Vanella learned the rhythm of the King's chambers faster than she expected.
The bath had to be warm—but never steaming. The oils arranged in a precise order. The bed smoothed twice, not once. Meals served neither too early nor too late. Raven spoke little, but he noticed everything.
Before her, no servant entered those chambers.
Only Kallen had.
That knowledge alone was enough to make the palace breathe differently around her.
With the King settled for the evening, Vanella slipped from the chambers and made her way toward the kitchens to collect his dinner. The corridors felt longer now—quieter. Eyes followed her. Some bowed too deeply. Others did not bow at all.
She found Liora near the servants' washroom, folding linens with careful hands.
"Liora," Vanella said softly.
Liora looked up—and smiled for the first time in days. "Vanella."
They stood for a moment, simply breathing.
"How are you?" Vanella asked. "Now that… she is gone."
Liora's hands trembled briefly before stilling. "The nights are quieter," she said. "No footsteps to fear. No counting lashes in my sleep." She swallowed. "You saved us."
Vanella shook her head. "I only spoke when forced."
"That is how miracles begin," Liora replied.
They walked together toward the kitchens.
"I heard," Liora continued carefully, "that you serve the King now. Truly serve him."
Vanella nodded once.
"What is it like?" Liora asked, awe and worry tangled in her voice.
"Lonely," Vanella answered after a pause. "And dangerous."
Liora stopped walking. "Then be careful. Kings do not belong to the world the rest of us survive in."
The kitchen doors opened.
Warmth spilled out—along with voices.
The moment Vanella stepped inside, the room shifted.
Conversations faltered. Ladles paused mid-stir. A few maids stared openly.
One laughed.
"So that's her," a voice said. "The one who climbed into the King's bed to climb out of the gallows."
Another added, quieter but sharper, "Careful. She'll have us all executed next."
Vanella froze.
Liora stiffened beside her. "Enough," she said. "You owe her—"
"Owe her what?" a maid snapped. "For stealing what should have been hers?" She eyed Vanella with open contempt. "Or is serving the King now the reward for playing innocent?"
Vanella felt it then.
The heat in her chest. The tight pull behind her eyes.
The air thickened.
A pot rattled on the stove.
She inhaled slowly.
"I am here for the King's meal," Vanella said evenly. "Nothing more."
A maid sneered. "For now."
The rattling stopped.
Vanella stepped forward, gathered the tray herself, and turned away without another word.
As she left, whispers followed her like smoke.
Liora caught her arm once they were outside. "They are afraid," she said. "And jealous."
Vanella nodded, but her hands were clenched too tightly.
"I can endure hatred," she said quietly.
She looked back toward the kitchen doors.
"But hatred never comes alone."
And somewhere deep within the palace, something unseen stirred—listening