Morning came with a silver softness that slipped through Charlotte's curtains. She woke with the heavy memory of last night's disaster resting on her chest like a warm stone.
The spilled wine, the startled nobles, the way Princess Eloise looked at her with unexpected approval instead of reprimand. It replayed in her mind as she dressed, fastening the simple ribbons of her servant gown.
Today, she told herself, must be different. Today she needed to avoid attention at all cost. The palace, however, had plans of its own.
Whispers slithered through the corridors like smoke. Every noble maid she passed glared with suspicion, while some of the male guards offered her a curious smile, as though last night had painted her in a new, baffling shade.
She kept her head bowed beneath her mask, her beauty safely hidden, her true self tucked beneath the thin boundary of anonymity. The mask had always protected her. Without it, she feared the world would tilt too quickly toward her, as it once did in the past.
Charlotte reached the eastern gardens, where she was tasked with preparing the benches and lanterns for the afternoon stroll of the queen. This was her favorite part of the palace. Here, the air smelled of morning dew and blooming irises. Here, she could think.
She knelt to light a lantern, her hands steady, her breath calm. But then a rustle sounded behind her.
She turned.
Prince Adrien stood only a few feet away, half in sunlight, half in shadow. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—sharp and dark—seemed far too focused on her.
She immediately bowed.
"Your Highness."
"So you do speak," he said. "I was beginning to wonder."
Her chest tightened. Princes should not seek conversations with servant girls. They especially should not seek conversations with masked ones who are hiding their identity.
"I apologize if my silence offended you," she said.
"It did not." He stepped closer. "I simply find it interesting. Most people chatter around royalty. You avoid it. Why?"
She hesitated. Any wrong answer could unravel everything.
"I only wish to do my duties well, Your Highness."
"That's not an answer," he murmured.
She kept her head bent. Silence fell again, and she feared he might try to lift her mask, or ask the questions she could not answer.
But instead he said something unexpected.
"You handled last night better than half the nobles in attendance. A little spilled wine but no fear. Most girls tremble when attention turns toward them."
Charlotte's breath caught.
If only he knew.
Attention was the very thing she feared the most.
"I was simply startled," she replied.
"No. You were composed. Too composed." He stepped closer still. "And that makes me curious."
Curiosity is dangerous, she thought. Curiosity can change everything.
Before she could respond, a maid hurried across the garden, calling for the prince. Adrien paused, glanced at the intruder, then back at Charlotte.
"We will speak again," he said quietly, a promise rather than a suggestion.
And then he was gone.
Charlotte exhaled, sinking onto the nearby bench. Her thoughts swirled in sharp circles. The prince's interest threatened her careful plans. She didn't come to the palace to draw royal eyes. She came to survive, to hide, to earn enough to someday reclaim the life she had been forced to abandon. She needed distance, not attention.
She forced her heartbeat to calm, returning to her tasks. Yet the memory of his gaze clung to her.
The rest of the day unfolded in strange contradictions. Princess Eloise sent word that Charlotte was to help her choose fabrics for the banquet's decorations—a task usually reserved for higher-ranked maids. The head maid eyed her suspiciously as she relayed the order, clearly wondering how Charlotte had risen in favor overnight.
Inside Eloise's chambers, Charlotte worked quietly as the princess lifted fabrics of emerald and gold, commenting absently about last night's incident.
"You were quite bold," Eloise said, not looking at her. "The nobles need a little shaking sometimes."
Charlotte almost smiled. Almost.
As she sorted silks, arranging them by shade, Eloise suddenly added, "I saw the prince speaking with you this morning."
Charlotte froze for a fraction of a second, her fingers gripping a roll of fabric.
"He speaks with many in the palace," she said carefully.
Eloise laughed softly. "Not like that. He doesn't study many people with such interest."
Charlotte kept her gaze lowered. "I am no one to study, Your Highness."
"We shall see," Eloise said, her tone unreadable.
When Charlotte finally left the princess's chamber, a strange unease lingered under her ribs. Was this attention going to help her or destroy her? She wasn't ready to find out.
That evening, she returned to the gardens to finish her chores. The sun had dipped low, turning the palace walls orange. The lanterns she had lit earlier glowed like scattered embers across the meadow.
She lifted one lantern to hang it higher on the branch of an old willow. As she stretched upward, the wind shifted, lifting her mask slightly. She quickly secured it, glancing around to make sure no one had seen.
No one should ever see what lies beneath, she reminded herself.
Her reflection flickered faintly in the lantern glass, and for a moment she saw fragments of her hidden face: eyes too bright, cheeks too smooth, beauty inherited from a mother she wished she could forget. Beauty that had once brought danger.
Just then, a twig snapped behind her.
Charlotte turned sharply.
A figure stood at the entrance of the garden path, half concealed by shadows. Not a prince. Not a maid. Not a noble.
This person wore a dark cloak, hood low, posture stiff like someone who did not belong inside the palace.
Charlotte felt her stomach tighten.
"Who's there?" she asked, her voice steady but low.
No answer.
The figure took a step forward.
Charlotte's hand slipped toward the lantern pole—her only weapon if needed. Her mind raced, piecing together everything she had avoided thinking about. The palace was safe. The palace was secure. But she had enemies outside its walls. Enemies who might one day track her down.
"Charlotte."
Her name came from the hooded figure's lips like a slow whisper.
Her blood turned cold. No one in the palace knew her real identity.
The figure stepped into the lantern light. Charlotte's breath caught. It was a face she never expected to see again. A face from her past. A face that should never have found its way to the palace.
The lantern flickered wildly between them.
And then the figure said softly,
"You thought you could hide forever?"
The garden fell silent. Charlotte took a single step back. The story shifted. The danger had finally arrived.