I blink, taken aback by both her enthusiasm and her characterization of me. “I... yes, I’m Maya,” I confirm, stepping fully into the room. “Though I’m afraid of plenty of things.”
Elise looks disappointed by this admission. “But Great-Grandmother says you stabbed the bad doctor and escaped all by yourself. That sounds very brave to me.”
My breath catches, shock and horror washing through me. The Queen Mother has been discussing my trauma with a child? Has my suffering become palace gossip, a bedtime story to entertain the royal children?
Logan must see the distress on my face, because he rises smoothly to his feet, wincing slightly as his still-healing ribs protest the movement. “Elise, why don’t you continue building the castle while I speak with Maya for a moment?”
The little girl nods, already absorbed in her construction project again. Logan crosses to me, his expression apologetic as he guides me a few steps away from the child’s eager ears.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “My grandmother has always been direct with the children in the family. She believes in honesty rather than coddling.”
“Honesty is one thing,” I reply, keeping my voice low but unable to hide my anger. “Using my traumatic history as entertainment is another.”
Logan shakes his head. “It’s not like that. Elise is Nikolai’s daughter—his legitimate daughter by his first wife, not Saffron,” he clarifies, seeing my confusion. “The Queen Mother has been preparing her for the realities of court life since she was old enough to understand language. In her view, knowing the truth about the king and about what he’s capable of, is the best protection we can give her.”
I absorb this information, trying to process it. “So she’s what…using me as an object lesson? ‘Be careful or you’ll end up like poor Maya, experimented on by the king’s pet monster’?”
“No,” Logan says firmly. “She’s using you as an example of strength. Of someone who survived the worst the king could do and emerged not broken, but determined to fight back.” His golden eyes hold mine, unexpectedly earnest. “You’re not a cautionary tale, Maya. You’re a hero to that little girl.”
The idea is so foreign, so at odds with how I see myself, that I can’t immediately respond. A hero? Me? When most days I still feel like I’m barely holding myself together, when nightmares of the doctor’s compound still wake me screaming?
“I don’t feel like a hero,” I say finally, the admission costing me more than I expected.
Logan’s expression softens. “Heroes rarely do. That’s what makes them heroes.”
Before I can decide how to respond to that, Elise interrupts again.
“Uncle Logan! I need help with the drawbridge!”
“Duty calls,” Logan says, a smile touching his lips. “Would you like to join us? Elise has been asking about you for days.”
The invitation surprises me. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with her.”
“You wouldn’t be,” he assures me. “Besides, I think it would be good for her to meet the real Maya, not just the stories she’s heard.”
I hesitate, torn between the urge to retreat back to the safety of the library and curiosity about this child who apparently sees me as some kind of folk hero. “Alright,” I agree finally. “But only for a little while.”
Logan’s smile widens, genuine pleasure lighting his features in a way that transforms him from the cold, calculating prince I’m familiar with into someone almost... approachable. “Excellent. I warn you, though, Elise takes her castle-building very seriously. Prepare to be critiqued mercilessly.”
“I think I can handle the architectural opinions of a five-year-old,” I reply dryly.
“Four and three-quarters,” Logan corrects, his eyes dancing with amusement. “The three-quarters is very important, as she’ll be quick to inform you.”
As we approach the elaborate block construction, Elise looks up at me with undisguised curiosity. “Your hair really is purple,” she says, sounding impressed. “Great-Grandmother said it was, but I thought she might be making it up.”
“The Queen Mother rarely makes things up,” I say, kneeling down beside her on the carpet. “She doesn’t need to, the truth is usually interesting enough.”
Elise considers this, her small face serious. “That’s what she says too.” She picks up a block and holds it out to me. “Do you want to help with the dragon’s cave? Uncle Logan keeps making it too small, but dragons need lots of space for their treasures.”
“Of course they do,” I agree, accepting the block. “Dragons are notorious collectors. They need proper storage.”
Elise beams at me, clearly pleased to have found someone who understands the spatial requirements of mythical creatures. “That’s what I keep telling him!”
Logan settles back onto the carpet across from us, his golden eyes warm as he watches our interaction. “I stand corrected,” he says solemnly. “Clearly my dragon architecture expertise is lacking.”
“Clearly,” I agree, unable to suppress a smile at his playful tone.
For the next half-hour, I find myself drawn into Elise’s elaborate fantasy world, where dragons and princesses negotiate complex peace treaties rather than engaging in traditional kidnapping scenarios. Logan plays along, occasionally catching my eye with looks of amusement or exaggerated despair as Elise rewrites the rules of her game every few minutes.
