Far less grand than the halls they’d just left, the dormitory greeted them with a stark simplicity. The new maids filed in hesitantly, their footsteps muffled by the thin carpet. Cassie lingered near the back of the group, taking in her surroundings with a quick, practiced sweep.

Its room was functional, nothing more: rows of narrow bunks, their frames made of simple iron, stood in rigid alignment along the walls. Thin mattresses and coarse, grey blankets added a touch of discomfort, as if the space were designed to temper expectations.

Voices broke the silence as the maids began to stake claims on bunks, the sound rising into a chaotic hum. Cassie ignored the chatter and crossed to the farthest corner, where a bunk pressed against the wall offered her a clear line of sight to the door.

She tossed her small satchel onto the mattress and sat, her posture rigid. Around her, cliques were already forming—clusters of girls whispering together, their laughter brittle and sharp.

“She thinks she’s better than us already,” someone muttered, just loud enough for Cassie to hear.

She didn’t look up. The words skimmed over her like wind across stone.

The whispers died away, leaving only the quiet shuffle of settling bodies. Cassie’s gaze remained fixed, but her mind wandered, retreating into the silence of the night.

Then morning came too soon.

“Up!” The head maid’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp enough to jolt even the heaviest sleeper into motion. Cassie was already awake, her bed neatly made and her satchel tucked away beneath it. She stood silently as the other maids stumbled to their feet, blinking and bleary-eyed.

When the group assembled in the main hall, the head maid stood at the center like a statue of authority. Her gaze swept over them, assessing their disheveled appearances with thinly veiled disdain.

“Today, you begin to prove whether you belong here,” she said, her voice clipped and brisk. “I will assign each of you a task suited to your supposed abilities. Perform it well, or don’t bother returning tomorrow.”

Cassie watched as the assignments were doled out. Some girls were sent to scrub floors or polish fixtures, others to wash linens or deliver messages. When the head maid reached her, there was a brief pause.

“You.” The head maid’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll manage the inventory in the east storage wing. I assume you’re capable of keeping records in order?”

Cassie nodded.

“Good. Follow me.”

The east storage wing was a cavernous space filled with shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly into the shadows. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and aging wood. Crates and barrels were stacked in precarious towers, and ledgers filled with outdated inventory records lay scattered across a wide table.

“You’ll sort this mess,” the head maid said curtly. “Everything must be accounted for by day’s end. And no mistakes.” She turned on her heel and left without waiting for a reply.

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Cassie stood for a moment, surveying the chaos. Her gaze moved from the stacks of supplies to the scattered ledgers, her mind already sorting the task into manageable pieces.

She moved methodically, her actions swift and precise. First, she cleared the table, organizing the ledgers into neat piles by date. Then she turned to the shelves, her hands brushing over the labels and markings with practiced efficiency. Items were cataloged, misplaced goods returned to their proper places, and damaged supplies noted for disposal.

Time blurred as she worked, her focus unbroken. Her hands moved with a steady rhythm, her mind calculating and sharp. By the time she reached the final shelf, the room had transformed. What had been a chaotic maze of disorganization was now a clean, orderly system.

The head maid returned as Cassie was finishing. She paused in the doorway, her expression unreadable as she scanned the room.

“Well,” she said finally. “At least one of you isn’t entirely useless.”

Word spread quickly.

“She didn’t even flinch when the head maid gave her the hardest task,” one girl whispered in the dormitory that evening.

“Probably trying to show off,” another replied.

“Or she’s already got someone watching out for her.”

The last remark hung in the air, its implications sharp enough to draw nods of agreement.

Cassie sat on her bunk, her back to the room. She could feel the weight of their stares, hear the bitterness in their voices, but she didn’t turn. The accusations didn’t matter. They never did.

The following days unfolded in a pattern of grueling tasks and simmering tension. Cassie’s efficiency became impossible to ignore. While others struggled through their assignments, fumbling with linens or spilling water across polished floors, she moved with quiet precision, completing her duties with a discipline that seemed to set her apart.

Her peers didn’t appreciate it.

“She’s making the rest of us look bad,” one of the senior maids grumbled.

“She’s probably sleeping her way to the top,” another sneered.

The words were meant to sting, but Cassie refused to react. She kept her focus on her work, her face a mask of neutrality. If anything, her silence only deepened their resentment.

Lila, one of the older maids, approached her one evening as she cleaned the grand dining hall. “You should speak up for yourself. They’re saying things... cruel things.”

Cassie straightened, her cloth pausing mid-swipe. “Words don’t hurt me,” she replied.

Lila hesitated, her brow furrowing. “Maybe not. But isolation can.”

Cassie met her gaze, something flickering in her eyes before she turned away. “I’ll manage,” she said simply.

It was late when Cassie finally finished her duties. The halls were quiet, the only sounds the faint crackle of torches and the soft scuff of her boots against the stone floor. She carried a stack of freshly laundered linens toward the east wing, her thoughts distant.

A sound broke her reverie—the rhythmic thud of heavy boots echoing down the corridor.

She froze, her instincts flaring. The steps were deliberate, unhurried, each one carrying a weight that seemed to press against the air itself.

The Crown Prince emerged from the shadows, his presence as unmistakable as the weight of his title. Crown Prince Theodoric Vonbern, heir to the throne, was a figure spoken of in hushed tones among the staff—feared as "The Tyrant Prince" for his ruthlessness, his sharp intellect, and a cold detachment that left many uneasy.

Whispers told of his unyielding pursuit of power, his enemies crushed with precision so absolute that even nobles dared not cross him. To Cassie, his calculated gaze felt more piercing than any blade she had faced on the battlefield.

A strong jawline and piercing eyes accentuated his sharp features, cold and calculating. Dark, shoulder-length hair framed his face, and his cloak, a deep black, draped elegantly around his form. His posture was regal, exuding both authority and distance, with an air of someone who was always analyzing, always in control.

Cassie straightened, the linens steady in her arms. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just that exchange. She felt the tension in his gaze, the unspoken challenge it carried, and met it with quiet defiance.

He said nothing. After a moment, he turned and continued down the corridor, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Cassie exhaled slowly, her grip tightening on the linens. Whatever had passed between them, it wasn’t over.