A low toll from the palace bells reverberated through the servant corridors, announcing the start of another day. Cassie flexed her fingers, stiff from the night’s chill, as the early morning air nipped at her skin. In the quiet dormitory, an odd stillness settled over the room, the weight of unspoken words thick in the air, as if the very walls held secrets, whispering rumors that hung heavy in the air.

Her routine hadn’t changed. Rise early, dress quickly, and tie her hair back with the same measured precision as always. But the air in the palace was different now—thick with something unspoken.

When Cassie entered the main servant’s quarters, the subtle shift became more apparent. Conversations that once hushed when she entered now ceased entirely. Glances darted away from her, too swift to be innocent, and the space between her and her peers seemed to widen as if by unspoken agreement.

“… Favoritism,” she caught from the corner of the kitchen.

Cassie kept her expression neutral, her steps unhurried as she passed. Words weren’t daggers, but they could wound just the same.

The morning’s tasks sent her to the royal stables, the scent of fresh hay mingling with the cool earthiness of the stalls. The staff was preparing for the Crown Prince’s annual hunting competition, a spectacle of power and tradition. Grooms bustled about, polishing saddles, inspecting tack, and ensuring the horses gleamed with meticulous care.

Cassie’s task was simple: assist with the saddles intended for the Crown Prince’s team. She moved to the storage area, where rows of gleaming equipment awaited their final inspections. But as her fingers brushed over a leather strap, she froze.

The strap wasn’t intact.

Her gaze sharpened. The leather had been sliced cleanly near the base, where it would bear the most strain. She pressed the edges together, testing the cut—it hadn’t frayed or cracked as natural wear might. This was deliberate.

Cassie crouched, inspecting the rest of the saddle. Another strap showed similar damage, the cuts subtle enough to escape notice but catastrophic under the pressure of use.

Her stomach twisted.

The steward’s office was cramped, cluttered with ledgers and scrolls, the air thick with the sharp scent of ink. Cassie stood straight as the steward—a balding man with tired eyes and an air of perpetual impatience—glanced up from his desk.

“Well?” he asked, his quill pausing mid-stroke.

“I found this in the storage room,” she said, placing the saddle on his desk. She pointed to the sliced straps. “It’s been tampered with.”

The steward squinted at the damage, his lips tightening. “It’s wear and tear,” he muttered dismissively.

“It’s not,” Cassie said, keeping her tone measured. “The cuts are clean. This wasn’t an accident.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The steward sighed heavily, setting down his quill. “A stable hand’s carelessness, nothing more. I’ll have someone replace it.”

“It’s sabotage,” she insisted, her voice firm but calm. “And it’s not just this saddle. If you check the others, you might find more.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she thought he might reconsider. But then he waved her off, his tone brusque. “We’re understaffed and under time. I don’t have the luxury of indulging your imagination. Finish your tasks.”

Cassie clenched her jaw, dipping her head slightly as she turned to leave. But the steward’s dismissal sat wrong, its weight pressing against her as she walked back to the stables.

The saddle wasn’t the only target.

Cassie moved with purpose now, her hands skimming over reins, bridles, and more saddles as she inspected them. What she found made her chest tighten.

A bridle strap, nicked at the buckle. A stirrup’s leather loop, frayed just enough to snap under tension. Each instance was small, easy to miss—but they all pointed to the same thing.

She worked quickly, her fingers deft but deliberate as she cataloged each instance in her mind. The pattern was unmistakable. Every damaged item was tied to the Crown Prince’s team, set to use during the hunt.

As she straightened, her thoughts darkened. Sabotage wasn’t just an inconvenience—it was a statement. And whoever had made it wasn’t aiming for subtlety.

The hum of voices pulled her from her focus. She turned, slipping deeper into the stables toward the source of the sound.

The stable’s far corner was quieter, the torchlight dimmer. Cassie eased into the shadows, her steps silent as she moved closer to the voices.

Two figures stood near the back exit, their silhouettes barely visible. Their tones were low, but the smugness in their words carried clearly enough.

“… Should’ve seen his face when I told him about the delay,” one said, laughter threading through his voice.

The other chuckled. “Serves them right. A little inconvenience never hurt anyone.”

“Inconvenience?” the first man echoed, his tone mocking. “They’ll be scrambling to fix it by dawn. Nothing’s sweeter than watching those bastards stumble.”

The words confirmed what she already knew, though they offered no names, no concrete proof.

Cassie lingered for a moment longer, committing their voices to memory. Then she slipped away as silently as she’d come.

The corridors leading to the servant dormitories were empty, their usual hum of activity silenced by the late hour. Cassie’s footsteps were muted against the stone floor, her senses sharp despite the ache of the day’s work pressing against her shoulders.

Her room was at the end of the hall, its plain wooden door unremarkable. But as she approached, something felt off.

Cassie’s hand froze on the doorknob. The faintest crack of light slipped through the doorframe, a thin sliver that shouldn’t have been there.

She stepped back, her pulse quickening. The door was ajar.

Cassie scanned the corridor behind her, the shadows offering no answers. She pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking faintly.

Her room was small and spartan, with little more than a cot, a trunk, and a narrow window. But tonight, it felt foreign—wrong.

The trunk at the foot of her bed lay open, its contents rifled through. Her spare tunic was tossed carelessly over the edge, and the small pouch of coins she kept hidden had been dumped onto the floor.

She crouched, her fingers brushing over the scattered coins. Nothing was missing. But the message was clear.

Someone had been here.

Cassie's eyes darted to the window, its latch still secure. She knew the intruder had come through the door. Her jaw tightened. This wasn’t a careless mistake or idle curiosity. It was a warning.

She stood slowly, her movements precise as she closed the trunk and tucked the coins back into their place. Her hands lingered on the lid for a moment, her mind racing through possibilities.

Who? And why?

The answer didn’t matter—not yet. What mattered was the game being played around her. The pieces were moving, and whether she wanted to or not, Cassie was caught in their path.

She sat on the edge of the cot, her back straight, her eyes on the door. Sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight.