The palace was already alive with the morning bustle. Servants hurried through the grand halls, their footsteps echoing softly beneath the ornate ceilings. The stewards moved among them, their eyes sharp, correcting any misstep or misplaced tray with quiet authority. Everything in the palace functioned like clockwork, each person playing their part in the daily ritual.

  Yet, in the prince’s wing, the atmosphere was markedly calmer. Cassian stood alone in his chambers, preparing himself for the day. Unlike most nobles, he was not accustomed to having servants dress him. He preferred solitude, the familiar routine of his morning rituals. Facing away from the door, he adjusted his tie carefully, glancing out the window at the sunlit gardens below without really seeing them.

  Suddenly, the door opened gently and Kahil stepped inside, closing it softly behind him. “Good morning, Your Highness,” Kahil greeted with a faint smile.

  Cassian turned slowly, still fixing his tie, and returned the smile with a playful smirk. “Good morning to you too, Kahil. You are rather early did you miss me already? We left things rather late at yesterday’s meeting.”

  Kahil chuckled softly. “Someone woke up on the right foot today,” he replied.

  Cassian’s smile faded into a more serious expression. “Let’s quit the pleasantries. To what do I owe this early visit, Kahil?”

  Kahil nodded, his smile fading. “Your Highness, first thing this morning, the ducal house requested the palace employee registers.”

  Cassian frowned. “Are they lacking guards or something?”

  “That’s not the right question, Your Highness,” Kahil said carefully.

  Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you’re getting a bit too comfortable with me, Kahil.”

  Kahil quickly composed himself. “My apologies, Your Highness. They didn’t request the guards’ register but the list of palace maids.”

  Cassian, still struggling with his tie, asked, “Why bring this to me? ”

  Kahil added, “Because the ducal house involved is that of the Dissars.”

  The prince passed to put on his golden cufflinks, each set with a blue gem that matched the color of his eyes. Then he asked, “What would that conniving Duke Edmund want with palace maids? Would he dare scheme against me so openly?”

  “I doubt that, Your Highness,” Kahil replied.“What’s more interesting is which maid he was looking for.” He added

  Cassian leaned forward. “He was after a specific maid?”

  He finished adjusting his tie in the mirror, straightened his jacket, and stepped ahead of Kahil as they moved toward the next room in the prince’s chambers. The sitting room awaited them, the space elegant yet restrained, dominated by pale colors — soft creams and ivory — embroidered with delicate gold thread. Blue accents in the decorations reflected the colors of Valtoria, contrasting sharply with the deep blood-red tapestries and draperies that harkened back to the Drakorian heritage of the palace.

  Kahil followed closely behind, beginning to explain, “The thing is, that maid didn’t have any official papers linked to her. The registry didn’t help him, so his last resort was asking specifically about her to the steward. I came to learn of this information because the steward couldn’t find anything either.”

  Both men sat down in the sitting room of the prince’s chambers. “And who may this maid be?” Cassian crossed his arms and asked.

  “We’ve heard of this maid quite often these last days, Maid Agnes, the one from the banquet and the tea party,” Kahil replied.

  The room fell silent for a moment as both men considered the implications. A sudden knock interrupted the quiet. A servant entered softly, carrying a silver tray laden with breakfast. On the tray rested delicate porcelain cups, their surfaces gleaming with intricate blue and gold patterns, matching the palace’s refined decor. Crystal glasses caught the morning light, scattering tiny rainbows across the polished wood of the table. A fine linen cloth, embroidered with golden threads, covered the surface, completing the elegant setting.

  The servant bowed respectfully, placed the tray carefully on the table, and quietly closed the door behind him.

  Cassian broke the silence. “Never before have I heard the name of a maid uttered so frequently. And yet, how is it possible that we possess no official knowledge of her?” He paused, recalling the moment he summoned her. “I remember well when I called upon her… she told me she had no family, that she was an orphan, and had been passed from one orphanage to another before arriving here.”

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  He glanced toward Kahil. “Do we have any records of where she came from?”

  Kahil hesitated. "Not really before coming here, Your Highness, though I did a little bit of research. She mentioned to some colleagues that she came from a distant land, far from here. She said she survived on the streets for a time, and learned to read in a small library before her teacher died during the Drakorian War."

  Cassian’s gaze darkened slightly. "Yes, I suppose she did mention that to me too, last time." “Do we know if she worked here before the change in reign?”

  Kahil shook his head. “No, Your Highness. There’s no record or mention of her during the Drakorian rule. Her presence here seems to begin only recently, under Valtoria’s reign.”

  Cassian sat back, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. “Look into her background more thoroughly,” he commanded. The prince’s eyes narrowed. “If the inquiry proves fruitless, arrange for discreet surveillance.”

  “As you command, Your Highness,” Kahil replied, rising to take his leave.

  Cassian remained seated, his gaze drifting once more to the sunlit gardens beyond the window. The meticulously tended grounds stretched out like a living tapestry, with vibrant blooms of lavender and roses weaving through neatly trimmed hedges. Marble statues stood sentinel among the winding paths, their pale surfaces gleaming softly in the morning light. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of ancient oaks, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and fresh earth, a serene contrast to the turmoil lingering in the palace walls.

  Elsewhere in the palace, the air was less solemn. Morning light streamed through the tall windows of the princess’s solar, casting soft gold across embroidered cushions and silk-draped couches. The scent of fresh lilacs lingered faintly in the room.

  Jana moved quietly, placing a folded shawl over the back of a chair as she finished arranging the space for the princess’s morning routine. Her steps were precise, her presence unobtrusive.

  Princess Danui sat at her vanity, a delicate comb in hand, brushing through the dark waves of her hair. She caught Jana’s reflection in the mirror and spoke without turning.

  “You’re always so quiet, Agnes.,” she said with a teasing smile.

  I don’t have much to say your highness Jana dipped her head politely.

  “Mm,” Danui murmured, not pressing further. She set the comb down and leaned back. “Fetch the green ribbon today, will you?

  “I don’t mean to overstep, Your Highness,” Jana replied carefully, “but wearing the blue one might be a graceful gesture—and a way to draw the right kind of attention, if you seek to rise… as the crown prince’s bride.”

  Danui fell silent, her gaze drifting to the mirror. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap. “Have you ever felt the need to resist something,” she said quietly, “even if it might not truly harm you?”

  Jana hesitated, uncertain where the conversation was headed. “If it’s my duty, I’ve never felt I could turn away from it… unlike my broth—” She caught herself, her voice halting mid-sentence.

  The princess lifted her head suddenly and turned in her chair, eyes narrowing with interest. “You never mentioned you had a brother,” she said with a small, almost playful smile, as though the heaviness in her heart had momentarily vanished.

  “I did,” Jana replied calmly, “but he belongs to the past. Now, I serve the palace and I have left my family and past behind.” A lie could never have felt so true. Though her words were not entirely honest, they settled naturally on her tongue—for the brother she searched for now was no longer the one she had once left behind.

  At her words, the weight that had briefly lifted returned to Danui’s expression. Her shoulders dropped as she turned back to the mirror. “And what if I told you I have no desire for marriage?”

  Jana, who had just returned with the blue ribbon and stood ready to gather the princess’s hair, let her arms fall gently to her sides. She exhaled softly, then placed her hands lightly on Danui’s shoulders. Leaning forward slightly, she met the princess’s gaze through the mirror and said “Then we shall make certain you don’t catch his eye.”

  A sad smile tugged at the corners of Danui’s lips. “And if this marriage could save lives… if an alliance with Valtoria would bring safety to my people? My father would be so disappointed if I returned without it.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “At times, I have found myself wishing I had been born a man—if only to possess the freedom to pursue knowledge, and to shape my life according to my own will.”

  Jana could not relate to the princess’s thoughts. She had never truly grasped the full weight such limitations could impose on a person. Certainly, she had read of them in history, seen them reflected in the lives of others, yes. But there was a chasm between knowing and living.

  So she said nothing.

  There was nothing she could offer that would make the moment lighter. If she dared to encourage Danui to seek her own will, who could say what disgrace might follow? This was no time to plant seeds of defiance, no matter how noble they might seem in theory. And yet, to gently steer her toward a marriage she did not want… Jana could not bring herself to do that either. Her silence, then, was the only answer she could think of—still, weightless, careful.

  All that remained between them were the slow, steady strokes of the brush, gliding through dark hair like whispers in the quiet expanse of the room.

  As Jana was finishing the princess’s hair, a sudden pulse shot through her wrist—sharp, electric, impossible to ignore. It was one of the sensors she had hidden in her chamber door. At last, they had served their purpose. The sensation didn’t fade. It lingered, heavy and urgent, thrumming beneath her skin. She panicked.

  She knew—rationally—that nothing in that room could link her to anything. She had been meticulous, cautious to a fault. And yet, her mind betrayed her. What if, one day, she had slipped? Left something behind? A page, an item… anything?

  She steadied her hands, finishing the braid without hesitation. Her face remained a mask of calm, but her thoughts were already miles away—back in her chamber, where someone had just entered her quarters. Uninvited.