The sunlight streamed through the room in shades of blues, pinks, and greens as they reflected off the large stained glass window behind the high priest, who was now engrossed in a sermon. I fought hard to stay awake, a small wave of nostalgia flowing through me as I remembered days of my old childhood stuck in the same boat.

My mom used to take me and my brother to church every Sunday. We would stay for the morning service, and Lucas and I challenged ourselves to find ways to entertain ourselves without mom noticing. My favorite one involved tapping our fingers on the pew to see who could keep count the longest. Whenever we got to 1000, we increased the speed, seeing if we could still keep pace with our fingers. Whoever was the fastest by the end of the sermon (or was able to avoid an ear tug from mom) would win. Lucas was never great at counting, and I could always count on my counting for an easy victory.

Our mother caught on very quickly, and made a rule that we had to sit still at church. It was then that I learned how to look like I was paying attention. I found the perfect balance of keeping a level of awareness, while also letting my mind wander elsewhere. It was a skill that proved particularly useful out of church, and in my English classes.

I wonder how mom and Lucas are doing. I’ll give them a call once I wake up.

Now, I was sitting on a pew closest to the podium. The high priest would make contact with me periodically as he preached. I assumed it was to see if I agreed with a specific interpretation of the text, though I gave back no feedback and stared at him silently. A master of my craft by now, he had not doubted for a minute that I was doing anything but digesting the texts in my head.

In reality, I was actually thinking about what Nicholas said to me the day before.

“Consider my request, Lady Catalina,” the words played back in my head.

His request, for me to go to the Montfort military bases and help out with the wounded soldiers.

In the novel, Catalina accepts, happy to use her powers to help others. Much like her lessons at the castle, little details of these “healing sessions” weren’t written out in detail. The soldiers she helps, and for how long she was there weren’t even mentioned. The sessions at the Montfort bases were just there to further the romance plot with Nicholas, building him up as the second male lead, and tearing him back down with Arthur’s proposal to Catalina.

Why should I accept? Afterall, the only reason Catalina goes is because she’s kind or whatever. I want to avoid the Montforts as much as possible. Alexandra finds out about the sessions and begins to get back at Catalina. She put needles in her shoes, gave her rotten food and stole her clothes. If there is no reason to walk willfully into Montfort territory, then I will not risk it.

Service came to a close, the stained glass giving one final burst of light before dying down. By then, it was just the high priest and I. He was still at his podium, reading the large book in its center.

“I can only hope your lesson went well,” the high priest finally spoke up, closing the book as a small gust of dust escaped from its pages.

“It did,” I replied, raising myself from the pew. My last lesson ended with my teacher deeming me a prodigy for reading a children’s bedtime story. It’s hard to not do well.

I stepped towards the end of the row, my feet stepping on a bulge on the ground. I raised my heel, a small glitter of gold greeting me. I leaned down, picking up the coin and placing it into my pocket. Having some spare cash is always a good idea here.

My last lesson ended with my teacher deeming me a prodigy for reading a children’s bedtime story. It’s hard to not do well.

“Will you stay tonight?” He asked, meeting me at the walkway in between the rows of pews.

“Yes. If that’s fine with you.”

To avoid staying at the castle and dealing with Arthur, I’ve been staying at the monastery in the yard. I was given the open invitation to stay at the castle anytime by the king, though I have yet to go to the castle on my own. Usually, I was called there. The high priest probably expects that any day now I will trade in my simple robes for the lavish dresses of the castle.

He nodded, stopping as we reached the large double doors. Before we could begin our usual routine, he turned to me.

“I forgot to store the offerings for tonight,” he sighed, stepping back inside. He glanced over his shoulder, “Wait for me.”

I stood in front of the doors, opening them and stepping into the night. I waited inside the frame, facing the quiet street. A large shadow began to creep up. I stiffened, straightening myself and training my eyes on the approaching figure. As it approached, the shadow waning as its owner finally became visible.

He wasn’t particularly intimidating. He had shaggy brown hair and eyes, staring widely at me. “Lady Catalina,” he called, curtsying at my feet.

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My eyes perked down to him, curious to see what he had to say. He raised himself, handing me a letter in between his fingers. My eyes landed on the unfamiliar seal, my fingers trailing over the wax.

“This is a letter from House Montfort,” he said, staring at me expectantly as I opened the letter.

“Dear Lady Catalina, I am deeply sorry for any trouble I may have caused you at the tea party. It was truly not my intention to spill that tea over your dress. I hope you can forgive my carelessness. Signed, Lady Alexandra of Scarlet.”

This did not happen in the story. Never did Alexandra apologize for any of the misfortunes she caused Catalina, to the very end. Alexandra was a selfish, arrogant villainess. So why did she send me this letter?

The ground trembled beneath me, shaking for only a moment. My body shivered, gust of cold wind suddenly blowing by. It was so brief, I could swear I had imagined it.

The servant gave a final bow, and off he went on the path he arrived, disappearing into the night.

Just what was going on at House Montfort?

“Lady Catalina, are you there?” A voice boomed from behind me. It was the high priest, now dangling a key ring in his fingers.

“Yes, high priest,” I replied, pocketing the letter.

“Were you talking to someone? I thought I heard another voice.”

“Must have been the wind,” I replied with a shrug. The walk back to the monastery was quiet. The high priest, though a big talker in his hours-long sermons, was a man of few words when it came to anything else.

The next morning, I awoke before sunrise. I borrowed a quill, ink, and paper and began writing my reply. Unlike the Montforts, I had no servant to send the letter for me to ensure it got there safely. I would need to send it by messenger, and hope that the letter and its contents arrived undisturbed and unread to House Montfort.

I walked into the yard, the unraked leaves crunching under my feet as I made my way to the entrance of the monastery. My eyes landed on a boy, holding a satchel and a rolled up paper under his arm. He threw a stack at the monastery, turning to his steed.

“Wait,” I called. He stopped in his tracks, turning to look at me, head cocked as I walked up to him.

“Please take this to House Montfort,” I requested, handing him the letter.

“That will cost you, miss,” he replied matter-of-factly, now hooking his foot on the stirrup of his saddle as he raised himself on his steed.

I bit my lip for a minute, fishing out the golden coin from my nightdress.

“Will that be enough?” I asked innocently, staring at him doe-eyed.

He paused for a moment, staring at me, then down at my letter. He extended my hand out to me with a grin.

“How could I say no to the saintess?” He said with a sly smirk, flipping the coin into the air. He caught it with ease, slipping it into a pocket in his coat.

I placed the letter in his hand and hoped that my recipient would reply soon.

Within the end of the day, I received a response. I was sitting at a long wooden table, poor and wobbly with age. A humble plate of bread and peas was placed in front of me, and all 12 other seats in front of me as well. All the women at the table interlocked hands, bowing their heads in reverence. My hands were interlocked with the ladies by my sides, head bowed. The oldest of the nuns sat at the head of the table, dictating the prayer.

“Dear saintess, bless tis meal and the hands who’ve prepared it. Bless all those who are unable to share a meal, and fill them with your love and comfort,” she spoke softly, yet her words echoed against the walls of the room.

It was only interrupted by the clacking of heels against marble, a messenger boy standing in the doorway. The hands I had been holding fell limply to my sides, heads raising as the two-dozen pairs of eyes landed on the stranger.

He cleared his throat, eyes glancing about before speaking up. “I have a letter for Lady Catalina of Opal.”

I rose from the table and walked up to him, their eyes following me every step of the way. I stopped in front of the messenger, who dug inside his satchel. He pulled out a letter and presented it to me, which I accepted with a curt nod.

“Thank you.”

“At your service,” he replied with a salute. He closed his satchel back up and turned to walk towards the door.

My fingers trailed over the seal, the outline of the wax grazing against my fingers. I turned back to the table, pocketed the letter, and resumed back to my seat.

I had waited once supper was over to lock myself in my room and began dining. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the letter. I glanced at it under the candle, before opening the envelope. I removed the thick paper from it, eyes gliding across the words.

“Lady Catalina, I’m delighted to hear you accepted my humble invitation. I will send a carriage to take you to House Montfort tomorrow as soon as the sun rises. The journey to the base is rather long, it is imperative you are here on time. Signed Lord Nicholas of Scarlet.”

I had to go to House Montfort and figure out what was going on with Alexandra, and Nicholas was my ticket in.