The distant clang of the final dinner service echoed down the narrow corridors, signaling the end of the evening’s routine. Cassie moved quickly to finish her tasks, her hands deft as she folded the last of the linens. The rhythm of the day had been as relentless as ever, but there was something different in the air now—a tension, coiled and expectant.

“Did you hear?” a maid near the laundry room whispered, her voice sharp and eager. “The royal ball’s preparations are starting. It’s finally happening.”

Cassie stilled, her fingers brushing over the folded cloth. She adjusted her position, angling herself just enough to catch more of the conversation.

“Of course, everyone’s heard,” another maid replied, her tone clipped. “You can’t work in this palace and not know. It’s the most important event of the year.”

“More like the most dangerous,” the first maid shot back. “Do you know who’s coming? The southern lords. All of them.”

That name—southern lords—hung in the air like a blade.

Cassie frowned faintly, a flicker of unease crossing her features before she smoothed them back into neutrality. She grabbed the stack of linens and turned away, heading toward the ballroom to deliver them. Behind her, the conversation continued, the maids’ voices quickening like sparring blows.

“They don’t get along with the Crown Prince, do they?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They hate him.”

The grand ballroom came into view, its towering doors pulled open to reveal a space designed to overwhelm. Light from the golden chandeliers cascaded down like shattered stars, pooling on the gleaming marble floors. Every surface seemed to reflect back brilliance—the tables, the polished vases, the silver candelabras placed strategically along the walls.

Cassie stepped inside quietly, her boots making the barest sound against the polished floor. Around her, other maids were already hard at work. A pair of them were arranging flowers into elaborate centerpieces, their movements rushed but precise. Others flitted between the tables, draping velvet linens or setting out crystal glasses. The sharp tang of polish mingled with the floral sweetness of crushed petals, filling the air with a heady mix of scents.

Cassie placed her stack of linens on a side table and retrieved a cloth. Her next task was clear: a silver candelabra stood nearby, its once-bright surface dulled by neglect. She began polishing, the repetitive motion grounding her in the midst of the bustle.

Voices reached her from across the room, just loud enough to hear.

“Do you think it’s true?” one maid asked, leaning closer to her companion as she worked on a centerpiece. “That this ball is about the southern lords?”

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“Of course it’s about them,” the other replied, her tone low but emphatic. “What else could it be? Everyone knows they’re angry about the trade agreements. They won’t come here just to dance and smile.”

The first maid hesitated, glancing around as if to ensure no one else was listening. “But to invite all of them? Isn’t that... risky?”

Cassie kept her gaze on the candelabra, her movements steady and measured, but her ears remained attuned to the conversation.

“They’re nobles,” the second maid said, shrugging. “They won’t risk open conflict here, not under the King’s watch. But the Crown Prince?” She paused, her voice dropping. “That’s another story. He doesn’t make allies easily, does he?”

Cassie’s hand paused briefly before resuming its work. The maids were right—at least, partially. The tension between the Crown Prince and the southern lords was no secret. But hearing it spoken aloud in whispers, here in this gilded hall, made the stakes of the ball feel sharper, more immediate.

As she continued polishing, her thoughts drifted to Evelyn. Cassie could almost hear her traitorous comrade’s excited voice, full of energy as she described the royal ball in the otome game: “It’s the turning point!” Evelyn had said. “This is where the heroine makes her grand entrance, wearing a beautiful gown, and catches everyone’s attention.”

But here, in this world, no such heroine had appeared.

Cassie set the candelabra upright, inspecting its now-pristine surface. No girl raised from obscurity to stand at the center of the court’s attention. No new faces among the palace staff. No ripple of change suggesting the arrival of someone pivotal.

She bit back a sigh, focusing instead on aligning the base of the candelabra with precision. If there was no heroine, did that mean the story had shifted? Or had it been different from the beginning?

She straightened as the head steward entered the ballroom, his presence quieting the murmurs of the staff. His gaze swept across the room before settling on Cassie.

“You,” he said sharply, striding toward her. “You’ll work in the main hall during the ball.”

Cassie inclined her head, her expression calm. “Yes, sir.”

The steward handed her a list of tasks, his instructions brisk. “Service stations. Silverware checks. Ensure the staff maintains order. Do not fail.”

He turned and left without waiting for acknowledgment.

As soon as he was gone, the murmurs started again—this time quieter, but no less biting.

“Of course, she’s assigned the visible tasks,” one maid muttered, her voice laced with envy.

“Probably hoping someone important will notice her,” another said, her words dripping with scorn.

Cassie ignored them, folding the list and tucking it into her apron pocket. She wouldn’t waste energy on their jealousy. She read over the tasks, memorizing each one with the precision she’d learned in another life. Her efficiency wasn’t meant to earn admiration or provoke ire—it was simply survival.

The hours stretched into the evening as preparations continued. Cassie moved between tasks seamlessly, her focus unbroken even as the tension in the air deepened. The staff worked like clockwork, but beneath their polished movements was a quiet unease.

Every detail had to be perfect. This wasn’t just a ball—it was a stage, and every noble in attendance would be watching for cracks in the palace’s veneer.

Cassie finished arranging the silver at her assigned station and stepped back, inspecting her work. The surface of the serving trays reflected the faint glow of the chandeliers above. For a moment, she caught her own reflection in the polished surface.

Her face looked too calm, too composed, like a mask she had grown used to wearing. The faintest flicker of a frown passed over her features before she turned away.

There was no room for hesitation tonight.