The servants' corridors of the palace were a different world from the grand halls and opulent chambers where nobles conducted their affairs.
Narrow passageways connected the working areas of the palace, kitchens, laundries, storage rooms, allowing staff to move unseen through the building's infrastructure like blood flowing through hidden veins.
Mira navigated these corridors with practiced ease, her arms laden with fresh linens destined for Her Majesty's chambers.
The fabric was fine Nevareth silk, impossibly soft and infused with subtle warming enchantments to counteract the northern cold.
Eris had been pleased with them, had even smiled when Mira first delivered them, remarking that Nevareth's amenities were more sophisticated than she'd expected.
That smile made everything worthwhile, the long hours, the suspicious glances from other servants, the whispered accusations that she was the foreign queen's spy.
