my spine.

I frowned at the casual way he used my name. Part of me was taken aback by his informal use of it, wondering if it was proper for him to address me in such an intimate manner. The other part of me questioned how he knew my name at all. I had never laid eyes on this man before, and no one had ever spoken of him. But looking at his stunning features, I couldn’t imagine anyone wouldn’t remember him. It left me feeling both flattered and uneasy that he seemed to know me so well.

As my mind reeled, my eyes flitted between the notebook resting on the countertop where he stood, and his mesmerizing blue gaze. The color of his eyes was akin to vast oceans, with depths that seemed bottomless and held an air of mystery, unlike any painting I had ever seen. They were full of liquid depths and a sense of awe.

I could be lost forever in that siren’s gaze.

What an odd thought.This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Caitlin? You are sixteen, yes?”

“Um, yes. That’s right.” Once again, I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, although this time, I couldn’t pinpoint the reason for it. A low moan escaped my lips as I bent over in agony. The pain in my abdomen was relentless, twisting and turning until I thought I might vomit up everything I had eaten for breakfast.

“That’s good. Fairly normal for one such as yourself.” He glanced down at his notebook and turned to a new page. He couldn’t be serious, could he? Did I hear him correctly—normal at sixteen? All the other girls in the palace made fun of me, as they’d all started years ago. “I am going to have to see, just to be sure. Can you lay back?”

Oh, my God. I nodded and carefully lowered myself onto the bed. His hands were cool against my skin as they lifted the hem of my skirt, and my heart skipped a beat as he began to lift the thin fabric of my shift. A chill ran through me as the cool air touched my most intimate areas, causing every muscle in my body to tense up. “Please, relax, you’re going to feel my touch. I assure you everything will be fine. I just need to see.” I nodded and squeezed my eyes shut. His touch came as a surprise, even though I had been warned. I had never been touched there before…

It was over as quickly as it had started. I opened my eyes when he gently adjusted my skirts back to their original position. With a nod, he made his way to the sink and washed the blood from his fingertips.

“You are certainly awakening.”

I leaned up on one elbow, scrunching my brow in confusion. “Awakening?”

I was certain that he had jumped, but he stood frozen in place. “Don’t mind me, just a silly superstition of mine. Yes, you have started your womanly flow, Caitlin. I would recommend some chamomile tea daily as needed. I have some white willow you can take now, if you’d like. Nothing for immediate relief, unfortunately. This is something you’ll have to get used to. I am sorry.” With his hands in the pockets of his coat, he gave me a steady gaze as I sat upright. My face was tense and strained, the sensations from his touch fading into the overwhelming waves of pain that threatened to consume me. We remained silent for a few moments before he finally spoke up. I focused on him, giving my full attention. He seemed conflicted. “Yes, chamomile tea daily, and for now some white willow.”

Since that fateful day, my life has never been the same. I was forever changed, but life carried on in its mundane rhythm. I continued my education, learning local languages and how to manage servants, hoping one day to lead them instead of being under someone else’s control. However, Lady Cherise remained skeptical of my intentions and cautioned me against excelling beyond my age, fearing backlash from the older, jealous women in our society. As a mere title holder without real power or influence, it would be foolish to challenge their way of life. So, I refocused my efforts on language and lace weaving until the royals returned with the arrival of spring.

The Queen was captivated by the lace collar I had painstakingly crafted, and she did not hold back in expressing her admiration. My face turned red with embarrassment when she remarked on the ethereal quality of each flower, finding them both mesmerizing and strange. But as I realized her genuine appreciation for their uniqueness, I relaxed and allowed myself to bask in the praise. She was also impressed by the touches of silver thread outlining each petal and the sparkling crystals scattered throughout the collar. The various shades of blue and green in the silken threads were truly impressive.

I had enhanced the value and craftsmanship of the piece with tiny crystal beads that glistened like dew drops. I suggested she wear the vibrant lace with a white bodice to make a bold statement, and she was so impressed that she commissioned a dress specifically for this purpose. Every spring, she hosted a lavish ball, but this year she was particularly ecstatic about wearing the collar with her new gown consisting of a white bodice and layered green and blue skirts. She proudly boasted to her courtiers about having the most skilled lace maker in the kingdom and even ordered a replica of herself to be made, just to showcase the piece in her antechambers.

I had gained an enemy in Lady Petria for mocking her needlepoint embroidery skills, which she supposedly spent years perfecting and kept in a portfolio beneath her bedside table at the queen’s suggestion. I couldn’t resist laughing about it later when I was alone; not many of the Ladies were fond of Petria, and I found myself among them.

Once Her Highness became aware of my newfound maturity, the Queen began to search for a suitable man for me. She wouldn’t directly choose my suitor—as a Lady in Waiting, I had some freedom in that regard—but there were certain matches she would approve of and others she would not. Of course, I was well aware of who she would immediately reject. But truthfully, it didn’t matter much to me as I had never really given much thought to that aspect of my life.

As the summer tournaments swept through our kingdom, I hid away in my chambers and watched as knights and lords competed for the hand of a fair maiden. Ever since my first womanly flow arrived, I noticed changes in my body. My senses became heightened—the stench of the palace grew unbearable, even though it had not changed. The bright sun blinded me, and I always needed to wear a hat or find shade when venturing outside. Foods tasted either remarkably better or much worse than before. Even the softest fabrics felt like sandpaper against my skin, while certain materials caused painful rashes. Thankfully, my newfound sensitivity helped improve my lace weaving skills, and I even earned pocket coin from selling my pieces—except for the ones Her Majesty chose to keep for herself.

Each day blurred into the next as I withdrew deeper into my isolation. Yet, another transformation was occurring within me, tearing at my soul and forever changing who I was. I walked through the bustling palace—my senses heightened, not just physically, but emotionally as well. I could feel the joy of the children playing in the yard and it filled me with warmth. But when I passed by a couple arguing beneath a grand arch, their anger and sadness engulfed me and sent chills down my spine. It was as if I could physically feel the emotions of those around me, and it only grew stronger the more people I encountered. Before long, I was completely lost in this sea of feelings, unable to distinguish my own from others’.