Free The Lord-Protector's Daughter by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

the next, walking not toward her chambers, but toward the guards.
    â€œThe door opened…thought I saw someone there…woman…”
    The other guard turned in Mykella’s direction, but did not seem to be looking at her. “It’s closed now. There’s no one out here. Who would be up except for his regal heirness, strutting around in a tailored uniform that would never do in combat, panting after another pretty ass?”
    Mykella stopped, hoping the guard would say more.
    â€œHe looks good in uniform…have to say that.”
    â€œâ€¦jealous?”
    â€œWouldn’t you be?”
    The other guard snorted. “Just walk the post.”
    Mykella neared the two, but neither even looked at her, and they turned away. So did she, but by the time she stepped into her chambers, Mykella was breathing heavily. She was so light-headed that she felt as though she had raced up and down the main staircase of the palace a score of times.
    But…the guards had not seen her. She smiled broadly as she sat on the edge of her bed and caught her breath.
    Her smile faded as she thought about Salyna’s words.

10
    The gray light of a winter Septi morning seeped around the edges of the heavy dark blue window hangings. Mykella sat up in her bed, the comforter around her shoulders. Her chamber, while not excessively chill, was far from comfortable, which was not unexpected, since it had neither stove nor hearth.
    Thrap.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œIt’s Zestela, Mistress.”
    Mykella wanted to tell the head dresser to go away, but that would only postpone matters. Besides, she’d told Zestela to come before breakfast so that she didn’t have to interrupt her day in the Finance study.
    She smiled. Perhaps she could test her skills and give the dresser a bit of a shock as well. She slipped from under the covers and took three steps so that she stood against the wall beside the large armoire that held her everyday garments. She shivered at the feel of the cold stone tiles on her bare feet. Even the flannel nightdress didn’t help. Still, when Zestela stepped into the chamber, she would not be able to see Mykella at first.
    Mykella then twisted the light—that was the only way she could explain it—and called, “You can come in.”
    â€œYes, Mistress.”
    The door opened, and Zestela bustled in, cradling a long formal gown in her arms and glancing around, seeking Mykella. She frowned as she stepped toward the foot of the bed, then looked back toward the armoire. “Mistress?”
    Mykella waited until the dresser looked back toward the door before releasing the light-shield…if that happened to be what it was. “I’m here.”
    Zestela jumped. “Oh! I didn’t see you.”
    â€œSometimes I feel like no one does,” replied Mykella dryly.
    Rachylana entered the chamber. “No one overlooks you, Mykella.”
    Mykella ignored her sister’s words and turned to the dresser. “What do you have there?” The gown didn’t look like anything she’d have worn or asked for.
    â€œLady Cheleyza sent this gown. She thought you might find it suitable for the reviewing stand during the season-turn celebration.”
    Mykella glanced at the drab beige fabric with the pale green lace. She shook her head. “I’d look like a flour sack in that. A very faded one. I’ll wear the blue one I wore at the last turn parade.”
    â€œBut…” stuttered the dresser.
    Rachylana frowned. “Cheleyza is only being kind, and you have worn the blue before…several times.”
    â€œPeople will have seen me in it before. Is that so bad?”
    Rachylana and Zestela exchanged glances.
    â€œYou can’t keep wearing the same blue dress,” Rachylana finally said. “Not as a daughter of the Lord-Protector.”
    â€œThen,” Mykella said, “have the dressmakers make me one just like the blue, except