These days, the palace was a hive of whispers. Invisible lines divided its gilded halls, splitting the staff into factions as subtly as a knife slipping between ribs. Cassie felt it the moment she crossed into the servants' wing that morning: the careful avoidance of certain faces, the too-loud murmurs that cut off the instant she stepped into a room.
The aftermath of her confrontation with Esther was a living thing, stalking her through every corridor. Maids loyal to the crown prince’s fiancée avoided her with open disdain, their scornful looks striking sharper than words. Those with no allegiance moved cautiously, their expressions unreadable, as though waiting to see which way the wind would blow.
Cassie moved through it all like a shadow, her expression cool, her steps measured. Years of battlefield discipline steadied her, keeping her movements precise even as the tension pressed down on her shoulders like a weight.
“You’ve stirred the pot,” Lila said quietly, pulling her aside near the scullery that evening. The older maid’s voice was soft but laced with steel, her gaze darting toward the open doorway.
“I didn’t start it,” Cassie replied evenly, her tone void of apology.
“No, but you’ve caught her attention,” Lila muttered. She leaned closer, her words brushing the edge of a warning. “And Esther doesn’t forgive. Not in the way you’d hope, anyway.”
Cassie didn’t flinch. The words weren’t a revelation; they only confirmed what she already knew. Still, a flicker of unease tightened her chest.
“Be careful,” Lila added, her voice low. “That woman has the ear of more than one noble. If she wants you gone, you’ll disappear without a trace.”
Cassie didn’t answer, her jaw tightening. The battlefield had taught her to guard her words as closely as her position. A single misstep could mean the difference between survival and annihilation, and this was no different.
The hostility thickened the next day. The maids aligned with Esther grew bolder, their disdain showing in subtle but deliberate acts of sabotage. Cassie’s tools were misplaced, forcing her to waste precious minutes searching for them. A maid deliberately bumped into her in the kitchens, sending a tray of clean dishes tumbling to the floor.
“Oops,” the girl said with mock sweetness, her smile a blade aimed to provoke.
Cassie didn’t react. She crouched, gathered the shards of porcelain in her hands, and returned them to the sink without a word. Around her, the others watched with a mix of curiosity and apprehension, their whispers filling the silence like a tide.
She felt their eyes on her as she left, their speculative murmurs following her into the hall.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Later, Cassie made her way to the east wing for her inventory check, her thoughts tightly wound. The storerooms stretched before her like a maze, the air heavy with the scent of aged wood and faint mildew.
She began her work with practiced precision, moving from shelf to shelf, her fingers brushing over faded labels and worn ledgers. At first, the discrepancies seemed minor—items marked as stored months ago that appeared untouched, their seals unbroken. But as she dug deeper, patterns emerged.
Two barrels of wine bore the same inspection date but had clearly been tampered with, their seals recently replaced. A box of linens supposedly delivered last spring was still pristine, its edges sharp and unweathered.
Cassie frowned, her mind turning over the possibilities. Clerical errors? Perhaps. But something about the inconsistencies felt deliberate, as though someone had gone out of their way to manipulate the records.
The soft scuff of boots behind her broke her concentration.
“Everything alright?”
Cassie turned sharply, her instincts flaring. A young steward stood in the doorway, his expression polite but guarded.
“Fine,” she said, masking her unease. She straightened, tucking the ledger under her arm. “Just discrepancies in the records.”
The steward stepped closer, his brow furrowing. “Discrepancies? You’ll want to bring that up with your supervisor. These things happen—clerical errors, mostly.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll handle it,” she replied, brushing past him.
The weight of his gaze lingered as she left, the tension in her chest tightening with every step.
That evening, Cassie moved quietly through the prince’s quarters, her hands busy as she adjusted the drapes and smoothed the bedding. Her ears tuned instinctively to the conversation unfolding nearby.
“The southern regions grow restless,” the steward was saying, his tone edged with urgency. “If we don’t address their concerns—”
“Address their concerns?” Theodoric’s voice cut through the air, cold and unyielding. “You mean bow to their demands. They want concessions, not peace. I won’t indulge them.”
A heavy silence followed, punctuated only by the faint crackle of the hearth.
“Unrest in the countryside is a threat we cannot ignore,” the steward said carefully. “Not with the current climate at court.”
Cassie’s hands stilled briefly, her mind catching on the implications of their words. Court tensions. Demands. The undercurrents of power in the palace were shifting, their ripples spreading far beyond its walls.
She finished her task swiftly, slipping out before their conversation could end.
Her quarters were dark when she returned, the dormitory silent save for the distant hum of voices in the halls. She had barely stepped inside when her boot nudged something—a folded piece of paper lying stark against the stone floor.
Cassie knelt, her fingers brushing its edges as she unfolded it. The handwriting was neat and deliberate, each stroke precise.
Not everyone in the palace is your enemy.
The words settled in her chest like a stone, heavy with unspoken meaning.
She turned the note over, searching for any clue as to its author, but the back was blank. No signature, no mark of identity.
Her gaze swept the room, the shadows in the corners deepening as her mind raced. Who had left it? And why now, when the tension in the palace was reaching its peak?
Cassie tightened her grip on the note, her instincts honed sharp as a blade. Whatever game she had been drawn into, it was clear the rules were about to change.
The silence of the dormitory seemed to press in around her, the darkness carrying an unspoken promise: survival was never guaranteed.