A hive of low whispers and muffled laughter greeted Cassie when she returned to the dormitory. Maids clustered in groups on their bunks, their voices dropping into sharper murmurs at her arrival. Ignoring the stares, she headed to her corner and sat down with a deliberate slowness that seemed to drain the room of its earlier energy.

“She has that look again,” someone whispered.

“Let her be,” another replied.

But their attention soon shifted, as it always did, to safer topics. The crown prince fiancée.

“She was furious about the arrangement with the Duke of Alvron,” one maid muttered, her voice barely above a breath. “Said the Prince’s loyalty ought to be unquestioned.”

“She’s like a storm waiting to break,” another whispered. “Did you see how she looked at poor Mira last month? If you’re smart, you stay out of her way.”

Cassie tuned them out, her gaze fixed on the satchel she had tucked beneath her bunk. Their warnings weren’t new; the crown prince’s fiancée’s temper was infamous in the palace. But Cassie had her own reasons for staying invisible, and the girl’s wrath wasn’t one of them.

The faint smell of damp stone hung in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat. It settled into her like a second skin, a constant reminder that this dormitory was not a home but a cage.

Days passed with mechanical regularity. Cassie rose before the others, the sound of her feet hitting the floor often the first noise to break the pre-dawn quiet. Her routine was precise—bed made, hair tied back, tasks completed with unflinching focus.

At first, the head maid barely glanced at her. By the third day, Cassie noticed the flicker of approval in her sharp gaze, a subtle nod as she passed Cassie’s work.

The other maids remained wary. Some muttered about her aloofness; others watched her with a quiet curiosity, as though trying to decipher the enigma of her stoicism. Cassie gave them nothing. She focused on the rhythm of her work—scrubbing floors until her hands ached, hauling supplies until her back screamed, polishing silverware until she saw herself reflected in its cold gleam.

The palace staff moved with an energy that seemed to teeter between frantic and frivolous. Giggling cliques gathered in corners during lulls, their laughter a sharp contrast to the unspoken tension that hummed beneath the surface. Cassie observed them from the periphery, her hands busy but her mind sharp.

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In rare moments of solitude, she found herself drawn to the windows overlooking the western courtyard. The view offered little comfort—just the stark beauty of the palace grounds, with their sharp hedges and fountains that gleamed like cut glass in the sunlight. The tranquility outside felt at odds with the currents of fear and ambition she felt swirling within.

It was during one of these quiet moments that Lila approached her. The older maid’s steps were light, her presence announced only by the faint swish of her skirts.

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” Lila said without preamble. She leaned against the window’s stone frame, her gaze sweeping the courtyard. “But a good head only gets you so far in this place.”

Cassie glanced at her, unsure whether the remark was a compliment or a warning.

“You think they’re all fools, don’t you?” Lila continued, nodding toward the distant figures bustling about the garden paths. “Flouncing around, laughing at things that don’t matter. But it’s not so simple.”

Cassie returned to her cleaning. “I don’t think about them at all.”

Lila chuckled softly. “Maybe not. But you should. Every smile, every laugh, every word—they’re all part of the game. And if you’re not paying attention, you’ll be the piece they sacrifice first.”

The words lingered, heavy with a weight Cassie couldn’t ignore. She met Lila’s gaze, searching for signs of condescension but finding none.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

Lila shrugged, her eyes crinkling with something that might have been kindness. “Maybe because I see a bit of myself in you. And maybe because I don’t like seeing people with potential waste it.”

Cassie didn’t reply, but as Lila walked away, her words settled in like stones sinking into a still pond.

Over the next few days, Cassie began piecing together the invisible threads that bound the palace together. She memorized the halls, the back corridors, the servants’ schedules. More importantly, she listened.

The kitchen staff were the most talkative, their chatter often spilling into the hallways where Cassie passed. The guards spoke in clipped tones, but the weight of their words often revealed more than they intended. And the nobles—when they deigned to acknowledge her presence—spoke in layers of implication, their conversations a dance of veiled insults and careful praise.

It was late when Cassie heard the conversation.

The dormitory was quiet, its usual hum of whispers silenced by exhaustion. Cassie had slipped out moments before, the air inside too heavy for her to bear.

The corridor outside was dim, lit only by the faint glow of torches spaced at uneven intervals. She moved silently, her steps instinctively light, until voices stopped her in her tracks.

Two men stood near the base of a staircase, their backs to her. They spoke in low tones, but their words carried through the stillness.

“The younger prince grows bolder,” one said, his voice clipped. “If the alliance with the southern houses holds, we’ll have a coup on our hands.”

The other man grunted. “The Crown Prince won’t let it get that far. He’ll cut it off before it takes root.”

“Perhaps,” the first replied. “But if he’s too slow, the council might favor the younger. And then…”

The words faded into whispers as they moved down the staircase.

Cassie’s pulse quickened, her mind racing to piece together the implications. A coup? The southern houses? These weren’t idle rumors; this was strategy whispered in the shadows.