No One Ever Loved Me - Chapter 69

I thought I must have heard wrong. Becoming the queen’s lady-in-waiting was an extraordinary honor.

Even being a close maid to a minor noblewoman meant receiving special treatment. That’s why Sarah endured my coldness yet clung to her position.

If a role like mine was already that tempting, then being a lady-in-waiting to the queen… It was like riding a gilded elevator straight to the center of power.

Despite the similar spelling, there was a world of difference between a “maid” and a “lady-in-waiting.”

A close maid—even with a fancy title—still had to tend to her lady’s every need. She would wake at dawn to prepare wash water, assist with dressing several times a day, and deliver the mistress’s ever-changing preferences to the kitchen to prevent culinary mishaps. It was all part of the job.

I never made Sarah serve me so thoroughly, since I didn’t trust her. But in most noble households, close maids were practically extensions of their mistresses hands, feet, and voice.

That’s why many noblewomen brought with them a maid who had served them since childhood—or, sometimes, the maid’s daughter.

In Cecilia’s case, that person had been her nursemaid, Martha. But she had left Martha at the Rosette estate.

Maybe she was seeking a sense of independence after being cared for so long, or perhaps she simply wanted Martha to enjoy a peaceful retirement in her old age.

Either way, because Cecilia hadn’t brought anyone with her, Sarah—despite her youth and inexperience—had ended up claiming the coveted position.

No, wait. I was getting distracted by random thoughts. The real focus here was what Queen Martha had just said.

She had decided to make me her lady-in-waiting.

“I was wondering how I’d fill the position when Lorraine requested leave,” the queen said casually. “Then I thought of you.”

I stared at her, stunned. Then I understood. My response didn’t matter.

There was no option to decline. This wasn’t an offer—it was a royal command. The queen had chosen me, and I would obey.

“Lorraine’s getting old,” Marchioness Federica remarked lightly, as if trying to ease the tension in the room.

“She’s at least twenty years younger than you, Grandmother,” the queen replied with a grin. “If Lorraine heard that, she’d cancel her leave just to prove she’s still full of life.”

Marchioness Federica had a granddaughter already married for several years, so if Lorraine was twenty years younger than her, she was likely in her forties at the youngest.

When people spoke of the queen’s lady-in-waiting, they usually imagined a fresh-faced young beauty. But it seemed Queen Martha had no such preference—or at least, not one that matched my assumptions.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t the queen’s expectations that were off. Maybe it was just my own naive, uninformed idea of how things should be.

But hold on—regardless of how I felt, Cecilia was undeniably beautiful. And young, too. Three years younger than Ricardo, whom Marchioness Federica still called a youth.

“Your Majesty, my wife is not in the best of health,” Edgar suddenly spoke up, his voice tense.

I had almost forgotten he was there. He was barely holding his expression together, but the displeasure still showed on his face.

Clearly, he too was rattled by the queen’s proposal. And rightly so.

He had been thrilled when he realized Marchioness Federica liked me. He had assumed that once he met her himself, he’d win her over easily.

But Ricardo had bruised his ego on the way here by bringing up Margaret. Then a palace attendant squashed it again. Then came Marchioness Federica’s rebuke, and now the queen had snatched away the last bit of his hope—that he would earn royal favor.

From Edgar’s point of view, it must’ve been baffling. I had done nothing but stumble around awkwardly, failing to act like a proper lady. And yet somehow, the queen still chose me.

“You truly care for your wife, Count Linton,” the queen said coolly.

Edgar seized the opportunity and began listing all my supposed weaknesses.

“She cannot handle horseback riding, Your Majesty. Though her condition has improved slightly of late, she has always been frail. Sensitive, too—her temperature rises at the smallest bit of stress.”

Sensitive. In noble-speak, it meant emotionally fragile, prone to overreacting.

“I would never wish to burden Your Majesty with such worry,” Edgar added. “As honored as we are by the offer, I feel obligated to voice my concern as your subject.”

So now I was a “worry.” A burden. A nuisance to be handled with care.

He claimed to be a loving husband, yet he was practically begging the queen not to choose me.

“I was told it was a political marriage,” Queen Martha said slowly. “Yet Count Linton seems so devoted—how admirable.”

“Every marriage starts that way,” Edgar said smoothly. “But I truly believe ours will end differently.”

He looked, for a moment, like a man deeply in love. I almost applauded his acting.

Across from me, Ricardo mimed gagging, and I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

If I saw it, Marchioness Federica surely did too.

Marchioness Federica clicked her tongue softly and patted my knee.

It felt like her quiet way of telling me not to get swept up in Ricardo’s mischief.

I gave her a reassuring glance.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen Grandmother favor anyone other than me,” Queen Martha suddenly said, loudly cutting off Edgar’s rambling speech.

“Tell me, Lia. What did you say that made Grandmother laugh? I need to learn it. She rarely smiles, even at her only granddaughter.”

The Marchioness always wore a warm smile whenever she spoke of the Queen. So Martha’s words weren’t a real request—they were meant to shut Edgar up.

“Darling,” Edgar said as he turned toward me. I could hear the faint grind of his teeth through his tight smile.

“Her Majesty is curious. Do go on and answer her.”

Even now, Edgar was desperate to maintain the illusion that he was in control.

If I weren’t playing Lia, I might’ve even admired his persistence.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much wit, Your Majesty. I didn’t say anything special.”

“Marchioness Federica is simply generous and found my wife charming,” Edgar added hastily, before I could finish. “As much as I adore my wife, she’s been too ill to socialize much, so it would’ve been difficult to offer Her Ladyship any entertaining conversation.”

A short answer from me, followed by a long-winded excuse—or more accurately, a veiled insult—from him.

“Maybe it wasn’t Lia who failed to entertain, but Count Linton himself,” Ricardo interjected casually.

“Isabel enjoyed her time with Lady Lia quite a lot.”

Ricardo’s impudent tone made Queen Martha’s brow arch sharply.

“You mean Lady Isabel, Your Majesty,” he quickly corrected himself after the Queen gave him a pointed look.

“Your Grace, Grandmother’s doting on you is what’s spoiled you,” Martha said with a mock sigh.

“You’re one to talk,” Marchioness Federica replied dryly. “You’re the one who saddled me with this boy. I can’t very well throw away what my dear granddaughter gave me.”

Her fond defense made Martha’s expression soften, though she had seemed ready to scold Ricardo just moments earlier.

Thanks to Ricardo’s interruption, Edgar was completely forgotten.

That, in itself, was a masterstroke—that was how you made a move. Edgar should take notes.

Unlike Ricardo, who accepted his role as the queen’s pampered cat and used it to his advantage, Edgar kept his head held so high he couldn’t see what was right in front of him. There was no way he could ever outplay someone like Ricardo.

“You’ll need time to adjust before the debutante ball,” Queen Martha said smoothly, returning to the topic she’d meant to raise before Edgar’s interruptions.

“The palace has everything you could need, so you can move in at your convenience.”

She nodded gently. I rose and knelt before her.

“It would be an honor, Your Majesty.”

I could feel Edgar’s horrified expression even without looking—he was seated beside me, after all. But my eyes were only on the queen.

“Still, I must give you some time to prepare. I’d be called a heartless mistress otherwise, so I’ll send Lorraine.”

“Lady Lorraine? But Your Majesty just said she requested leave,” Ricardo said unnecessarily, steering Martha’s attention back to me.

Which, in turn, drew my eyes toward him.

“That leave hasn’t been approved yet,” the Queen said smoothly. “Which means Lorraine is still my lady-in-waiting and must follow my orders.”

“You’re a strict mistress indeed, Your Majesty.”

“Why should I be kind to a lady-in-waiting who wants to leave me?”

Listening to Ricardo and the Queen go back and forth, I realized something.

He was feeding me clues—subtle ones.

The Queen wasn’t cruel to those who were loyal. As long as you didn’t abandon her first, she would protect you as your sovereign.

“Won’t Lady Lorraine cry if she hears this?” I asked playfully.

“If she wanted to cry, she shouldn’t have asked to leave. She’s enjoyed every luxury by my side, only to choose my granddaughter’s antics over me in the end,” Martha said with a snort.

Marchioness Federica approached gently, her expression filled with affection, and wrapped an arm around the Queen’s shoulder.

“Lia, tell them you can’t do this,” Edgar hissed suddenly, seizing the moment.

“Do what? Disobey Her Majesty’s command?”

“You’re good at this. Just collapse—say you’re too ill. When we get home, fake a fainting spell, cut your wrist, anything.”

His desperate whispers only strengthened my resolve.

The fact that Edgar was revealing his true self so urgently proved just how valuable the Queen’s protection would be for me.

“Your Majesty,” I said, taking a half-step closer as I looked upon the Queen, who was still leaning comfortably into Marchioness Federica.

“If Your Majesty truly needs me, then I will never leave Your side.”

A faint crack appeared in the Queen’s composed expression.

“I lost my mother the day I was born. I grew up never knowing warmth. If it’s not presumptuous, I would not only serve as Your lady-in-waiting but also wish to serve as if You were my elder sister.”

Marchioness Federica had told me the Queen was a lonely soul.

And indeed, beneath the queenly mask, behind that subtle fracture in her dignity, there it was—a face starving for affection.

“…Sister?”

The Queen repeated the word, as if it were foreign, then again—“Sister…”—and finally reached out her hand.

I gladly took it.

“You offered first, Your Majesty,” I said with a playful lilt, mimicking Ricardo’s familiar tone. “And I’m not one to run away once I’ve been caught.”

Joy bloomed slowly across the Queen’s face, radiant and warm.

Keeping the Queen’s favor wouldn’t be difficult at all.

She wasn’t like Cecilia or Margaret, who had been so starved of affection they were barely clinging to life.

Queen Martha had Marchioness Federica. Her hunger wasn’t of desperation—it was more like greed, a craving for sweetness even after a full meal.

And if becoming her dessert meant reclaiming what Edgar stole from Cecilia… then there was no reason to hesitate.

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