Hours passed by in the blur of activities and by the time of the afternoon, a new assignment had pulled her away from the kitchen's oppressive heat.
Evelyn, together with two other women_ a sturdy, sharp-tongued maid named Janet and a perpetually giggling younger girl, Elara _ were dispatched to the attic.
"Ugh, this place is wretched," Janet grumbled, already pulling a dust rag over her mouth and nose. "I swear, they save the worst for us. Why can't the lower vampire servants do this? Afraid of a bit of dust, are they?"
Elara merely giggled, already wrestling with a large, ornate chest, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air.
The attic was cramped and suffocating. Dust floated like mist in the stale air. Old trunks, moth-eaten curtains, and cracked furniture were piled high, casting long shadows. Evelyne tied her apron tighter and got to work while the other two maids were more focused on their gossip than the brooms in their hands.
"Did you hear about Mirna?" Janet whispered, her tone dripping with scandal. "She's now working as the personal dresser for Lady Sorelle."
Elara let out a short laugh. "That's what happens when you keep showing up in ministers' beds. Promotion comes with benefits."
Janet gasped mockingly. "You're awful."
"Just honest," Elara grinned. "She thinks her new perfume masks everything. Please."
They burst into quiet giggles, casting glances at Evelyne, who remained silent, dusting an old chest with methodical strokes.
As they continued with their gossip which seemed to be more than the work they did,the wooden hatch creaked opened and a young boy, no more than fourteen appeared on top of the ladder, his breath slightly ragged.
He looked around, then his eyes settled on evelyne. 'The blonde girl with green eyes' as he had been told.
"Are you Evelyn?"
The boy asked and after a moment of hesitation, Evelyn responded,
"Yes."
"You are being summoned by the prince."
Evelyn, caught mid-scrub, slowly straightened, her heart giving a peculiar thump. It was unusual for anyone to seek out a specific servant, let alone her. Janet and Elara, who had been mid-whisper about another palace scandal, immediately fell silent, their heads snapping up, their gazes narrowing on Evelyn.
As Evelyn followed the young boy out of the attic, down the creaking wooden stairs and into the less dusty upper corridors, she could almost feel the weight of their unspoken words.
"I bet she's the next one to climb," Janet murmured, "She acts all quiet and graceful. That 'mysterious beauty' type men love."
"She doesn't even talk back," Elara said with a sneer. "Maybe she's waiting for the perfect noble to fall at her feet."
"What would a prince want from a maid if not for sex?" Elara asked.
"There's always something strange about the quiet ones."
She probably caught his eye with that face of hers. Pretends to be modest, but she knew what she was doing."
"Maybe she's already done something," Janet added, eyes narrowed. "And that's why he wants to see her again."
They paused, glancing at the attic door like it might whisper secrets.
"Let's just wait and see how high she climbs," Elara said under her breath, "before she gets burned."
~~~
As she was being led down the hallways,she kept her eyes low, fingers curled against the folds of her skirt, her mind swimming with questions she dared not ask. Did they find out about who she actually was?!
Eventually, the boy stopped in front of an ornate door — darker wood, gilded edges, and a crimson emblem marked with the royal sigil. He lifted a hand and knocked.
A voice from within responded, calm but commanding.
"Come in."
The boy pushed open the door and stepped inside, motioning for Evelyne to follow. At the center, standing shirtless with damp brown hair curling at the ends, was Crown Prince Damien.
Evelyne froze in the doorway, eyes immediately darting to the floor. Her face flushed with mortification at the sight of his bare chest.
"You may leave," the prince said to the boy without looking at him. His gaze fixed on the young maid who looked like she was about to run.
The servant bowed quickly and disappeared, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
Evelyne stood stiff, hands clasped tightly. She did not dare raise her eyes.
"Come closer," Prince Damien said smoothly, his voice relaxed — too relaxed.
She obeyed, taking hesitant steps forward until she was a few paces away from him. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, heart beating too fast for her liking.
His red eyes scanned her face with quiet deliberation, lingering with unmasked interest.
Her hair was a cascade of soft golden blonde, loosely tied, with strands escaping to frame her face like sunlight brushing porcelain. Her skin was smooth, untouched by harsh labor, a rarity for a servant. And her eyes—he paused on them—were a rare shade of green, like polished jade glinting under shadow.
There was a touch of innocence in her gaze, though her expression remained guarded. A contrast he found... curious.
He took a step closer. His bare chest caught the soft gleam of the afternoon light streaming through the tall windows, muscles defined beneath pale, smooth skin, but Evelyne kept her gaze on the floor, jaw clenched tightly beneath her composed exterior.
"You know, it's hard to find such beautiful women. Even amongst our kind, but you..." He trailed, and lifting one of his hand, he picked a stray strand of her golden hair. "You have it all."
Evelyne didn't respond. She couldn't. She was a maid. She had no permission to speak unless asked. Still, every instinct in her body screamed for distance.
"You know, I spent the whole of last night wondering how your lips would taste like." His red eyes bored into hers.
Evelyne's breath caught in her throat. Her composure wavered, just for a moment. Her skin crawled, and her heart beat violently inside her chest. Every fiber of her being longed to recoil, to step away, to disappear—but she stood frozen, knowing full well that even flinching could be seen as insult… or rebellion.
Then, slowly, he leaned in. His breath ghosted against her cheek as his fingers brushed the edge of her jaw. She could smell the hint of spice and something darker—iron and cold.
He began to lean closer, his features blurring as he approached. And Evelyn couldn't take it. Her instinct for self-preservation screamed louder than any training. Without conscious thought, she leaned her head back, a desperate, almost imperceptible tilt, trying to create even a fraction of distance between his face and hers.
But Prince Damien was relentless. He continued to lean, his eyes glittering with a chilling determination.
Her heart thudded painfully. Her skin prickled with discomfort. And before her thoughts could catch up with her instinct, her body moved on its own.
She shoved him. Her palm had met the bare skin of his chest—and she instantly regretted it. The moment she stepped back, the air changed. Darkened.
The crown prince froze.
His crimson eyes narrowed, the lazy amusement evaporating from his expression like mist in the sun. Anger, hot and swift, lit his face. He looked down at her hand, then back at her with disbelief, as though trying to decide if she'd truly dared to do what she just had.
Scared for her life, Evelyne opened her mouth, her voice catching in her throat. "I—I didn't mean—"
But before she could finish, the door to the prince's chamber opened with a soft creak.
In stepped the young man she had mistaken for a knight—Prince Kael.