Chapter Text
“I love you, Penelope. I will always be with you. Mummy loves you, sweet girl,” a woman’s voice echoed.
Penelope sobbed and screamed as a bomb rang out immediately after. It pierced her tiny eardrums, sending shockwaves through her hearing. The light was so bright she could see it even with her eyes closed.
“Penelope!”
A voice broke through her dream, making her shoot upright in bed. Her nightgown was plastered to her skin, the sheets damp with sweat. Groggy and disoriented, her chest heaved as she struggled to draw a steady breath. The dream was always the same — vivid yet incomplete, ending the instant the bomb exploded.
Before she could gather herself, the knocking came again — though knocking was too gentle a word for the loud, impatient banging at her door.
“Penelope! I have been calling you for the past hour. Get up and make us breakfast. Your father will be most displeased to hear of this,” her mother scolded as she swept into the room. She crossed to the window and yanked the curtains aside, flooding the chamber with light that momentarily blinded Penelope.
Penelope blinked several times against the glare as her mother marched toward her like a petulant child denied a treat and tugged the blankets off the bed.
“You look utterly wretched,” her mother snapped, eyeing her drenched state with disgust. “Go and make yourself presentable at once — and do not keep us waiting, unless you wish your father to hear of this.”
At the threat, Penelope leapt from her bed, hastily straightening her appearance. Her mother left without another word, the door slamming shut behind her, though Penelope barely flinched — she was long used to such dramatics.
After her bath — drawn by Rae, her maid — Penelope dressed in a simple day gown, twisting and fidgeting as Rae tried to braid her hair.
“You ought to sit still, my lady,” Rae giggled as Penelope fumbled with the buttons.
“I should dearly like to, were it not for my mother,” Penelope muttered.
Her day dresses were plain — loose enough to move in freely and of a durable fabric she could mend herself when they inevitably tore. Being a princess never spared her from such frugality; expensive gowns were reserved only for those of substantial fortune, as her mother never failed to remind her.
Once she was presentable, she thanked Rae and ran downstairs. The sound of lively chatter greeted her as she passed the dining hall on her way to the kitchens. There, she heard her sisters.
“Where does cheese come from?” Phillipa drawled, idly picking at her hair.
“I think they grow it,” Prudence replied, utterly convinced.
Penelope stifled a chuckle. Her sisters were not particularly clever, but what they lacked in wit they more than made up for in beauty.
“And what could we possibly be laughing at over here?” came Varley’s warm voice.
Penelope spun around to find Varley stirring a pot over the stove. Her face lit up, and she hurried to her, hugging her side.
“Good morning, Varley. What can I help with?” Penelope asked as she grabbed a spare apron left on the table.
“You can start by eating your porridge and drinking a glass of water,” Varley instructed, lips twitching into a knowing smile. “Do not think I haven’t noticed you forgetting meals.”
Penelope gave a soft laugh. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, spooning up the warm porridge and swallowing obediently.
“Very well,” Varley said, pretending sternness. “And once you’ve had at least three more bites, then I shall allow you to help.”
Penelope rolled her eyes playfully before eating quickly — too quickly.
“Good heavens, what in the pigsty is this?” came a sharp voice. Penelope and Varley whirled to find her mother glowering in the doorway once again. “Penelope, you were sent here to prepare food, not to indulge your own appetites. Clean yourself up and see this meal served — your father shall hear of this idleness.”
Penelope and Varley exchanged startled looks before hastily setting to work.
Once her duties of serving her mother and sisters were complete, Penelope hurried outside to tend to the chickens and horses. Lost in thought as she worked, she pondered her life and her place in Featherlands. The Great Rages, the war between man and evil, had shaped everything — even her parents’ harshness toward her. Born during those terrible times, she had grown up knowing fear, but she longed for something more.
Varley had told her tales of fairies lighting up the night skies before the war — magical beings who kept the land bright and full of wonder. But none had been seen since. The world outside the high silver walls of the kingdom was spoken of only in hushed tones, if at all. Penelope often wondered what that world was like, envied those who had seen it.
Her parents had always been distant. It was Varley who had truly raised her — who had cared for her since birth. Her warm embrace was all the mothering Penelope had ever truly known.
As the day faded into dusk, Penelope heard her father’s summons.
“Penelope, get in here.”
Heart pounding, she hurried inside, pushing open the heavy door to his study. Her mother sat beside him as always, and her father’s usual footmen stood at attention.
King Archibald rose slowly, his gaze hard as flint. Step by deliberate step, he crossed the room toward her, the sound of his boots like thunder in her ears. The sharp sting of his hand across her face came so fast she hardly had time to flinch. Heat and humiliation rushed to her cheek as her ears rang.
Penelope fought back tears, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
“You will now understand not to disobey your mother’s words,” her father intoned, his voice as cold and sharp as a blade. “You are tolerated — nothing more. Know your place.” Without awaiting a reply, he returned to his seat.
Penelope thought herself dismissed until his voice lashed out once more. “Where are you going? Come here.”
Tears blurred her vision as she quickly brushed them away and approached him with a trembling smile.
“You will be married to Prince Bridgerton the Third in two weeks’ time, upon your eighteenth birthday,” he announced. “You have a role. You will fulfil it. Are we understood?”
Her pulse roared in her ears.
“Marriage?” she breathed before she could stop herself.
“Must I strike you again for you to comprehend me?” Archibald hissed.
“No,” she replied hastily.
“Then do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, your majesty,” Penelope answered, careful to keep her voice even.
“Apologise to your mother,” the king added sternly.
Penelope felt her throat tighten as she turned toward her mother. “I apologize for my behavior earlier and for my disobedience. I beg your most sincere forgiveness. I have acted poorly and shall not do so again, Julia.”
Her mother gave her a cold, measuring look before flicking her fingers in dismissal.
Penelope did not hesitate to withdraw, though she kept her pace measured — terrified her father might call her back.
Once the door of her chamber had clicked shut behind her, Penelope finally allowed herself to collapse against it, trembling as the first sob broke free. Hot tears spilled over as she sank to the floor, her hands covering her face. The sting from her father’s strike throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
More than the pain or the fear of what was to come, it was the aching loneliness that crushed her. She had spent her life trying to please her parents, to hide her struggles, to make herself invisible enough to avoid their wrath — yet none of it had ever earned her their love. It was as though she had offered them her heart, only to have them stab it again and again.
Eventually, a gentle knock broke the silence.
“Penelope,” came Varley’s concerned voice. “I heard you hastening to your chamber. Are you quite alright, my dear?”
Penelope hiccupped and swallowed, trying to steady her breathing. “Yes, Varley,” she managed. “There is no need to worry.”
A brief pause.
“Do open the door, dear. I know something troubles you.”
At that, the door eased open with a soft click. Varley’s eyes went wide at the sight of Penelope’s tear-streaked face. Without a word, she gathered the trembling girl into her arms and held her fiercely.
“It’s all right,” Varley murmured into Penelope’s hair as she stroked her gently. “You’re safe.”
Penelope clung to her, sobbing into her chest as Varley guided her to bed. Gently, she helped Penelope out of her day dress and into her nightgown. Slowly, the sobs gave way to sniffles.
Once Penelope was tucked beneath the covers, Varley dampened a cloth with cool water and began to tend to her face. Her gaze paused at the faint swelling bruise already darkening Penelope’s cheek. She held her peace, simply waiting.
“I am to be married,” Penelope whispered at last. “To Prince Bridgerton — in two weeks’ time.”
Varley’s eyes widened in shock. “How can this be?”
“I do not know,” Penelope said, her voice small. “I only know I will not be here with you anymore.”
Varley’s expression softened, sorrow and pride mingling in her eyes. “My darling,” she began softly, “you have been nothing but a gift to me. From the very day you were born, you have been the cleverest, most courageous, most beautiful little soul I have ever known. With your bright blue eyes and that fiery hair — so like your spirit — I knew you were special. Truly, my dear, without you in this castle, I would have left long ago. You are my most precious one, my special one. Never forget that. And always remember that you are loved and cherished by me — forever and always.”
Penelope’s eyes glistened with fresh tears. “Oh, Varley,” she whispered. “I do not deserve such kindness.”
“You deserve this and more,” Varley assured her, stroking her hair.
After a long moment, she sensed Penelope’s brow furrow with new worry. “And what troubles you now, my dear?” she asked gently.
Penelope hesitated before the words tumbled out. “What if… what if the man I marry cannot love me? What if he is unkind — like my father? What if I am forever alone? Do you truly believe someone could come to care for me? Could he ever be like the heroes in my novels?”
Before Penelope could spiral further, Varley cupped her cheek and spoke firmly, her voice laced with conviction. “My dear, a man who cannot see your worth would be a fool. Do not borrow trouble from a future that has yet to come. Meet him with an open heart when the time is right. I believe with all my soul that everything will be well.”
Penelope let out a trembling sigh, some of the weight on her chest easing. “Very well,” she murmured, her voice small but steadier.
Varley brushed a stray lock from her face and moved to stand. But just as she was about to leave, Penelope’s voice broke the hush once more.
“Varley?” she asked, hands twisting nervously in the blanket. “Will you — will you sing me ‘Embers in the Night’? The one you always sang when I was a child?”
Varley’s face softened into a tender smile as she nodded and perched once more at Penelope’s bedside. Her voice was a gentle melody in the stillness of the chamber.
“Sleep, my child, while embers glow,
Keep the fire none may know.
When the dark winds call and blow,
Your hidden flame will brightly grow.”
And as the last note faded into the quiet, a strange sense of comfort warmed Penelope’s heart — as if the lullaby held a secret all its own.