Early Morning. Training Grounds.
The air was crisp, the dew on the grass still clinging to the boots of palace guards walking the perimeter. Rebecca stood tall beside her horse, dressed in a dark burgundy riding coat, her breeches tucked neatly into polished boots. Her hair was braided back, her expression sharper than a blade.
"You keep leaning left when you charge," she called out, eyes narrowing at me from across the jousting lane. "You're throwing off your balance before you even reach the midpoint."
"I'm trying not to fall off," I muttered, dusting hay from my skirt as I stood. "You're training me like I'm one of your war horses."
"That's because I don't train losers," she snapped. "Listen—when the signal hits, grip your thighs tighter. Use your hips to align, not your hands. And stop blinking every time the lance lifts. What are you, a frightened dove?"
I sighed, adjusting the padded leather gloves. "Noted."
She walked over, handing me a practice lance. "If you time your dodge right, you don't even need to take a full hit. Tilt the angle of your chest just slightly, like this—" she positioned my shoulders with firm, precise hands— "and use the momentum to shift back, not forward."
I nodded slowly. "Got it."
Then, quieter, I added, "Rebecca… something's bothering me."
She straightened, curious. "About the King?"
"No. About… Fiora."
Her brow rose. "The handmaid?"
I nodded. "Last night, after dinner with the King, I mentioned how strange his interest in me is. And she said—" I paused, replaying the words—"'If he truly wished to expose you, I doubt he'd be pouring your wine.'"
Rebecca blinked. Then she chuckled. "Clever girl. She has a tongue sharper than mine."
"Don't joke," I said, serious. "That wasn't something a normal servant would say. It's like she knows."
Rebecca folded her arms, face unreadable. "Then maybe she does."
"What?"
"I've been meaning to tell you. If someone else figured you out—it's probably Evan."
I stiffened. "Jared's soldier?"
She nodded. "He's loyal to your Prince, right? He's also too talkative for a man who's supposed to be a shadow. He visits your two-storey house often. Fiora talks to him, I'm sure."
My stomach twisted. "So you're saying… he told her?"
"Possibly," she shrugged. "But tell me—why are you panicking? Isn't Fiora your childhood friend?"
I looked down. "Yes. But that's what makes it worse."
Rebecca tilted her head. "Why?"
"Because she cried when she thought I died. That kind of grief…" I swallowed. "She might do anything to protect me. But it also means she knows what I used to be. Not what I am now."
Rebecca's expression softened slightly, for once not mocking. "You're afraid she'll see through all this."
I nodded.
She gave a short breath. "Then you have two choices. Cut her out… or trust that her grief means loyalty."
"And Evan?"
Her lips curled. "Evan is a soldier. He talks too much, but if Jared trusts him, he won't betray you—not unless pushed."
I looked across the field, where palace guards patrolled with ease, not knowing a game of identity, power, and trust was playing right under their noses.
"Thanks," I whispered.
Rebecca smiled thinly. "Don't thank me yet. Get on your horse, weakling. You still lean left."
"Pweh, that was so exhausting," I muttered, wiping the sweat from my brow. The training ground shimmered in the morning light, and my limbs felt like jelly.
As I walked back toward the shade, I spotted Fiora waiting with a gentle smile, holding a cold cloth and a pitcher of lemon water.
"How's the training, Miss?" she asked, offering the towel.
"Uh… it's fine. Exhausting, too," I replied, pressing the cool cloth against my face. "But I managed to learn some new tricks." I forced a weak grin.
"I see…" she nodded. But then, her gaze lingered, more curious than before. "Miss, I just wanted to ask—ever since you got to know Lady Rebecca, the two of you have become quite… close."
Her question caught me off guard.
"Well… uh, the reason is…" I hesitated. I looked around—no one else was near. Just the quiet rustling of the trees and the distant thud of hooves from a nearby training match. "I guess it's because…"
I sighed. "Oh, what's the use of lying to you?"
And just like that, it all came pouring out. The truth. The plan. My real name. How I became Diana Swan. How my stepmother forced me into this twisted game of deception. How everything I was doing now was for survival—and for justice.
But when I finished… Fiora didn't look shocked.
Instead, she gave me a small, almost sad smile.
"I already knew you were Rowela," she whispered softly.
My breath caught in my chest. "You… what?"
Fiora stepped closer, her voice low and steady. "That day… when we visited the cemetery. I saw how tense you were, how distant. And then, when Xyrone called out your name—Rowela—with so much familiarity, so much pain." Her eyes glistened with unspoken emotion. "That was all the confirmation I needed."
I stepped back slightly, unsure if I should feel relieved or terrified.
"And you never said anything?"
"I didn't need to," she replied calmly. "You had your reasons. And I… I wanted to protect you, not corner you." Then her voice dropped even lower, more vulnerable. "You were my friend before you were ever my mistress. That hasn't changed."
A tight knot of emotion formed in my throat. "Fiora…"
She reached out and took my hand gently. "I kept your secret, not because I was ordered to—but because I believe in you, Rowela. And I will follow you. Wherever this mad path leads."
Good thing I don't cause trouble… not yet, anyway. But I can already feel Katarina's piercing eyes hunting for my first slip. One stumble, one wrong name, one unguarded emotion—she'll strike like a hawk diving on a cornered bird.
So, I did what any clever noblewoman would: I stayed ten steps ahead.
I sat at my writing desk in the chamber, the sun casting golden light across my parchment. With a steady hand, I penned a letter—elegant, warm, but with a subtle undertone of command.
To Ares,
I hope this letter finds you well. Allow me to extend my warmest congratulations on your new role as Manager of the Celestine Salon—may you inspire beauty and confidence in every guest who graces your door.
I understand the early days of leadership are busy and full of growing pains, but if your schedule allows it today, I humbly summon you to assist me in hair and makeup preparations. A light touch of your artistry before the day's affairs would be most appreciated.
Yours in trust,
Diana Swan.
I sealed it with gold wax and pressed the Swan sigil Rebecca had designed for me—an elegant nod to rebirth, grace, and transformation. How fitting.
Before dispatching it, I turned to Verian, who had just entered the room with a fresh stack of documents.
He gave his usual quiet bow. "The paperwork for the Salon's official licensing is nearly done," he reported, his voice low and composed. "We've listed the new Celestine Salon as a noble-affiliated establishment under your patronage. That gives it the right to operate within palace walls, but also makes you responsible for its behavior and taxes."
"What about the business permits?"
"The master records have been signed by the palace's trade bureau. I've had them copied and sent to the Hall of Documents for archival. In three days, your salon will be fully recognized within both internal and merchant registries."
I smiled. "You're truly the only one I trust to clean the thorns from this mess."
He gave a small shrug. "You're not the first woman to juggle masks in the palace. But you may be the only one still playing the game with a conscience."
I paused, thinking of Ares and the journey he made. A man once ridiculed for his craft—now the official manager of a beauty salon bearing noble affiliation. And if anyone could make me shine enough to hold Katarina at bay, it was him.
I handed the sealed letter to Fiora. "Take this to Ares. If he's free today, I'd like him to come. I need to be… impeccable."
Fiora took the letter and gave me a little wink. "Understood, Miss Diana."
And as she slipped out the door, I straightened my posture. Today, I would not simply play a part—I would command it. Even if the Princess of Gamburza was waiting for a slip, she would find none.
After Fiora slipped out with the letter, I sank back onto the velvet settee, letting out a soft sigh. The day had only begun, but already I felt the strain of wearing a name that didn't belong to me.
She returned sooner than expected, a look of quiet urgency on her face as she shut the chamber door gently behind her.
"Did you give the letter to Ares?" I asked, straightening slightly.
"Yes, Miss. He said he'll do his best to come within the hour." Fiora paused, then approached, lowering her voice. "But… something odd came up while I was on my way back."
My eyes flicked up to meet hers. "What kind of 'odd'?"
She hesitated. "I overheard two noble ladies speaking in the corridor near the Rose Wing. They weren't talking about you directly, but… they spoke about a mysterious woman. One they said came from a kingdom that doesn't exist."
My pulse quickened. "Go on."
"One of them said, 'She must be clever to invent a whole land and culture just to impress the King,'" Fiora continued, frowning. "They didn't say a name, but they alluded to someone wearing yellow during last night's dinner…"
That was me.
I swallowed hard. "Did they sound suspicious… or amused?"
"Amused, mostly. They think it's a bold seduction tactic. But there's whispering, Miss. And you know how whispers in this palace travel like fire in dry wind."
I nodded slowly. "They still believe it's just a fabricated story?"
Fiora bit her lip. "For now, yes. They mocked it as if it were a romantic fantasy. But there was something in the way one of them—Lady Farah, I believe—spoke. Like she was probing for details, waiting for a slip."
Of course it was Farah. That social climber knew how to sniff out blood.
"I see," I murmured, then stood, pacing slightly. "So, the imaginary kingdom is beginning to sound too vivid… and dangerous."
"I thought you should know," Fiora said gently. "We might have to start planting consistent details about your homeland—just enough to satisfy the curious, but not too much that they start digging."
I nodded, trying to steady the rising anxiety in my chest. "You're right. I'll talk to Verian tonight. He'll help me build a backstory that's watertight."
Fiora placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll do my part, Miss. If anyone asks, I'll say I've served you since your childhood in the Heart of Steel, and that the customs you carry—modesty, discipline, strength—are as real as the walls of this palace."
I smiled weakly. "You're too good at this."
She winked. "That's what makes me dangerous."
Fiora's smile faded as I gently pulled her hand from my shoulder.
"There's just one problem," I said, voice low but firm. "They know you lived in this palace before… with your father, the baker. If someone puts two and two together—that you, a former palace girl, are now handmaiden to a 'foreign princess'—they'll dig deeper."
Fiora's face darkened with realization. "I didn't think of that."
"That's why we can't feed these rumors. Not yet," I added. "Let them spread on their own and lose their heat. Let them become yesterday's gossip."
She nodded, eyes narrowed in thought. "That's dangerous, but you're right. Trying to control the story now might only prove that there's a story to protect."
I began to pace, folding my arms across my chest. "If we try to explain too much, we invite suspicion. So for now… we act like we've heard nothing. I'll keep my posture, my mystery, and my kingdom." I paused. "And you… you'll keep playing the silent, loyal maid. The girl who just happened to forget she ever knew the taste of bread from her father's old shop."
Fiora looked both proud and pained. "He would've helped you too, if he were alive."
"I know," I said softly, offering her a small smile. "And that's why we'll survive this. Together. We've come too far to be exposed by gossiping hens and noble daughters with too much perfume and too little sense."
Fiora chuckled under her breath. "You've started sounding like Lady Rebecca."
I rolled my eyes. "Gods help me."
Just then, a soft knock echoed at the door.
"That must be Ares," I whispered.
Fiora gave a nod, composing herself instantly as she turned to open the door.
"Then let's play our parts well," I murmured.